The First ever Her Blog in TNP

I used to write the Her Blog column for TNP. And I sorta miss being able to comment about Sports. I've been meaning to archive all my articles.. and this, was the very first.

Written Wed, 11th Feb, 2009

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"Hey! I saw your comments on TNP... smoke your way through only la!", said this old friend who bumped into me during dinner the other day.

Now that pisses me off.

Why is it that whenever a female makes some comment about sports, men are so quick to dismiss it? And for some strange reason, we can never be given the credit for any incisive thought or reasoning. No no, we are not capable of coming out with sound logic when it comes to sport because that, is a men's territory.

I am not a new convert to sports. I might be allergic to the sun, which ultimately, by default, makes me allergic to almost every sporting activity under the sun, but I've always been a rough and tough tomboy since I was a little kid, so why is it, that many waxes later, I am rendered suddenly incapable of making sensible sporting insights?

Is it the clothes? The hair? The makeup? The lack of the upper lip shadow? Or the fact that I shave my legs and go for manis and pedis religiously?

Do I have to don a sack and let my underarms become a makeshift jungle gym for toddlers before I can be taken seriously?

I host RazorActive BPL Monday Mouthoff's with a guest presenter each week on RazorTV. Most of our guests who come to the studio, are male, and its a testosterone laden session, with me lending the only gender balance to the ratio. And its not easy.

Naturally, being 100% female, I am still prone to the usual female appreciation of the male aesthetic.

Sportsmen are, afterall, chiselled like greek gods. What is there not to love?

But just because I do the occasional internalised wolf whistle, and my eyes sometimes get distracted by the way the wind tousles a players hair, just so, well, that does not mean that my opinions are any less valid.

Dad was the one who cultivated my love for Liverpool when I was a wee lass and our telly took 30 mins to warm up enough to have visuals. But when the days of cable came along shortly after the demise of Singaland's only shortlived free-to-air sports channel, my father, citing conspiracy theories to backup his distrust of anything that required wires to be pulled into the home, meant that basketball, football, tennis and most major sporting events were no longer at my fingertips.

This, coupled with the fact that Liverpool seemed to lose every match I caught, winning the few that I missed, led to my interest waning.

The sinker was when I was dating, and my boyfriend at the time simply refused to tear his eyes of the tube when a soccer match was on even when I pranced around naked. With beer in hand. While doing splits.

Needless to say, I do not like competition.

At least not from 11 sweaty men.

My self-esteem took a nosedive and my support for sports dwindled to the occasional score update.

These days though, thanks to the wonders of the internet, and even Kopitiams having cable, I am well informed and updated. Even if I'm not near a TV, I can access live updates via Wifi from my handphone and listen to live updates on BBC. I read TNP and the Sports News voraciously and soccernet and barclays are now on my bookmarked favourites.

I do not know all the statistics on every single team and player, nor do I claim to. But I do know Scolari has been sacked. Van de Sar has set a new goalie record, Beckham will soon equal Bobby Moore's record for caps, and personally, the most distressing to me, Gerrard likes Phil Collins.

-_-

If a big manly soccer captain of a guy can be in touch with his feminine side, then why can't a fun-loving fashionista love sports?

I don't watch sports just for one handsome sonofagun. I don't watch a sport just because whoever I am dating likes it. I watch, because I like it. I like the strategy. The camarederie. The spirit. The game.

Whether it be basketball, soccer, tennis, or even pool.

And, even better, these days I don't have to compete for attention.

Oh. Did I forget to mention?

I don't have a boyfriend.