OPINION
Usually, my winter weekends involve watching or participating in the activity of men smashing into each other on muddy fields. With our club rugby season finished and the All Blacks not playing, my sporting fix was fulfilled by watching hundreds of incredibly talented, passionate and skilled women play one code or another.
It started on Friday with back-to-back Fifa Women’s World Cup quarter-finals, with both the teams I was supporting losing, then on Saturday morning, I braved the cold to stand on the sideline of Vautier Park to watch my daughter throw the ball into the net with what seemed like 3000 other young women. Saturday night was more women’s football interspersed with a truly average game of league by the Warriors.
On Sunday, we got to the Arena to see the Cyclones score their first try, and we stayed until the Turbos got their last one.
It was sitting up the back of the Arena grandstand, sipping on an, in my opinion, overpriced can of beer, that I did some deep introspection. It could have been the Export Gold, or the woeful first-half scrums from the Turbos - it may have even been the bracing southeasterly winds buffeting us - but I realised I enjoyed the women’s sport much more than the men’s. It wasn’t a sudden revelation, just a confirmation of a growing shift in my thinking. Women’s sport is finally getting some of the resources it needs to be awesome.