Really? You’re Asking Me What?

nullSo it happened again.  In last week’s blog I was lamenting on how I don’t watch basketball anymore, so I felt like the best thing to do was to go watch some games. I made my way to a  sports bar that will remain nameless and had a seat.  Since it’s Lent, I’m not drinking beer,  so my wings and ginger ale and I settled in to “enjoy” the games.  It wasn’t happening.  I was lost within minutes and before I knew it, some random male fan was sitting next to me.
Now normally I wouldn’t have noticed this, but lack of interest in the game is not always your friend, and I’m sure many of you ladies know what’s coming next. After random small talk, this lovely person *insert epithet of your choice here* decides to ask me who I’m rooting for.  I told him I wasn’t rooting for anyone and I was pretty sure my my body language that would be the end of the conversation. No. Such. Luck.
“So why are you watching if you’re not rooting for anyone?”

“To see if I still like basketball”

“What? You don’t like basketball? Typical. Must be here to meet a man.”

So the better part of me was thinking that this conversation would end.  I had no answer for “typical” that would have kept me out of jail or the knife next to me out of his right hand, so I said nothing.

Luckily he shut up until the “sports break” came on. There was a mention of Manny Ramirez, so we all know I perked up.  Here comes Mistra Know It All again.

“You probably only know who he is because he’s rich and all over the TV.”

“No, baseball is actually my favorite sport.”

After telling me he’s a Mets fan (really son? you want a biscuit?) he decides it’s time to find out just how much I know about my favorite sport. I’m guessing that since I’ve decided to leave my house I somehow brought this on myself, but I certainly didn’t deserve his gaggle of drunken friends that suddenly appeared.

So they start trying to quiz me.  There had to be about three to five questions (and wrong answers! LMAO) lobbed my way before they realized they were being ignored.

“What’s the matter?” one asked, trying to be smug, “you don’t know the answer?”

This set me off.  So I answered every question. CORRECTLY. These nincompoops start scrambling for iToy, WM and Google trying to prove me wrong.  Of course, just in time for my next ginger ale, I’ve made some “new friends.”

The thing about this whole situation is that it happens way too often and is more offensive than the perpetrators realize.  Every female is not like your wife who becomes a football widow for seven months a year, leaves the room when you’re watching “the game” and could care less about it.  There are some of us who know what we’re watching, may even know what we’re talking about, and may even *gasp* know more than you.  This is the reason that I couldn’t bring myself to be in any way polite or kind to my new pals.  I refused to move from my spot until I left in the middle of the second half, but it made me wonder what part of their egos is so insistent on being smarter than or more right than a person they don’t know, that there needs to be an exam? I finished college. Twice. School is pretty much over for me unless I decide to get gully and get a law degree.

I don’t walk around quizzing men on fashion or music. Namely because it’s not interesting enough to me to try to make someone else feel bad or stupid for what I assume by looking that they won’t know. Makes me wonder where these poor socialization habits stem from.  Did they grow up without a father? Were they never taught manners?  One should never judge a book by it’s cover. You never know what’s inside, and sometimes they may not have the self control to keep themselves from slapping the shit out of a rude person.

Just my PSA for the week. The next time you see a female in a sports bar, she probably isn’t there to pour you drinks or listen to your lame pick up lines during commercials and half time. She might actually be there to watch the game.


Like Terita’s take on sports? Tired of people assuming that women aren’t die hard sports fans? Or maybe you’re using this column to make sure your bf’s weekly sports obsession doesn’t completely put you to sleep and you can make conversation? Either way, read the rest of Terita’s sportie run down here.

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