Note to guys: This girl will stuff your attitude

BY AMIE KIEHN | MAY 13, 2009 7:26 AM

Do people ask Stuart Scott if he knows what an interception is? Nope. Question Jeremy Schaap on what team Albert Pujols plays for? Of course not.

While I may not dominate ESPN’s airwaves, I am a sports writer — thus, coincidentally, I know about sports — so all you mother-effers out there can stop pestering me.

I’ve decided not to watch sports with 92 percent of the male population. For one thing, they stuff their mouths with Nacho Cheese Doritos, Cheetos and the rest of the “–ito family” and when provoked, perhaps regarding Coach Ferentz’s play calling or a foul on Lebron James, my male peers spew their tasty confections everywhere. Ick.

Besides the urge to never eat processed food again, the main reason I won’t ever watch a playoff game with the brahs is their constant need to baby any chicks in the room.

“That Peyton Manning pass was SAAA-WEET! He’s the quarterback. Amie, you know what a quarterback is?”

Seriously brah, I will knock you out. I know football. Yes, some girls may not know what a quarterback is or that Manning was the NFL’s MVP in 2003, 2004, and 2008. In fact, I know he broke five records in his rookie season with the Colts, and he’s the son of former New Orleans QB Archie Manning. All that and I wear a bra, brah. But how about you pay attention to chewing and stop bothering me while I’m watching the game? Oh dang, you just missed Joseph Addai rush for a TD. Sorry.

My sports knowledge is practically encoded on my genes, but not because I’m a daddy’s girl. Just so you know, my dad is actually a nerdy numbers guy who has no idea who Kobe Bryant is. He thinks she — yes, she — is someone he went to college with. (Better luck next time, dad. Just go enjoy your Sue Grafton novel. Who knew “A” stood for alibi?) No, my love of sports comes from my mom, who stands 4-11 with fiery red hair.

My mother is, excuse the pun, the mother of all sports fanatics. We had to get a mammoth HD flat-screen TV so she could watch her beloved Green Bay Packers. My mother refuses to watch any game with my dad and most grown men. See a trend?

Most brahs assume any girl’s sports knowledge ranges from nothing, to apathy, to “Isn’t that guy dating Kim Kardashian?”

It’s not just the typical brahs who abuse the stereotype about girls and sports; athletes do, too. I was writing a basketball story, and a certain player didn’t believe me when I told him I had a mean 3-pointer. Sorry, I’m a baller (I’m 5-2, so I don’t think I qualify for “balla” status). Conveniently, there was a basketball court in sight, so I snatched the ball he was dribbling and proved my skill. My first shot was a definitive air ball, which shook my confidence, but after that I became the definition of fire. One after another, my shots ripped through the net, and yet he still attributed my skill to a fluke (rather friend, it’s called “Kiehn Money”).

To settle the nonexistent debate, we played a game of H-O-R-S-E. Let’s just say he was a “HO” before I was. I quickly stunned him with a slew of “Mo-Money” shots, and he rightfully told me, “You got game.”

Yeah, and I menstruate too.

Shout out to all ladies who have been there too. Throw ya hands up (I’ve always wanted to say that, though I originally pictured doing it on a rap song, but this will do).

So if you don’t know, now you know. I’ll gladly challenge you on the court, I’ll shock you on the field, and I’ll even provide useful commentary during the game.

What can I say? I’m not a playa I just crush a lot.

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