Kick Out the Sports!
by Bob Cook

Bob Cook's weekly ruminations on sports appear Mondays in Flak.

Becoming a paid celebrity endorser is one of the perks of sports fame. Companies shovel out helmetload after helmetload of money in hope the masses will identify their product as being used or associated with an athlete, even if the growing list of retired football players pitching Levitra makes one wonder whether the side effect of an NFL career is the inability to develop or maintain an erection.

This corporate hypothesis extends even into products you couldn't conceivably imagine an athlete using. For example, a war-machine supplier called Proxity Digital Networks recently announced it had retained ESPN TV analyst and ex-quarterback Joe Theismann as its celebrity endorser. The company sells drone-type helium airships and hand-launched micro-airships to conduct surveillance or to remotely drop off bombs.

As of yet, there are no plans to have Theismann on TV pitching "the only drone-type helium airship in my house." Instead his job is to present Proxity's Aerosphere SA-76 drone and CyberScout surveillance device and bomb launcher, and serve as a media spokesman at defense industry trade shows and investment events.

As celebrity endorsements go, that sounds like a complicated job. Theismann's football career was notable for three things. One, quarterbacking the Washington Redskins to two Super Bowls. Two, wearing a single-bar helmet after almost every player had given it up. Three, having his leg snapped into two No. 2 pencils by Lawrence Taylor. The only way Theismann would be remotely qualified as a knowledgeable pitchman is if someone at Proxity heard the George Carlin "Baseball vs. Football" routine, and figured Theismann was a full-blown, war-tested "field general."

Certainly, Proxity must figure that the world's weapons procurers, even those not from the United States ("Achmed, come to the Proxity demo — it's the guy whose leg got split into two No. 2 pencils!") will flock to hear Theismann over another presentation by a twisted military geek. That's an assumption on my part because Proxity's public relations agency never called me back after I asked to talk to Proxity about Theismann.

Theismann's presentations may go something like this:

Israeli arms procurer: Mr. Theismann, I understand the CyberScout can be carried into the field to launch stealth technology or be used for, in your company's words, hunter-killer missions. Why use only one device?

Theismann: I'm glad you asked me that. When you lead your group into battle, you need an item that can audible on the fly, allowing you to call the right play that can penetrate the defense. You don't want to call a bomb when you need a sneak.

African mercenary: Can you explain how the drone device works?

Theismann: I'm glad you asked me that. I can't tell you how it works, but I can tell you where — on ESPN Sunday Night Football! Ha ha!

Lebanese government official (under sounds of manly, sycophantic laughter): What the hell is he talking about?

Theismann just started the Proxity gig a few months ago, so it's too soon to say whether small dirigibles with Theismann's name will float over the world's hot spots, or whether a US lieutenant will tell his charges in Iraq, "Let's give Fallujah a little of the ol' Theismann."

But if Theismann doesn't work out for Proxity, the company should go for a celebrity with just as tangential a connection to war, or for that matter, to football, and to reality — Leon, the prima donna football player from the Budweiser commercials.

Leon's satirical portrayal of the stereotypical selfish athlete, a stereotype that brings an especially warm heart to every white person entertained by shiftless Negros, develops out of his unwillingness to put himself in harm and blame's way, as well as a propensity to speak of himself in the third person. Leon's shtick, which reportedly is being developed into a Leon-intensive sitcom, would dovetail perfectly with Proxity's concentration on remote and pilotless devices.

Sri Lankan military attache: Leon, why would you use a device that isn't always controlled by a person in the field?

Leon: Leon is glad you asked Leon that. Leon understands why a soldier would not want to go into battle. Leon is dedicated to any product or service that doesn't mess up anybody's pretty face, especially Leon's. Leon knows there are times when you have to sit on the bench, observing, scowling, while the battle rages in front of you. And Leon knows from experience that if you do something yourself, the media's going to try to pin it on you if something goes wrong. If Leon could send an Aerosphere SA-76 to run routes and catch passes, Leon would.

Lebanese government official (under sounds of manly, sycophantic laughter): What the hell is he talking about?

E-mail Bob Cook at bobc@flakmag.com.