I nearly spit up my Miller Lite when, watching an NFL game recently, I saw a Wal-Mart commercial in which the company explained the role of women in football: “Have you ever wondered why football players say ‘Hi, mom!’ when they’re on television?” The Wal-Mart narrator asks. “Because we’re the ones who wash their uniforms, drive them to practice, keep the fridge stocked full of food. … And they say mothers don’t know anything about football.”
It was a lucky thing that I saw this commercial, as it afforded me an opportunity to mount my high horse and gallop into the land of Outraged Woman. This commercial—Wal-Mart’s insidious representation of what a female does for one of America’s most popular sports—hit even my husband’s ears like a bullet. He looked at me, smiled, and said, “Did you just hear that?”
Before seeing the commercial, I had considered writing about the Football Mom—a moniker that, for me, seems less frightening than Soccer Mom. In my dreams, a Football Mom can make wilier calls than Steve Spurrier; cite recruiting statistics as easily as others cite Britney Spears’ crotch shot statistics; and would much rather watch a good football game than Oprah. Further, a Football Mom is not dependent upon her children’s interest in playing the sport. Rather, she leads the family in its weekly ritual of watching big men clash on the gridiron.
More than anything, on holidays, a Football Mom is not relegated to the kitchen—she sits on the couch and watches the big games while others help with the culinary duties. She demands equality and is respected as an athletic—and domestic—peer.
Wal-Mart underestimated its audience.
My son was born on opening day for college football last year—a detail that does not go unnoticed in the land of the Southeastern Conference. Even before he was born, family members had given him onesies touting competing football teams. I grew up in Florida as a devoted Gator fan (I didn’t miss a home game from age three until I left for college), and my husband is an avid University of Georgia Bulldog fan. Thus we are a house divided with a baby whose loyalties will be won by the highest bidder, loudest barker, or widest chomp.
