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Female Sportscasters: The Death Knell of Machisimo?Roger von Bütow Salem-News.com's ODD MAN OUT
“I want you to get up right now, sit up, go to your windows, open them and stick your head out and yell - 'I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!' Things have got to change.” Fictional TV anchorman Howard Beale’s speech in the movie NETWORK (1976)
(LAGUNA BEACH) - Guys, who wants to dawg paddle over to the shallow end of the Salem-News online pool for a while? Tired of all of those intellectually demanding, complex articles, the ones which after you’ve read them and the mind-bending comments sections that follow, you only succeed in giving yourself a migraine-sized headache?
Take a breather, brother, have a Bud or light up some bud (or both), you deserve a break today and I don’t mean a steroid-laden, cardboard-tasting, PETA-opposed McDonald’s Burger. Want less, not more depth? Congrats, you’ve arrived.
This ODD MAN OUT has a reputation to uphold, so like Rod Serling (Twilight Zone) I offer you common pulp, a ditty about a disturbing trend that’s been burning in my head for quite some time. Consider this my XY Chromosome Valentine’s Day gift to my straight, albeit increasingly whipped brethren. I'll get back to environmental interventions later.
Pop psychologists and Oprah have been indoctrinating, actually hectoring or brainwashing men in the past 35 years or so (since the advent of feminism) as they appear hell-bent on erasing the differences between the sexes….All 3, 4 or is it 5 of them, I lose track.
I’m a “try-sexual” and with all due respect and apologies to gays, I’m hopelessly hetero. I’ll try anything once but only with my very girly honey-bunny. And yes, I’ve confirmed her physiological orientation, thank you very much for your concern in advance. Any So Cal college student, swabbie or Marine who was fooled by a“Lola” transsexual) hooker in a Tijuana bar back in 1964 knows what I’m talking about. ‘Nuff said.
Anyway, legislative actions have followed the trendoids. New or revised laws intended to level the playing fields in every element of our lives in domains like sports and jobs have proliferated in an attempt to recalibrate, to force egalitarianism. You know, that “ …with freedom and justice forall”.
We’re a relatively young country, so it’s debatable as to whether Americans have passed the pre-pubescence phase, and for these New Age thinkers I assume their intentions to progress some form of maturity are honorable, but I’d challenge real, not-girly-men to ask themselves instead of their lovers “Was It Good For You?”
In the award-winning song “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?” Paula Jones (a traitorous woman, no less) laments the loss of tough, rugged men in America. Why was such a plaintive, mournful appeal about the modern American culture of increasingly feminized men such a big hit? Because it expressed truth, it resonated at some interesting and not even subliminal level of perception with both men and women. Competent, take-charge men are being replaced by narcissistic, androgenous metrosexuals who, though they grow stubbly, rough beards, are as apt to dwell in front of a cosmetics mirror, to shave their chests and nether regions as their ladies. Straight women no longer wonder what a straight guy is wearing, boxers or briefs. Now it's g-string or thong?
Who had the bright idea of phasing in eye candy as announcers in formerly macho sports venues in the last decade? What in the Hell are/were these corporate media imbeciles thinking? Why have they now limited, almost stopped panning the sideline cameras to dwell on those high-kicking pneumatic Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders and their attendant, bulging rear cheek cleavage and camel toes? This stereotype of has become a commentator or analyst, but why? Did you, Mr. Mucho Macho Couch Potato, demand that they do that? Did your girlfriend or wife tell them they had to, or else she’d withhold favors?
I confess, I’m guilty as charged. Like an AA meeting (so I hear), I’ve got to confess my addiction, I've got a terminal case of chauvinist pig-ism. I’m a nostalgic kind of guy, and in the now-distant dinosaur past, if I wanted“T & A” I could (a) Wait for my Playboy to arrive, (b) Go down to the beach on a sunny day and “perv” on the squeekers (young bikini clad chicky-poos), or (c) Cajole my current main squeeze into a night-at-home dinner followed by dessert: A personalized, one man audience pole dance.
Sorry, I’m just not the strip club type; not in my choice of alternatives, and around here it’s a 20 mile round trip pilgrimmage minimum---That’s just plain, and unfortunately very expensive, desperation. Then too there's that going green, carbon footprint thing via the gasoline required. Plus you’ve got to hope there’s a bank open on the way that’ll give you $100 in singles for the table dance(s).
Now where was I? Oh yeah, female sportcasters. Am I the only dude to notice that the networks don’t really hire “Plain Janes” for the sports venues? No, they procure way above average, dreamy visual divas who range from the lean to the obviously voluptuous, the ones you formerly ogled in your garage magazines who are now interviewing your idols!
And c’mon men, admit it, haven’t you at least once been compassionately disturbed when seeing a coach or player coming off a court or field during a break, his team losing by 40 points, get asked one of those Dr. Phil questions: “How do you feel about getting your jockstrap handed to you in the first half? What are you going to tell the hopeless guys in the locker room even though no one, I repeat no one has EVER come back from that kind of deficit?”
