On Friday 3rd of February, I went to a sports bar with a few mates. We ordered our meals and drinks, sat down and started chatting and we usually would on a ‘Footy Friday Night.’
I subtly did a quick scan of the multiple widescreen displays plastered all around the walls, each displaying a different sport.
I spotted: rugby, golf and even an NBL match before the parochial Victorian within me was drawn to the AFLW on the screen closest to me.
The Blues and the Pies were playing, so even though it wasn’t my beloved Geelong, I still kept one eye on the screen as I ate my parma and made ‘end-of-the-working-week’ small talk with my friends.
It’s not long however, before my Collingwood-crazed friend starts muttering obscenities under his breath as the Pies miss another easy shot at goal.
Around half time one of our Carlton supporter mates joins us for a drink.
We ask him why he’s not at the game and he shakes his head in disappointment, telling us that the game was too big and he couldn’t get a seat. I suppose that’s not really surprising; Collingwood v Carlton games are always sell-out blockbusters.
The game wraps up with Carlton taking an easy victory; a couple of Blues supporters in the bar clap, claiming this is ‘finally their year’, while the downtrodden Pies supporters furiously mutter that their star forward let them down…
This all sounds like a typical Friday night in Melbourne, right? Only thing is, this game I just described was the ‘grass’-ceiling shattering first round of the inaugural AFL Women’s competition.
The normality of the Friday night scenes watching footy was by far the best part of this ground-breaking weekend in sport.
The average footy-loving Aussie didn’t actually care whether there were breasts under the jumper; they just cared if they could kick straight in front of goal! There were the standard groans from the crowd when players who dropped a mark or the collective intake of breath followed by a cheer when there’s a ferocious hip and shoulder laid. This goes to show that the biggest battle in the war is already won. The echoes of previous doubters claiming ‘but no one will watch women’s footy’ are already fading into oblivion as huge crowds speak louder.
As a girl I played footy at school. I loved it. My team was amazing, our coach was respectful and encouraging. We learned a lot of new skills and got fit at the same time.
But that’s where we all thought it ended.
There were no pathways for young talented female footballers. So while our male friends went to draft camp and eagerly awaited to see what number they would be called, we went back to the sidelines and resumed our position as spectators.
So, watching young women who I used to play with at school starring in this new league, with footy cards of their shining faces being traded by little girls and boys in the crowd who call their name, that’s a pretty amazing feeling.
Now on to the next battle in the war: equal payment.
