Pam Oliver's unyielding resolve to stay in the game
She sat there, all smiles and shell tops, without the benefit of a Fox flag or microphone to shield herself, painted into a mundane conference room that'd heard the stale chatter of production planning for hours. Ah, look at her, trying to hide it, offering me winks and cheekbones instead of succumbing to her own fragility. As much as she fought, she was shivering from her fingertips due to the ice-blue Pacific chill. It was spooky, she was offering me tea, and pretending not to feel the bite of the brittle, even a few dizzying doors above Pike Place. If I didn't believe the stories before I met her, I certainly did then. It was as true as all the players and producers, coaches and coordinators had said for three decades: There may not be a tougher person in pro football than Pam Oliver.
Though she loves to present like any other, round-the-way gal: at 62, she remains remarkably regal — unyielding and unbending as one of the last striking figures of a pale Fox football team these days. So, please excuse me. From here on it'll be, "Miss Pam," 'cuz I don't plan to disrespect the first lady of football. And you should be damn sure you don't, either.
Football royalty, or not, the balance between being a commodity — enough that grown men on game days get weak in the knees and beg for pictures or young broadcasters compare you to anyone from Oprah to Gayle — and a professional is still difficult for Miss Pam to wrangle. "It's weird when you become the story," she tells me. Yet, Miss Pam remains surprised when I tell her there are still plenty of folks — aunties and mamas, jokers and bobos — all over this America who still draw a blank about the Black woman on the sidelines carrying Fox's flag. That is, beyond the signature news hair and straightforward questions.
"Reaaaaaally?" she says, drawing out each of the vowels. She almost started to scoff at the idea that somebody know Pam Oliver. She wriggles her nose, rolls her eyes and turns her face to the side, trying not to completely cast me off. "Ohhhhhkayyyy," she winces. She was still deciding to let me into her orbit for even a second, likely wondering what she always does when the questions fly: what would the world possibly want to know about lil' ol' Pam from Dallas, Texas? But, she finally accepts what could be true. "I di–I did withdraw, some," she said. "Two or three years ago." While Miss Pam loves considering the psychology of why she's been so adored and reviled all these years, she admits that she still doesn't get our fascination with her.
