
When people talk about football, all I hear is white noise.
Such is my lack of interest in the AFL that I am the rare breed of Melburnian who doesn’t even pledge allegiance to a team.
I hate the noise of the crowd blasting through my television. I hate the blatant sexism of the commentary around it and TV shows dedicated to it. But, mostly, I hate watching the muscly men run around the field (many of whom earn more than $10 for every dollar I make) competing in a game I could never hope to play at a professional level.

Like being a firefighter or a tradie, professional footballer was one of the potential career paths you could safely scratch off your mental list as a young girl.
And – even after a women’s AFL game televised earlier this month beat it’s male counterpart in the TV ratings – we’re being told not to get our hopes up.