I’m not going to pretend like I understand sports. Or even like
them. (Tetherball being the only exception) But what keeps me entertained when
I watch a football game are the interviews, and the commentators. Because both
of them have absolutely nothing to say.
A perky blonde shoves a microphone into the face of a
sweaty, dejected quarterback whose game plan just went to hell in a hand basket:
“What’s your plan for making a comeback in the next quarter?” “Um, well, we
just need to, uh, pull together, and uh, get the ball back.”
I can give the guy a break because WHAT ELSE ARE YOU
SUPPOSED TO SAY TO SUCH AN INANE QUESTION.
Or, in the case of a sweaty, triumphant quarterback, “You
sure did a great job out there today. What’s your secret?” “Uh, well, we just
worked really hard as a team, and uh, we played a great game.”
What earthshattering insight. What hard-hitting journalism. The
heavens have been opened. I will henceforth commit myself to the worship of the
gods of the pigskin!
NOT.
As a disinterested viewer of this great American sport,
these interviews are doing nothing to increase my understanding or appreciation
of the game. You wouldn’t think it would be that hard to come up with some
original questions that would really draw the audience into the drama. But I’m
not feeling drawn. I’m feeling like I want to go get a refill on my
nachos.
Equally uninspiring are the well-dressed sports commentators
with big smiles, swanky voices and pastel-colored ties who get paid the big
bucks to make elementary-level observations about how the game is going.
“Well Robert, it certainly looks like Johnson has a big
opportunity to prove himself today. What does he need to do to pull a win for
the team?”
“Well Bob, it all comes down to the basics. Play a clean
game, keep the technique sharp and be a team player. That’s what Johnson is
known for, and I expect we’ll see it on the field today.”
How about stepping it up a little in the originality
department and asking dejected quarterback number 47 if that fourth quarter
blunder represents the pain and rejection of his troubled love life?!
Or, you know. Something along those lines.
During the Olympics, there was a specific reporter at the swimmming pools who always asked the STUPIDEST questions. It got to the point that my roommates and I booed her whenever she appeared. Seriously, how do you get such a lucrative job and still have no idea how to ask interesting and appropriate questions?
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