When they take surveys of women in business, of the Fortune 500

Host: The rain had just stopped over the city, leaving the streets glistening with faint reflections of streetlights. Inside a small coffee shop, the smell of espresso and wet asphalt mingled in the air. Jack sat by the window, his grey eyes tracing the drops sliding down the glass, while Jeeny stirred her tea, the steam curling upward like a ghost of thought. The evening was quiet, except for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional laughter of strangers passing by.

Host: On the table between them lay a newspaper, folded to an article about Billie Jean King, the tennis legend. The headline read: “Eighty percent of successful women in business played sports.” Jeeny’s eyes lingered on it — thoughtful, bright, and a little proud.

Jeeny: “It’s true, you know. Sports teach more than how to win or lose. They teach how to stand up, how to get hit and still move forward. That’s why women who played them often end up leading.”

Jack: (smirks) “Or maybe it’s just selection bias. The kind of girls who already have drive join sports. They’d probably be successful anyway.”

Jeeny: “You think it’s all predetermined? That effort, discipline, teamwork — none of it matters?”

Jack: “Oh, it matters. But let’s not turn sports into some kind of mystical forge of leadership. You can learn the same lessons managing a family, running a business, or even surviving poverty. You don’t need a ball or a coach to learn to fight.”

Host: A gust of wind pushed against the window, making the flame of a nearby candle flicker. Jeeny looked at him, her brows furrowed, the light reflecting in her eyes like a quiet challenge.

Jeeny: “You’re missing the point, Jack. It’s not about the ball — it’s about the arena. Sports gave women a space to compete, to fail publicly, to rebuild confidence. For decades, women were told to be quiet, graceful, obedient. Sports said: Run faster. Hit harder. Don’t apologize. That kind of freedom rewires the soul.”

Jack: “Freedom, sure. But let’s be honest — most of those corporate women aren’t succeeding because they once threw a softball. They made it because they were ruthless, strategic, and maybe lucky enough to be born in the right decade. You think a few laps around a track turned them into CEOs?”

Jeeny: (leans forward) “No, but it gave them permission. The kind that comes from your own body, your own sweat. You know what Billie Jean King said? ‘Pressure is a privilege.’ She lived it. She didn’t just swing a racket — she changed history. The ‘Battle of the Sexes’ wasn’t about tennis. It was a mirror for how women had to fight just to be taken seriously.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened slightly. The light from the street cut across his face, outlining the lines of quiet defiance. He took a slow sip of his coffee, then set the cup down, his voice low and steady.

Jack: “Billie Jean King was extraordinary — no doubt. But you can’t build a theory on an exception. For every Billie Jean, there are a thousand who played just as hard and still ended up unheard. The world doesn’t reward effort, Jeeny. It rewards results.”

Jeeny: “And where do results come from, Jack? From belief. From discipline. From a heart that knows how to get back up. That’s what sports teach. Maybe not every girl who plays wins a medal, but every girl who plays learns she has a voice — and that matters.”

Host: The coffee shop grew quieter, as if the air itself was listening. Outside, a bus rolled by, its headlights flashing across their faces for an instant — a brief, cinematic moment of revelation.

Jack: “Belief’s a fine word. But the corporate boardroom isn’t a soccer field. It’s politics, strategy, pressure. You think someone’s going to hand you equality because you learned to dribble?”

Jeeny: “No one’s handing anything. But they can’t take what’s already inside you. A girl who’s learned to sweat, to lose and still stand tall, won’t shrink when someone calls her ‘too emotional’ or ‘too ambitious.’”

Jack: “And yet… most still do. Because society hasn’t changed as much as you think. We still celebrate the idea of the female leader, but half the room expects her to fail. It’s not the sports that change that — it’s the system.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Systems are made of people, Jack. And people change when they see strength — especially from those they were told were weak.”

Host: Jeeny’s hand trembled slightly as she spoke, but her voice was firm. Jack noticed, and for the first time, his expression softened — a flicker of something unspoken, maybe respect, maybe memory.

Jack: “You talk like you’ve lived it.”

Jeeny: “I have. High school basketball. I was the shortest on the team. My coach told me I’d never make the starting lineup. I spent months practicing at dawn. When I finally did make it, it wasn’t the victory that stayed with me — it was the discipline, the grit. Years later, when my boss tried to talk over me in a meeting, that same voice in my head said: ‘Hold your ground.’ And I did.”

Host: Jack looked down, fingers tapping the table in slow rhythm. The rain began again — a soft, steady drumming on the window, like a muted heartbeat.

Jack: “You think that one moment — that one victory — can ripple through a lifetime?”

Jeeny: “I know it can. Because courage isn’t a single event. It’s a muscle — and if you’ve never trained it, you freeze when it’s needed most.”

Jack: (after a pause) “Maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s what we’re missing — the training. Men are taught to fight early. To lose, to bruise, to push back. Women, for too long, were told to endure, not compete. Maybe that’s the difference Billie Jean saw.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. She wasn’t saying sports make women better. She was saying they make women visible to themselves.”

Host: A long silence filled the space. The rain softened into a faint mist, catching the light from the street in shimmering threads. Jack leaned back, his eyes distant, the hardness in them easing.

Jack: “You know, when I was ten, my sister wanted to play soccer. My dad said it was a ‘boy’s game.’ She cried, then tried again next year. Made the team. She’s now managing a company in Singapore. Maybe that was her first rebellion — a soccer ball.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Then she understood what Billie meant. That the field is just a mirror — for who we could become if no one told us to stop running.”

Host: The two of them sat in silence for a while, the candle flame steady again. Outside, a faint fog was lifting, and the streetlights painted a golden halo over the wet pavement.

Jack: “You always find the heart in things, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “And you always try to argue with it.”

Jack: (chuckles softly) “Maybe that’s why these talks never end.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe that’s why they should never end.”

Host: The camera would have pulled back then — the window, the rain, the two figures in half-light. A conversation between logic and hope, still echoing against the hum of the city.

Host: Outside, a young girl ran through a puddle, laughing, a worn soccer ball bouncing before her. For a moment, both Jack and Jeeny watched — silent, smiling, as if seeing a tiny piece of future rolling freely through the night.

Host: And in that shared silence, something unspoken settled — a truth both could feel but neither could claim: that strength, once awakened, never fully goes back to sleep.