Dear Powder Puff Football,
I like you. Every year the junior and senior girls at my high school faced off in the Powder Puff Championship. It was a nice competitive event that required practice, physical toughness, and males willing to put on skirts to become the cheerleaders.
I enjoyed the way you gave that one girl who had always been a little short for her weight, yet 6’ 5”, a chance to shine in front of the whole school. She was that really nice girl who seemed to have gotten more genes from her dad's side. It was as if she'd been bred her entire life for that game. For many years she probably felt uncomfortable with her size, at times a little out of place, and then comes along a game seemingly created for her to dominate. And dominate she did, hammering petite valley girls filling in at running-back and tight end. Then on offense, she'd create holes offensive coordinators dream of. Maybe she'd never score or throw a touchdown, but she'd leave the field in a wake of bruises and broken nails. It was the classic underdog story, played out every year by an atypically large underdog.
Not all the spectators pay attention to your subtle footnotes such as these, but some do. I remember one particular year, when the game ended and our hero walked off the field with her head held high, I noticed a cheerleader who was also overcome by emotion as mascara ran down his face.
It was a powerful image, one that has been seared into my memory ever since.