If you are not of adult age or have a faint heart, do not read what follows. I’m going to talk about underwear.
To be exact, this is about underwear and the Super Bowl. This year’s event, Super Bowl XLIV, will go down as one of the most exciting football games. And the halftime show was pretty good: no wardrobe malfunctions and no guys grabbing themselves where a guy shouldn’t be grabbing himself.
As usual, viewers wanted to see the clever ads that businesses spent millions of dollars to create and more millions of dollars to air. More than 100 million people watched – and they saw the most sophomoric collection of ads to appear in one television event in memory.
Although there was some variety to the ads, most seemed to fall into three main categories:
1. Women dressed in clothes that left little to the imagination who threatened to do something that would leave nothing to the imagination.
2. People in a state of near ecstasy upon sight of a can of beer.
3. Men of not especially impressive physique wandering around in their underwear.
Frankly, I expect to see the first two categories. But the third category was new. And it proved that merely being new does not make something special – at least not in a positive way.
When I was an athlete many, many years ago in junior high and high school, the boys’ locker room was the bastion of sophomoric humor. Lots of bad jokes, teasing, tasteless stories and misconceptions about the facts of life. I always wondered what happened to some of the tackier of my teammates.
Now I know; they produce ads for the Super Bowl.
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