A movie premier? The Academy Awards? Nope. Patriots training camp.

Tom Brady, his chiseled chin covered by a week’s worth of growth, held the crowd in the palm of his hand that afternoon, a crowd including my wife and about 500 other like-minded women, who ostensibly brought their kids to see their football heroes in action but in reality came to ogle New England’s hottest heartthrob.

After practice, the quarterback made his way along the sidelines of the team’s practice facility signing autographs. He skipped my wife and our nine-year-old son and signed for the kid next to them. My boy was crushed. Maybe I should have explained to him that his mother probably had that look in her eye, and Brady was just keeping a safe distance.

“We didn’t get his autograph, but I could have reached out and kissed him,” she reported to her female relatives later that night. “And I got some pictures of him stretching. Great butt shots.”

Much to her dismay, the pictures of Brady’s backside came out blurry, but she’s still milking it for all it’s worth, making our son blush with remarks such as “There’s my honey” or “He’s such a cutie-patootie” any time someone flips through the deck of pictures to a snapshot of Brady or her newest discovery, Tedy Bruschi.

The lustfest carries over to baseball, where Johnny Damon is the object of my wife’s affection. She barely noticed the Red Sox outfielder last year, but now that he’s got a beard and long hair, Johnny’s the apple of her eye. My poor son has to cover his ears and go “LALALALALA!!!” any time the cameras catch Damon in the batter’s box or patrolling center field. I fear for him if Rick Fox plays for the Celtics this year.

Not withstanding my boy’s personal trauma, it looks like us fellas are going to have to get used to having more women around when it comes to watching sports. The advent of Title IX and rising female participation in athletics over the last few generations have played a part, of course, but it’s the marketing of male athletes that is going to draw more and more of the fairer sex to the games.

Certainly the concept of male athletes as sex symbols is not a new one. Madison Avenue has been using them as pitchmen ever since I was a kid. We’ve had Jim Palmer in his underwear, Joe Namath in pantyhose and Alex Rodriguez in stilettos (not an actual advertisement, just a personal theory).

Now we have the ladies swooning over Brady in GAP ads and David Beckham for Adidas and, the latest heartthrob, Michael Phelps, who probably already has countless endorsements lined up. Given how these guys are transcending sports to attract the female audience (and their purses), it only stands to reason that more women are tuning in to see their favorite hunks in action.

Some guys are complaining about all of the attention being paid to these athletes. Don’t count me among them. I mean, where else are the ladies going to look for beefcake, the pressbox? Only if they’re really, and I mean really, desperate.

I’ll bet every guy who complains about their wife or girlfriend drooling over Brady or Damon had his eyes glued to the TV during the women’s beach volleyball, or won’t have anything to do with women’s tennis unless it involved Maria Sharapova or Venus Williams in her cat-suit.

I could do without the eardrum-shattering screams, no doubt, but there’s nothing wrong with having a little more estrogen in the sporting world, even if it doesn’t know the difference between a field goal and an extra point.

The people I feel sorry for, though, are the legitimate female sports fans.

Female fans are eyed with suspicion by their male counterparts and female non-fans. Most people think they’re in it for the eye candy, guys in shorts and tank tops, or tight-fitting polyester football pants, patting each other on the rear. They have to spend an inordinate amount of time proving their sports acumen to the skeptics, and it really isn’t fair.

Adding more women to the mix will probably make things more difficult for them in the short run. As time goes by, though, some if not most of the Jenny-come-latelys will become more versed in who Brady likes to throw to on third down and less concerned with who will be his date for the ESPYs. Perhaps the dimple-obsessed teenagers of today will become the Patriot fans of tomorrow.

My son will probably marry one of these women. He may still have an overwhelming desire to cover his ears, but at least it won’t be during a game.

Randy Whitehouse is a staff writer. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected]