Although pessimism and skepticism have always managed to overcome my love for the Saints, the night of Super Bowl Sunday, I felt especially unenthusiastic.
One might think that the incredible score or the amazing game would have been enough to change my mind; it wasn’t the Saints’ playing, however, which made me so apathetic.
Between the conspiracy theory ramblings of one friend of mine and the racist drivel of another, I had mustered up a reasonable level of excitement for the game. It was not long before that excitement was gone; I was quickly reminded, by the videos on the screen, that I was not welcome.
When my friend first began to go off about the different ethnicities of the players, I realized how wonderfully diverse the playing field was.
Far from featuring only white people of European origin, many different races were present, both among the people running the show and the players themselves.
Then the cheerleaders showed up. I remembered that, no, football wasn’t diverse at all, and, no, it hadn’t changed.
First it was a Bud Light commercial, showing me that men are the awesome, partying football fans, while women take showers and squeal about environmentalism.
Then, a Dodge Charger ad came up and reminded me how men are the awesome football fans and women are the whiny, demanding harpies off in the background.
GoDaddy made me remember how I was supposed to be ripping off my clothing to the Super Bowl audience of male heterosexuals.
Flo TV was the most explicit in their showing me how I wasn’t even watching the game, but instead taking my poor, helpless boyfriend shopping.
Last but not least, there was the entire game itself. Maybe it’s true that women can’t play football in any position (which I doubt), but does that mean that women can’t be referees? Or announcers? Or anything but glittery, smiling dolls on the sidelines?
Maybe I am complaining too much. But then again, maybe I am not. Gender segregation, after all, doesn’t end with football.
Whenever I escape Loyola to go to something as seemingly gender-neutral and unimportant as Winn-Dixie, I get reminded of how separate I am to be from my dominant male humans.
We girls get swirly, pink yogurts and low-fat pretty things, while over there is the manly-man sandwich meat (with added manly cholesterol) and the manly-man men men man chunky soup (now with extra manly-meat chunks!).
Loyola certainly doesn’t offer any respite. Being in education, every single education teacher I have had has obviously advocated segregating students by gender.
Loyola’s music department has dress codes for performances to segregate students by gender. The music preparatory department often segregates music for students by their gender.
With women earning 76 cents to a man’s dollar and owning 1 percent of the world’s property, I don’t think that gender segregation is restricted to food or music, either.
Everything I will do, whether it is an attempt at entering the sports world, buying food, performing music or simply living, I will always be governed and limited by my gender.
I can’t even watch an epic football game featuring my home team without being told how I am a whining and controlling killjoy or a soulless sex toy, and can’t amount to anything notable.
And that’s nothing to get excited about.
Lindsey Dale is a music
education junior. She
can be reached at
In My Opinion is a weekly column open to any Loyola student.
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