We’d sit on the hood of his car to watch the games, a blanket around our shoulders to keep us warm, the residual heat from the engine warming the other end, cars parked around the edge of the greyhound track that encircled Wade Park.

At halftime we’d run onto the field with the other kids and take kicks at goal, or little games would evolve, a thousand kids against a thousand kids, tackling and passing and loving our footy.

He taught his daughters how to bowl spin, how to throw a right hook, how to throw a cut out pass. It never occurred to me that he might have wanted sons.

When Erin Phillips won the AFLW’s best and fairest earlier this week there were stories about how her father Greg Phillips, apparently more than a decent player in his day, was constantly reminded, as a father of three daughters, that he must have been disappointed his wife never gave birth to a baby who had a penis.

I must admit I haven’t watched the AFLW this season. I don’t like the game. I grew up in country NSW remember. Season one I didn’t miss a game. I loved the fact that women’s sport was being televised regularly, and a contact sport at that. I loved Sarah Perkins, I loved Darcy Vescio, Daisy Pearce and Katie Brennan. I was invested.

But I was also slightly resentful that I was born about 30 years too late. As I watched the AFLW, and the emergence of the women’s rugby 7s program, even the Wallaroos, the growth of the W League, the WNBL, even the netball, believe it or not, I was just a little bit envious I was 52, not 22, and my chance of being slipped even a couple of dollars for doing something I loved, playing sport of any description, was long gone, regardless of any talent I may or may not have had.

And so I kind of switched off. I do watch the Brumbies Super W team. The 69-0 win at Seiffert Oval was a good afternoon out. I even watched a live stream of a couple of interstate games. I kind of feel obliged though, that I should be watching, rather than want to be watching. Louise Burrows is a good mate. I remember feeding her passes when she was, probably about seven, when we both played for Royals back in the day.

But back to Erin Phillips.

The AFLW grand final between the Adelaide Crows, Phillips’ team, and Carlton, attracted more than 50,000 people, 53,034 to be precise - and yes it was free, and those people who said it only attracted such high numbers because it was free can bugger off. People would pay to see it if they had to. Indeed in the women’s Big Bash League the Sydney Sixers ticketed their games this season and the crowd numbers were the same as the free season before.

The AFL set a hopeful target of 30,000 after the semi-final the week before attracted 13,429. The final figure was beyond everyone’s wildest dreams.

Phillips won best on ground in that game, despite being stretchered off with a suspected knee injury, and then backed that up winning the league’s highest honour - and wouldn’t we like to see that medal named after philanthropist Susan Alberti, one of the sport’s most loyal advocates.

In her speech she spoke about her father. “People felt sorry for him because he didn't have a son to play footy some day and carry the Phillips name,” she said.

“Dad, I know you're watching and mum, I hope I've made you proud, and we can stick it up those people who said that to you.”

I like that sentiment.

I’d like to stick it up all those people who still talk about women’s sport like it’s some kind of novelty. It’s okay if we want to play netball, or other sports that are traditionally associated with the gentler sex. But if dare lace up a pair of boots, or, heaven help us, consider a contact sport, we’re deemed to be some kind of freak.

I had a full day at the Canberra Grammar rugby sevens carnival last weekend, girls and boys games side by side. It was a fabulous day, but what annoyed me was the change in the tone on the sidelines when the girls games were on. There’d be contact, or some good play, and people would react as though they were amazed the girls were capable of any such talent. In the boys games it was all taken for granted.

Any girl who has played sport of any kind knows there is no difference. We are tough, competitive, there for our teammates, playing to the best of our ability. Just like the boys.

Erin Phillips knows this. And I suspect our fathers did too.