Yesterday was the first Sunday without football. There was nothing on except for meaningless regular season NBA games, another disappointing final round for Tiger (are we the only ones who don't like "Lefty"?), and "The Wedding Planner." Sad times. Rather than spend time with our family or, worse yet, doing something productive, we decided it was the perfect time to pay tribute to the most perfect thing about this past season - the Sunday NFL Countdown Open.
Everybody knows Sunday NFL Countdown. It's one of ESPN's flagship franchises, a football preview show that has become so bloated and overflowing with talking heads that it no longer fits on a single set. The standard "Desk Set" is now complimented by the "Lounge" where everyone chills on couches without ties thinking about how drunk Joe Namath was when he hit on Suzie Kolber. (In fairness, it does beat the the old "Mort and Shefter Share a Stool." set-up.) Even if the show itself is highly flawed (see "The Mayne Event" which has now run approximately five years too long. Ed. Note: "The Mayne Event' began in 2005.), the open is absolutely perfect. So perfect that in only 47 seconds it manages to provide you, the viewer, with all the information needed to understand who the main characters really are. It's a triumph of exposition. Here's what we glean:
Tom Jackson: Meet Tom Jackson, the only person on this show who does any fucking work. Because his career was less noteworthy than his colleagues, Tom is driven by an insecurity that requires him to actually know what he's talking about, a rare element in this show. His professionalism reminds us of a time when ESPN cared about what it said, not just how loud it could say it.
Mike Ditka: If there is one word that best describes Mike Ditka it is, of course: Ditka. Ditka is more of an image than a real person, someone this tough and real can't be bothered to do things like look at stats or watch film. He's got cigars to smoke and beers to drink. And a gut to consult. A paper and pen (Ditka doesn't erase) are all he needs to compose another blistering episode of "Stop It." Ditka.
Keyshawn Johnson: The embodiment of the ethic of "style over substance." The quality of insight spewing from Keyshawn's preternaturally large mouth doesn't matter as long as his pocket square matches his tie. And his socks. Keyshawn is a star. We're all just flashlights.
Chris Carter: CC is gong to run the stairs and do the drills so he can let everyone know exactly what it's like to run the stairs and do the drills. And not from some distant memory. CC is our direct connection to the game. And he's got the verbiage to prove it. Deuces, homey.
Mort and Schefter: Mort and Shefter have been exiled to the ship from 2001: A Space Oddessey with an apparently endless supply of Blackberrys. With the help of HAL 9000 not even the tiniest tidbit of NFL "news" goes unreported (like the news that Peyton Manning has still not be released by the Colts. But it could happen at absolutely any minute so stay tuned because if you don't, you might know 2.5 seconds after that guy down the hall who follows Shefter on twitter). This can only end with one of them dying from Blackberry-related blunt force trauma.
Chris Berman: He's kind of a big deal. People know him. He's very important. He has many leather-bound books. And you're with him, leather. Boomer is the real life Ron Burgundy.
(As an added bonus, the open also features the rock stylings of 137-year old Joe Walsh. Presumably to bring in the youth audience. The song is the aptly-named "Funk # 50" (because its so damn funky). For anyone unfamiliar with early 70's tracks by The James Gang tracks, "Funk #50" is the sequel to, you guessed it, "Funk #49.")
No comments:
Post a Comment