During the height of my most ardent feminist days, I gave up watching the Super Bowl. Voluntarily.
This was Super Bowl XIX in 1985, the 49ers vs. the Dolphins. Joe Montana vs. Dan Marino. Hyped as a classic showdown between the two brightest young quarterbacks in the NFL.
And I was going to miss it. All of it.
My family was shocked. “I don’t believe it,” said my stepfather, who learned rather quickly after marrying my mother that I lived for Super Bowl Sunday, and essentially had since the age of 10. “You’re not going to see the game at all?”
No, I told him, not at all.
I had been invited by members of my NOW consciousness-raising group (hey, I was in this thing all the way) for a anti-Super Bowl party that featured a vegetarian meal, followed by conversation and anything else totally unrelated to football. There might have been some “women’s music” playing in the background, but my memory fails me on that one. T...
Source: http://www.womentalksports.com/items/read/964/1279706
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