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You’re Not Fooling Anyone, You Know

So, has anyone else out there been watching ESPN in the last, oh, I don’t know — three months or so? And if so, have you seen that commercial where some guy, unshaven and balding and shuffling around in his bathrobe, has just gotten up and finds that ‘GameDay’ has invaded his house, in the form of mascots and cheerleaders and tailgaters in his yard? You seen that one?

If so, then you know how it starts — aforementioned shuffly robed baldy guy is first greeted by a southern blonde cheerleader chicky, who hands him a steaming cup of (presumably) coffee and throws him a hearty,’Morning!‘

It’s at that point that the guy looks past her, and sees his television on, and the mascots running amok — later in the spot, he finds the tailgaters and assorted hangers-on in his backyard, grilling and hooting and painting each others’ various body parts.

(Yeah, I know I just recapped the entire frigging commercial. And that if you’ve seen the spot, then it really wasn’t necessary. And if you didn’t, then you probably already know you don’t give a damn, and now we’ve both just spent thirty seconds of our lives that we’ll never get back.

Don’t be a weenie. I’m making a point over here.)

My point is: sure, from a ‘hey, we’re marketing for our college football show thingy, and this is a pretty clever way to do it’ standpoint, then yeah, it’s a fine commercial. I got no beef.

But — but! — from a ‘what would really happen’ point of view, I think somebody needs to point out the obvious: there is no way, no way in hell, that if a half-awake, approaching-middle-aged, unshaven guy like the one in the commercial is confronted by a perky blonde chicky in a cheerleader uniform first thing in the morning — if that were to ever miraculously happen — there is no way that he ever discovers the people in his living room, or the goobers grilling weenies on his lawn, or sees anything even approximating football for the next few hours, at least.

Seriously. As an often only-half-awake, approaching-middle-aged, occasionally-unshaven guy myself, trust me on this one. ‘Perky cheerleader in the kitchen’ trumps all that other shit, in spades. Certainly, the relative usefulness of said cheerleader might depend on your current state of in-a-relationshipness, not to mention exactly which half of you is actually awake at the time.

(But hey — she’s offering coffee, too, so there’s an awfully good chance that you’d be able to pull together any parts that might still be lagging behind, as it were. If she had a ham sandwich in the other hand, it’d be pretty goddamned close to heaven, frankly.)

Anyway, back to the point — a guy in that situation might or might not be in a position to ask the girl to ‘Gimme some ‘T’! Gimme some ‘A’!‘, but I’ll tell you this for a fricking fact: his first instinct is not going to be ‘look over her shoulder to see who’s watching TV in the next room’. No. Unh-uh. Decidedly not.

I guess that’s all I’m saying, really. I can identify with the guy, to a degree, and I simply can’t get over the ridiculous shit that ESPN is trying to get away with. I’m like a drunken fool (I said, ‘like‘, dammit!) in a movie theater, yelling at the screen: ‘It’s a cheerleader! In your damned kitchen! Wha? No! Don’t go into the living room, dammit! She’s — you’re — dammit! Is there no one left I can live vicariously through?!‘

Meh. It’s a fine commercial, as far as it goes, but I wanna see the ad they didn’t make; the one with the pom-poms and the baby oil and the ‘spirit hand splits’. Why would our favorite network lie to us this way?