The Worst We Have to Offer

Football is back, and once again I spend my weekends staring at a TV screen, watching people I only vaguely care about deliver head and neck injuries to their colleagues in the interest of advancing an oblong spheroid across an imaginary plane. This probably says something quite damning about my morals and character, but this is the culture in which I was raised and I shall likely continue to do so as long as I live in the Land of the Free.

I enjoy this all for some perverse reason, but it always makes me feel slightly gross at the same time. Nothing, though, makes me feel grosser than those uncomfortable times before and between actual football games. The networks that profit from this whole professional football thing place a handful of former gridiron tradesmen together at a table, place one slick TV 'personality' to their left, and leave them to talk about weekly goings on for hours at a time. I attempt to watch these displays in the interest of becoming better 'informed' about something that my brain already wastes entirely too much energy on, but they always make me feel bad about myself, my country, and my species. A sticky, gritty feeling starts brewing in my stomach, as if I had just taken one rather large lick of the floor of a New York City subway car.

It is hard to articulate the aspects of these pregame/halfgame/postgame shows that make me feel this way, but I have identified several potential culprits. First, these things put so much effort into being well structured, highly polished, and deftly produced, but in reality they come off as confused, sloppy, and devoid of any focus. I suspect this is due to the fact that there really isn't that much to talk about, and that the meatbags chosen to discuss these matters lack the communication skills to articulate anything all that clearly. Second, the broadcasts and the commercials that make them possible are all geared toward an ideal of American manhood that is quite horrible and, I'm afraid, what many in possession of a Y chromosome in this country actually want for themselves: pickup truck ownership, the ability to get as drunk as possible without getting fat, and the general understanding of everyone you ever meet that you are not in any way, shape, or form a homosexual. The knowledge that a significant portion of this country's population wants to be Dennis Leary is enough to make me buy a one-way ticket to Libya.

More than any of this, however, what I really blame for my football Sunday self-hatred is the selection of vapid, botoxed, Just for Men-dependent, capital gains tax-hating 'experts' the networks place in front of a camera to punish their football-addicted viewership. These people are uniformly awful and seem to have long ago promised themselves never to contribute anything productive to their society. Their analysis consists of tired old catchphrases and aphorisms about 'drive' and 'determination' and reflect no actual knowledge gained from their decades of experience with this game. Their playful inside jokes always sound forced, most likely  scripted beforehand by TV professionals. You would not want to have a conversation with any of these people in real life. Contrast the CBS and FOX football shows with TNT's NBA coverage and you'll get a sense of how this could be done much much better.

What really makes these talking head shows atrocious is the selection of talking heads. These people, while all accomplished as players or coaches, have no other discernible skills that would lead you to think they should be in broadcasting. A fun mental exercise is to place these individuals into your hometown and imagine what niche they would fill in your local economy. Here's what they'd be in the small Upper Peninsula city from which I hail:

FOX People:

Howie Long: Manager at the Best Buy. Very prideful and quick to snap at any perceived slight or offense against his honor. Employees hate his constant team-building exercises and annoying tough-love motivational practices. P90X practitioner. Three failed marriages produced four children, two of whom aren't on speaking terms with him. Lives in the subdivision built a decade ago on what was once the city dump. In a lot of debt, but has an investment strategy he thinks will get him in the black in five years.

Jimmy Johnson: Septic tank installer. Lives out in the sticks but is generally well-liked. Tells the same deer camp and fishing stories over and over, but has some good ones. Married when he was 20 and has two sons working boring office jobs in the Minneapolis and Milwaukee suburbs. A bit of a yeller and very covetous of any position of power. Holds grudges for decades, including against a brother who forgot to invite him to that potluck at the Lion's Club 15 years ago.

Michael Strahan: Owner of the Applebee's and the Red Lobster. Most well-adjusted of the bunch, but can be a bit of a shyster. Makes the rounds to talk to the clientele as they eat, but is overly friendly and sometimes interrupts important family conversations.

Terry Bradshaw: Town drunk. Talks a big game but never able to hold down a steady job. A few stints in construction, ditch-digging, other blue-collar jobs. Doesn't really have any friends, as it's too emotionally exhausting to deal with his endless problems and compulsive lying. Some luck with the ladies, whom he can charm into a one-night stand but who always sever contact with him when he starts asking for money. Often seen walking to Walmart on the shoulder of the highway.

CBS People:

Dan Marino: Auto mechanic. Not a very good one, though. Always takes longer than he says it will to fix your car. You routinely find empty Pepsi cans in the back seat when you get it back. Conversation with him is always very awkward, and he does not make eye contact. You try to ignore his political evangelizing, which seems to consist of misquoting AM radio windbags. Dips snuff and is missing a finger on his left hand.

Shannon Sharpe: Salesman at shoe store in the mall. Very intense. You've learned not to walk directly in front of the door to the store or look in the window, as he'll aggressively corner you and ask you to try on a pair of suede Hush Puppies. Usually eats lunch at the Hardee's near the mall, always wearing a suit and eating french fries with a fork. Secretly hates this town.

Boomer Esiason: Failed businessman. Saved his pennies to build an internet cafe downtown. Really put his heart and soul into it, but turns everybody has web access at home and on their cellular telephones and whatnot. Always seems troubled and nervous.

Bill Cowher: Miner. Worked in the iron ore mine until the company bought him out. His dad got him the job out of high school, and he quickly developed a reputation for industriousness. Eagerly accepted a management position and excelled at helping the mining conglomerate more effectively exploit union labor. Not much of a talker, except when giving stern lessons to underlings. Can be a huge asshole, but will always help you fix your car.