Astounded
December 9th, 2006 | by LA Bob |
“It seems that no matter how much NFL football I see, how much media coverage I absorb, how much sideshow humor I witness by the likes of Terrell Owens, Chad Johnson, Bill Parcells, Souf’-Eas’ Jerome or Steve Smith – these people never fail to, as a group, astound me.
Growing up, the immortal giants and titans of the game were 25 feet tall, glowed in the dark, and seemed indestructible to a small boy. TV newsreels would literally stop a kid’s heart while the touchdown pass was in the air, even before the days when Ed Sabol’s NFL Films cameramen figured out how to follow the flight of the ball and Ed set the whole thing to music.
The music to a kid’s ear was the words of a Bob Kelley or Dick Enberg, filling the radio airwaves with the heroics of Bob Waterfield, Norm VanBrocklin, Bill Wade – hitting on huge scoring passes to Elroy Hirsch and Tom Fears. Handing off to Jon Arnett and Dick Bass. The Fearsome Foursome dominating the line of scrimmage and keeping the opposition at bay.
Astounding.
To this day, there are sights and sounds that blow the wispy smoke of childhood memories back to life, and for fleeting moments all too few, I remember how it felt to be a kid and be in love with a game and be astounded by its heroes.
Then, sadly, the memories and feelings are gone as fast as they came. I find myself grown up, back in front of the 50” HD bigscreen, staring at a fool named “Ocho Cinco”, jumping around with a grinning face full of fake gold teeth and looking like a 1959 Cad-O-Lac Pimpmobile. Followed by another clown named “Souf-eas’ Jerome” (real name: Clinton Portis) dressed in drag with giant sunglasses, a pink feather boa and a wig-hat to match.
Can these be football players? These morons ain’t no 25 feet tall. These bozos might glow in the dark some, but only from the makeup. Unlike my childhood heroes, these modern-day examples of the NFL’s “finest” are a whole lot more like a whole different class of “athletes” from the past. One Freddie Blassie used to stomp around the ring throwing autographed photo cards of himself at the fans. Gorgeous George had long blond hair filled with gold bobby-pins that he would pull out and throw at the audience.
Even as a kid, it was pretty easy to tell who were the heroes and who were the phonies.
Nowadays, it’s not so easy. NFL now stands for the Numbskull Football League, where anybody with a pocket full of picture cards or a hair-do loaded with golden bobby-pins can make a name for himself, get media coverage and free face-time on television, act like an idiot and essentially cheapen the game of American Football into what seems likely to become a sideshow to the new Main Event: a bad imitation of 1950s professional wrestling.
Choke-holds, flying double bodyslams – the works.
What astounds me now are two things: (1)That there is any respect left for the game or the media that covers it, and: (2)That the American football fan just sucks it up like free beer and says NOTHING.
Astounding.
©2006 La Bob
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