I can’t even believe I am devoting precious keyboard strokes to even discuss the spectacle that is lebron james. I am so disgusted with him I’m not even going to capitalize his name. Okay, maybe I’m being a little too hard on the guy… it’s not his fault he’s the newest Brittany Spears of the sports world.
Last year I had equal disgust for Brett Favre [pronounced favor, not farve. anyone with half a brain can see that there’s no way in hell farve can phonetically be derived from Favre. see how the v comes before the r. whatever genius. i don’t care how hot you are for an old guy- phonetics are phonetics.]
I mean, why do they feel the need to drag out their oh so important decisions of where they are going to play with their balls for weeks on end? They know WHERE before they even start talking about it. They are going to the place where the most money is being thrown at them. Have you ever heard of strippers holding press conferences as to which pole they’re going to gyrate on? I’m pretty sure whoever’s making it rain the hardest is going to get the lap dance.* Is the world of professional sports any different? I’m thinking not. So why the hell do they get so much attention?
Here’s my ultimate problem… I am a woman that is marginally interested in sports and married to a man that is obsessed with them. Do you understand what that means for me? If his brothers, dad, friends, fellow card-carrying testosterone junkies are not handy, I have to hear about the ins and outs of whatever latest sports related soap opera is on satellite radio. As much as I like to sit and veg to a football game on a dreary fall day, I don’t want to hear about the rest of their crappy lives. They are overpaid drama queens that care more about the money than their talent.
*Don’t ask me how I know so much about strippers. I saw it on an episode of Made or something. OK?!