To anyone who says women can’t talk sports, I offer you this glimpse into my home.

Football is to my roommate what baseball is to me. We both understand and enjoy each other’s chief athletic passions. We are literate, even well-versed, in each other’s primary sports; we each recognize that the other is fluent in the language of her given sport. I mean, I know football well enough to get by with complete comfort, but my roommate? She SPEAKS football. Similarly, she knows that I speak baseball.

As such, I asked M to provide me deeper insight into football’s franchise tagging this evening. In doing so, M translated football into baseball-ese. She summed up her description by advising me to “think of it as a combination of arbitration and a contract option year.”

While she was describing it in depth, I was running the football phrasing through my own football-to-baseball dictionary. Because that’s how we roll. And that’s why there are no pink shirts in the stacks of sportswear available within our own little corner of the best sports city in the world.

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