It's just flat wrong. Randy Moss scores a touchdown and pantomimes mooning the crowd. Shame on him! Terrell Owens scores a TD and rips down the opposing fans' banners. Disgusting! Really, I'm sick to my stomach.
How come they never use any of my ideas?
Remember the good old days? When guys would celebrate the joy of six with clever stuff--making cellphone calls, signing footballs with Sharpies pulled from socks, shaking pom-poms, doing 300-pound Beyoncé imitations, holding signs begging not to be fined?
Now we're down to crap that wouldn't make the final cut for Talent Night at the North Walla Walla Middle School. Minnesota's Moss rubbing his gluteus on the goalpost? Please. That's offensive. Not from a taste standpoint. From an entertainment standpoint. "Next time," he told reporters last week, "I might shake my d---."
January 24, 2005
It's so sad when the good ones work blue.
The tight asses of the world have their boxers in a tangle over this stuff, but the real crime is how lame the celebrations have become. Even the Marcel Marceau of end-zone mimes--the Philadelphia Eagles' Owens--is out of ideas. We knew that in October, when he scored a touchdown and then did six sit-ups. Yawn. What's on The History Channel?
Visitors to his website try to help. They've suggested that when Owens gets back from his ankle injury, he should 1) raise the PAT net himself; 2) pretend to start a chain saw and cut down the goalpost; 3) run to the replay monitor, watch himself score and signal touchdown; and 4) bank the football off a backboard and through a basketball rim that a fan in an end-zone seat offered to bring.
The experts are chiming in. "How about taking out an imaginary day planner," says Cary Trivanovich, of American Academy of Mime, "and an imaginary pen and making a big imaginary check mark? Like, O.K., that's off my list!"
Las Vegas's Dave the Mime thinks somebody should "pretend he's getting an Oscar, mime the tearful speech, then walk off arm-in-arm with an imaginary escort, only to realize he's going the wrong way."
Uh, folks? You're missing the whole the-magnificence-of-me/the-sucking-noise-that-is-you tone to these things. Do you realize how much ego a player has to have to pretend nobody blocked, decoyed or threw the ball to him? Owens, for instance, is a guy who has this quote under his picture when he replies to your e-mails: "I luv me sum me!"
And so, because I love to see multimillionaires luving them sum them, I offer these suggestions, free of charge (though I retain all syndication rights):
Shinny up goalpost, stand on crossbar and yell at top of lungs, "I'm king of the world!"
Pull out video camera while still running and tape self scoring touchdown.
Wrap beaten defensive back in yellow police tape.
Call Donald Trump out of crowd and have beaten defensive back fired.
Drop ball and pretend to make out with self.
Drop ball and actually make out with stunning cheerleader.
Drop ball and make out with Joe Buck.
Pretend to shower, shave, slick back hair, suddenly turn to photographers and strike Abercrombie & Fitch catalog pose.
Put on hidden lab coat, pretend to pee into beaker, hold up to light and wipe forehead in relief at passing steroid test.
Have Justin Timberlake jump out of crowd, rip off part of your jersey, exposing nipple ring.
Pull needle out of sock, deflate football and hand to defeated coach.
Have fireman hose you down because you're so freaking hot.
Pull out BlackBerry and e-mail world about touchdown.
Leap into crowd, yank off helmet, fill with some lady's order of nachos and watch replay of TD on JumboTron.
Lay down red carpet and walk it like you're Jennifer Aniston.
Switch places with cameraman and film him spiking ball.
Pretend to hit winning tennis shot, leap imaginary net and heartily shake opponent's hand.
Mime hole in one, then buy a round of drinks for entire crowd.
Fake heart attack and holler, "I'm comin', Elizabeth!"
Grab bullhorn off a cop and holler, "Game's over, people! Time to go home! Drive carefully!"
Outline beaten safety's prone body in chalk.
Rip off jersey to reveal Superman costume underneath.
Rip off jersey to reveal giant tattoo of own face.
Have vat of molten bronze ready, bronze self.
Strap on jet pack and leave stadium.
Hang big banner from one upright to other that reads, mission accomplished! (O.K., so that one's been used.)
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The tight asses of the world have their boxers in a tangle over this stuff, but the real crime is how lame the celebrations have become.