The screechy women stabbing that microphone into their faces with fire engine red perfect nails are immaculately quaffed, perfectly peticured, glossy lipsticked and fashionably dressed----And they expect that a man in the middle of a testosterone-washed battle, a man who might lose his job, a man thoroughly pissed at the nationally televised humiliation of an ass-whooping in progress to make nice, give audiences a calm, quaint touchy-feely quote as if in therapy? “Uh-huh, and so would you like to share why you feel that way?”
Of course I know I’m shallow. But that’s just it. I like that part of me and my life. I like being able to have something left that helps define masculinity, something special. Even if the guy doing the interview or the analysis looks like Woody Allen, could never have played a competitive down of football, an inning of baseball or a quarter of basketball, never got his bell rung or his mouth smashed in a fist fight, he’s a guy, get it Oprah-phytes? He at least had a friend who did incur a concussion from contact, and I don’t mean the elbow-jostling at a Neiman-Marcus purse sale counter.
Forget My Fair Lady and Professor Higgins “Why can't a woman be more like a man?” Who said that men want women to be like themselves, and why should I feel guilty if I don’t? So what if it helps me define my masculinity by watching the Super Bowl in a room awash in testosterone, I’m not really hurting anyone. It's my ritualistic rite.
And puh-lease don’t give me that BS about sharing experiences for a better relationship. God, I’m frikking sick of hearing that crap. I’ll promise to never watch Steel Magnolias or Titanic or Howard’s End if someone would just stop parading smoking hotties during my male-bonding experiences.
And as for the ladies, has anybody bothered to poll them? They still end up feeling like they’re competing for a man’s attention, maybe now it’s worse because these pin-up types are ubiquitous on every station. In my opinion this conundrum propagates a false sense of equality as well. The networks are still using hunky-bod women as an enticement while they feign new social values in their broadcast team composition---Or should I be writing “make-up”?
A good solution is to require the hiring of women as technicians and the other media employees for female sports venues. Render unto Venus or Serena or Cheryl Miller that which is theirs. Let women compete with other women, let women watch women perform, let women criticize women’s athletic efforts. Croidy, they can run all of the feminine hygiene or menopause medicine commercials they want at that time. I’m not too happy about watching menstrual ads during my dinner hour anyway, and for that matter who is?
PS: They can dump that bogus “Ladies Lingerie Football League” while they’re at it. I’ll either pick up my Playboy or borrow my girl’s Victoria's Secret Catalogue when I want that---Or properly grovel, beg her on my knees for a pole dance when I want that particular type of less is More” simulacrum.
I say we return, yes embrace and regress to the days of yore. If I want sexual stimulation I’ll watch the now systemic weather girl segment on my local news feed. Nowthere’s some hot stuff, baby, this evening, some hot stuff baby tonight. And there’s something the National Organization of Women can remedy if they’re bored or have run out of level playing fields and windmills to charge.
So guys, I implore you, stop being so damned PC, stop letting our communal masculinity evaporate before our very eyes, in the presence of our Cheetos and brew-skis, in situations where you formerly could belch, fart and scratch or rearrange your goonies with abandon. It’s a proven fact that girls lust after, are attracted to problematic, slobbish bad boys. They just don’t usually marry them, but hey, if you’ve been divorced a few times what’s the big loss there?
Men: Define yourselves, don’t let the other half of the species---Or those of your own kind who in fear abdicate, do it for you. Carpe Scrotum. For me? I’ll become that brand of egalitarian when they tear the TV remote control from my cold, dead, chauvinist pig, cloven-hoofed paws. Vive la différence!
Launched in 2010, Odd Man Out is the creation of Roger von Bütow and his OMO columns are written exclusively for Salem-News-com. Born and raised in the LA Harbor area, son of a German immigrant father, he's been in Orange County for 45 years and is a 38-year resident of Laguna Beach, Ca. In 1998, he began his professional career in environmental review processes (CEQA, NEPA, MND, MND and EIR/EIS). He's a rare mix of cross-trained builder, writer and consultant as he brings his extensive construction experiences dating back to 1972 into his eco-endeavors. He has tremendous field and technical expertise in successful watershed restorations, plus wastewater, urban runoff, water quality monitoring/improvements and hydrologic mechanisms. He's built everything from commercial spas to award-winning private residences, and provided peer review and consultant analyses for single homes, subdivisions and upscale resorts.
His resumé is extensive, try an online GOOGLE search of his personal journey and historical accomplishments. His consultation fees are reasonable and if you've got a major project that alarms you, that needs creative intervention, then he's your man. His credentials and "CV" can be provided upon request.
Contact him at his office: (949) 715.1912 or drop him an email: email@example.com
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