I thought I hated sports; it turns out I hadn’t been watching the right ones.
Last year, I walked in on my housemate, Jordan, watching an Iowa Hawkeyes game in the living room. She’s always paid some attention to women’s college basketball, but Caitlin Clark had gotten her completely hooked—an effect the up-and-coming basketball star had on millions across the nation.
I had come in hoping we could turn on the latest episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race, but as I watched Jordan hurl cheers and jeers towards the television, it became clear the channel wouldn’t be changing. I had always hated watching sports. Growing up, it felt as if everyone was in on this big inside joke that they refused to explain to me. I just couldn’t understand why anyone would be so invested in watching strangers throw around a ball.
Don’t get me wrong—I had tried. When I was in middle school, I even joined the basketball team, desperate to develop this ‘love of the game’ everyone kept going on about. But the only thing I fell in love with was the bench. Despite being on the court for no more than 10 minutes the entire season, I somehow managed to earn the team record for ‘most times hit in the head with a ball.’ It seemed as if sports were rejecting me.
I sat next to Jordan with a humph. But to my surprise, within a matter of minutes, I found myself screaming alongside her at each failed play. It’s hard to explain exactly what drew me in, but a part of me came alive that I had never been able to previously access. For the first time in my life, I understood why my dad would schedule his weekends around Montreal Canadiens games, willing to miss events and dinners to root for a team that had lost 10 games in a row. It was like I had finally been let in on the joke.
I’m ashamed to admit that while I had always fiercely advocated for women’s sports in political debate, over the years, I had implicitly absorbed some of the stereotypes spread against them. Despite having always preferred female characters when it came to television and cinema, I had let men trick me into thinking that I would somehow be less entertained by women’s sports.
But as I watched Clark sink her third three-pointer of the period, any biases I held were quickly dissolved. I found that the women were more strategic, creative, and consistent players than those I’d seen on a men’s court. They played like they had something to prove. I was completely hooked.
The next day, Jordan and I bought a basketball. As we dribbled it towards the court in Victoria Park, I felt like a little girl who had just discovered their newest heroes and wanted to be just like them. In our first pick-up game, Jordan—being the ex-captain of her high school’s basketball team and standing just above 5’11”—absolutely decimated me. I even got hit in the head a few times, but I couldn’t have cared less. It had been years since I had actually been inspired and excited by sports.
We watched the rest of the 2024 college season together before moving on to the Women’s National Basketball Association (WNBA). I declared myself a Minnesota Lynx fan, as they’ve the coolest mascot, and finally understood what brings men to clutch their heads and yell at the ceiling as I watched them lose in the semi-finals.
This past week, I found myself listening to Bird’s Eye View, basketball legend Sue Bird’s WNBA recap podcast, as she discussed regulations and draft prospects for the upcoming season. I not only understood what she was talking about, but had my own opinions on her takes. Younger me could’ve never imagined that I could become this much of a sports fan.
I used to think passion for sports was something loud and irrational, but I now see it’s just another way of caring deeply. I’ve found myself making more space for pure enthusiasm in other parts of my life. I root for people harder, notice efforts in ways I hadn’t before, and take the small victories more seriously, both on and off the court.
Seeing myself represented in the players I’m cheering for has awarded me a kind of joy I didn’t know I was missing. It’s not about pretending I could ever play liked them—that ship sailed in the sixth grade—but about watching talented women who are allowed to take up space, be competitive, be emotional, and be unapologetically excellent without having their lights be dulled. I wonder if I would have liked sports more as a child if I had grown up with these proud, female role models.
Next year, Canada will be seeing their first WNBA team: the Toronto Tempo. If you, like my twenty-year-old self, have never understood the appeal of sports, I encourage you to give their first few games a watch this May. Not only will you be supporting young female athletes, but you just might find a secret love for sports in the process.
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