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The Girls Belong at the Game
The joys of sports gatekeeping & why it needs to end
For love of the game
My name is Mary, and I love baseball.
I love to listen to baseball on the radio. I love to check the game highlights online when I get home. I love to scour Ebay for memorabilia, and when I find a great piece — like that time I stumbled upon a much beloved Mickey Mantle reprint (it was $2; don’t judge me) — I love to give it pride of place in my home. Mo Rivera’s saves record collage is on my wall and Bernie Williams’ CD is in my car.
More than any of these, though, I love a good summer game. I love going to the ballpark and breathing in the smells and sipping a thirteen dollar beer while I clap along with the cheers. I love watching my Dad keep score on his program and I love making friends with the guys in the next row.
I love that the giant Liberty Bell at Citizen’s Bank Park rings when the Phillies score a homer. I love that every Orioles’ fan in Camden Yards shouts “O!” at the beginning of the second to last line of the National Anthem.
I love the rumble of the subway that whips through the Bronx on its way past Yankee Stadium. I love the tell-tale “bum-bum-bada-dum” opening strain and the echoing rally cry of “start spreadin’ the news” — and…
