Each time I go to an Alabama football game, I see my future. No, I’ll never put on pads and score a touchdown in front of thousands of screaming fans and no, I won’t ever get booed for making a bad call as a referee. All I have to do to see my future is turn around and look at the old woman behind me.
My Dad and I are blessed enough to hold season tickets. One of the best (and worst) parts of this is that you build relationships with the people sitting around you. It’s an amazing phenomenon to witness. We sit by people we don’t know by name, but during each football game, they become our best friends. One lady in particular, whose seat is a row behind us, gives me a nice glimpse into my life fifty to sixty years from now.
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She comes alone. I don’t know what her story is, but I’ve created scenarios in my head that may or may not be close to the truth. My conclusion is that she is in her eighties, widowed used to love coming to football games with her husband. She comes to the games now to reminisce about the best times of her life.
She wears a denim jacket, embellished with the classic Alabama logo. This isn’t a vintage item she picked up at the Alabama Book Store, though; this bad boy has seen some amazing plays, wins and losses. The yellowed threading on the trunk of the elephant is tattered, but she wears it with pride. Her chunky houndstooth jewelry and bright, cherry red lipstick never miss a game either.
The best thing about seeing my gameday neighbor isn’t her wardrobe, though I am quite fond of it. Her attitude is as feisty as that of any cantankerous old man who has followed Bama football his whole life. She never ignores a call for noise and will boo with all of her might when she doesn’t agree with the refs.
Maybe she is married and her husband hates football; or maybe she’s never been married. All I know is that for several hours on football Saturdays, football completely owns her, and that’s something I’m looking forward to experiencing myself – whether alone or with someone – for as long as I possibly can.
There seems to be more room for women at the water cooler to talk sports these days. Yet there are still men out there that refuse to let us into the football conversation. Just know that there are women with just as much passion as men for their beloved football. I knew that for sure when my grandmother called after the LSU game and said in exasperation, “We need to get a kicker.”
I also saw this passion the other night, in the faces of a pair of women wearing LSU sweatshirts. They gave my family dirty looks to let us know exactly where they stand. They hated us, much like all LSU and Alabama fans hate each other right now. That hatred is pure and good and it’s completely gender-neutral.
Make no mistake; I don’t want to shatter the glass ceiling by playing football. I want to shatter it by dropping a random stat or score on you and by standing tall in the bleachers, screaming at the top of my lungs, even when I’m an old lady surrounded by my younger fellow fans. To my elderly gameday neighbor I say; you’re my inspiration, ma’am.