You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
The World Cup.
Here we go Earth.
Hang on to your sombrero and shake your money makers.
The World Cup is about to pull up its skirt and blow you all a kiss.
Men will cry. Children will sing. Lady parts will melt like butter on an open flame.
I don’t even know what that means but if I get to sing the Ole song yet again in a bar with strangers, I am endorsing this event.
It’s Friday morning as I write this and the matches you have been waiting for are about to light up a plasma near you.
Italy vs. England. USA vs Ghana. Hilary vs Diane.
The games on the field are fascinating to die hard fans.
But to the part time fan, these games are interesting like a new study on fiber, sponsored by the industry to promote fiber.
To capture the female hearts, the feminine minds and the decidedly more dainty parts of the viewing audience, the morning news programs are pulling out all the stops.
The marketing technique is not about the matches on the pitch, but more about the beef cake on the field
I watch the intro to a World Cup 2014 story. The graphics package unfurls and I know I am in for a 2 minute whirly gig of sensationalistic vomit.
As the Brazilian beat rises to a crescendo, I feel my loins recoil like a lactose intolerant meat puppet.
How did this get on the air, I wonder. Who decided this was a good angle?
I know women have the majority of purchasing power in this country, but must we cater a soccer story to fans who don’t care.
Brazil is a mess. “There are plenty of story lines to choose from. Sanitation issues, incomplete infrastructure, pending protests.”
Nope.
“Let’s show some skin”
“A little something for everyone,” the reporter cackles.
The opening scene is exactly what you would expect. Jesus on the mount. Big breasted beach babes bouncing down the sand. Blue sea, Volley ball on white sands, a man selling trinkets that look like a gay rights Rainbow.
And it’s all set to a Samba beat.
“Something for everyone,” she reiterates, licking her reporter lips like a wolf eyeing a lamb chop.
The video montage fades to slow motion shots of soccer players taking off their shirts.
Ripped abs, glistening sweaty chests, bodies endorsed by the turf Gods.
It is a visual all male review from the pitch.
I watch close ups of pecs quivering in slow motion titillation.
I suddenly realize this segment is geared toward a demographic I am not.
WOMEN.
This piece is made by women, produced for women.
It’s a sexy, slutty look at sweaty, beautiful athletes with no shirts and wet shorts.
Cristiano Ronaldo scores a goal. He is a dripping haired Adonis as he pulls off his shirt and shows is sculpted torso to the planet.
The shot makes me question my sexuality, my morality, my willingness to convert.
Is Soccer the new Black?
Is FIFA the new Chippendales Review?
The segment cuts to women swooning in the stands then to a GQ cover model shot of soccer stars adorned by admiring, leggy super models.
Flash bulbs crackle. The samba beat is rich in South of the Border rythms.
In a 2 minute piece, approximately 10 seconds is devoted to soccer.
The rest is a soft porn video with cleats.
If the idea is to increase female interest, then as they say in the producer pit “add water and stir.”
Olivier Giroud, from France; good looking man, edit him in, shirt off, slow motion.
“Nice”
Glen Johnson, the Brit, muy Guapo as they say from the margartia stand on the strand.
“Edit him in. Use the shot of 2 day stubble. Yummy”
The piece ends and the reporter on the beach is fanning herself. She is clammy and needs to towel off.
Her lady parts are set on high heat.
It’s a puff piece on hard bodies and hairless chests.
Somewhere a shirtless Edward R. Murrow is spinning in his grave.
I shake my head wondering what just happened. I just got run over by a shirtless train.”
The women back on the set in New York are pulsating.
Suddenly the morning show has become a male strip review and the normally reserved anchor women are reaching into their purses for singles to stuff in a G string.
Poor George Stephanopolous sits there smiling. He is the only bastion of respectability on the entire set, and he is trying to pretend that naked, glistening men pulling off their shirts in slow motion is going to give him political capital when he sits down with John Boehner this coming Sunday.
The sexy soccer madness ends.
George corals the out of control show.
“We’ll return in a moment.”
The tease shows me a segment for tomorrow’s hard hitting GMA.
Katy Perry where’s bright colors. The pop star reveals all.
Wow! Riveting!
Life’s Crazy™