A distinct blend of sweetness and ferocity emanates from teenage girls who play competitive sports. Sure, they hug, giggle and flip their ponytails. However, when the ball is in play, they sweat just like the boys and their expressions reflect their resolve to be the first to the ball, to win, and they push hard to make it happen. In the heat of the game they are not their gender, they are simply athletes.

Women in politics operate on a similar playing field. They push hard to maximize their skills and to further their agendas while at the same time moderating their femininity (think pantsuits) so as not to appear weak or manipulative in an arena most commonly populated by men. Many of them maintain successful families as well, a multitasking skill worthy of admiration.

At the Red Bluff Labor Day soccer tournament last Saturday, I had the opportunity to watch female athletes compete in the annual games. I also had the misguided opportunity to eat a funnel cake that had been fried in 4 inches of recycled grease. My husband, lured by the vanilla and sugar scent, did the same despite my warnings. Intestinally it was not a good day for either of us.

In the year that had passed since last season, the girls matured and their mannerisms seemed to impart that they knew more, about life, about boys, and given the setting, hopefully about soccer. I wondered how much attention they had been paying to the historic presidential race and the complexities of its unfolding. I wondered too if their mothers were raising them to reach for the stars and to take full advantage of the evolving American perspective on equality.

With that thought in mind, I asked the woman next to me what she thought about John McCain's VP pick, Sarah Palin. My query was met with a blank stare and the question, "Who?" So, I asked about her thoughts on Joe Biden as I realized that the Obama ticket was where her synaptic efforts lay. Again, the blank look only this time it seemed tinged with a wee bit of resentment. Curious, I then asked her if she planned to vote in the election and she responded with an adamant "Yes! I'm voting for change!" with a big ol' head bob to back it up. Her vacuous responses made me nauseous and, at about that time, the funnel cake threatened to re-emerge.

As I watched the game, it occurred to me that one of the girls out on that field might be a future Hillary Clinton, Sarah Palin, or Condoleezza Rice. Nancy Pelosi came to mind as well, which, I'll admit, made me grimace. I scanned the field wondering which one of the girls might become a political mover and shaker and for one cowardly moment, I wished that fate on none of them.

How do the Hillary Clintons and Sarah Palins of the world withstand the hateful barrage of cheap sexist shots volleyed by the opposition? In particular, the personal vilification of Sarah Palin has gone beyond the pale to the extent that even many Democrat women are appalled. US Magazine disgraced its publication with its headline, "Babies, Lies and Scandal" — the polar opposite of its Obama cover, "Why Barack Loves Her" about his devotion to his wife Michelle. Worse yet, that publication, displayed at most grocery store checkouts, may be the only information some voters imbibe before making their presidential choice.

Liz Trotta, a Fox News contributor who once "jokingly" advocated the assassination of Barack Obama, recently made the sexist statement that Sarah Palin should not be running for any office but should stay at home with her children. Can you say Dark Ages? It is insulting to fathers everywhere when they are not even considered in the equation. For some, the option of staying at home as a full-time mother is an ideal one; for others, not so much. The crux is to find the right family balance and that balance is very much achievable.

On the second day of the tournament, the wind was a fierce opponent and the gusts, some up to 40 mph, made a mockery of the games. The fields were full of thrashing flags, blowing debris and wildly spinning soccer balls, causing the teams to look more like circus performers than athletes. At one point, the clueless woman from the previous day whined about the wind. I agreed that it was a bit rough but remarked that it could be worse — we could be waiting in New Orleans for Gustav. Placidly she looked at me and said, "Who?" I sighed and turned away hoping against hope that the child that was hers on that field had a multitude of resources to pull from so that, despite her mother's apathy, she too might reach for the stars.