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NFL Draft proves to be reality TV at its very worst
By: Bruce Burton, The Press-Tribune
Sunday, May 6, 2007
These are some of the many things I love about my life-long mini obsession with sports.
Because of my mini obsession I may be the only person in America who has never seen an episode of American Idol. In fact, it's possible I haven't even seen one minute of one show. If I have seen American Idol, it was no doubt a few years ago and it's long since been purged from my memory banks, so it hardly counts.
Because of my mini obsession, I have no idea who Anna Nicole Smith's baby daddy is, or even if Anna Nicole Smith is still dead. Personally I hope she's alive again, because it was always easier to ignore her before she died.
Because of my mini obsession, when I hear the name Paris Hilton I think of a French hotel. When I hear someone say, "I love Sanjaya," I think it must be a drunk person trying to say, "I love Sangria."
Because of my mini obsession, I've been able to stay on the fringe of pop culture trash and tabloid titillation without diving head first into the muck. At least, that's what I've told myself for the past few years.
Then I watched some of the NFL draft over the weekend, and I realized there is nothing on television that's trashier, muckier or more tabloid like than a draft. It's Who Wants To Be a Millionaire on steroids - sometimes literally.
Anyone who watched any of the 12,000 hours of coverage by ESPN and NFL Network Saturday saw what has become a recurring theme of NFL drafts, the fall of a potential No. 1 overall pick. Two years ago it was University of California quarterback Aaron Rodgers who was projected as a possible top pick, but was eventually selected 24th overall by the Green Bay Packers. Last year it was USC quarterback Matt Leinart, projected as a possible No. 1 for almost two years, but eventually taken 10th overall by the Arizona Cardinals. This year the Chosen One was Notre Dame quarterback Brady Quinn, who "fell" all the way to the No. 22 spot, and as a result "lost" as much as $30 million in projected salary and signing bonus money. As Quinn watched player after player get picked ahead of him, ESPN's Suzy Kolber sat in his lap while asking him questions like, "Are you gonna cry yet," and "How does it feel to be a loser."
OK, I made that last part up, but she might as well have asked Quinn those questions for all the breathing room the networks gave him as he waited to be picked. Look, I despise all of the attention given to Notre Dame as much as the next sports fan, and I suspect Quinn may be over-hyped as a result. But the man won brownie points with me when he told one questioner he couldn't lose $30 million he never had.
I like the work Washington Post sportswriter and ESPN talking head Tony Kornheiser does, but when he compared watching Quinn's situation Saturday to watching a car wreck, it was drama more manufactured than anything on a so-called reality TV show. No, the only car wreck was the networks' coverage of Quinn's situation.
Or better, their coverage was like watching Milli Vanilli search for weapons of mass destruction while singing forgotten 1980's singer Alexander O'Neal's biggest hit song - a song called, "Fake." This is what my one-time safe haven of a sports world has come to; when the draft ended Sunday I felt I needed a shower. Instead, I Googled Anna Nicole Smith and found her baby daddy's name: Larry Birkhead.
Suddenly I feel Ze****lly clean.
[Edit: why is the brand name of soap + "fully" automatically being filtered?
]
[Edit #2: nevermind, I got it. ]
By: Bruce Burton, The Press-Tribune
Sunday, May 6, 2007
These are some of the many things I love about my life-long mini obsession with sports.
Because of my mini obsession I may be the only person in America who has never seen an episode of American Idol. In fact, it's possible I haven't even seen one minute of one show. If I have seen American Idol, it was no doubt a few years ago and it's long since been purged from my memory banks, so it hardly counts.
Because of my mini obsession, I have no idea who Anna Nicole Smith's baby daddy is, or even if Anna Nicole Smith is still dead. Personally I hope she's alive again, because it was always easier to ignore her before she died.
Because of my mini obsession, when I hear the name Paris Hilton I think of a French hotel. When I hear someone say, "I love Sanjaya," I think it must be a drunk person trying to say, "I love Sangria."
Because of my mini obsession, I've been able to stay on the fringe of pop culture trash and tabloid titillation without diving head first into the muck. At least, that's what I've told myself for the past few years.
Then I watched some of the NFL draft over the weekend, and I realized there is nothing on television that's trashier, muckier or more tabloid like than a draft. It's Who Wants To Be a Millionaire on steroids - sometimes literally.
Anyone who watched any of the 12,000 hours of coverage by ESPN and NFL Network Saturday saw what has become a recurring theme of NFL drafts, the fall of a potential No. 1 overall pick. Two years ago it was University of California quarterback Aaron Rodgers who was projected as a possible top pick, but was eventually selected 24th overall by the Green Bay Packers. Last year it was USC quarterback Matt Leinart, projected as a possible No. 1 for almost two years, but eventually taken 10th overall by the Arizona Cardinals. This year the Chosen One was Notre Dame quarterback Brady Quinn, who "fell" all the way to the No. 22 spot, and as a result "lost" as much as $30 million in projected salary and signing bonus money. As Quinn watched player after player get picked ahead of him, ESPN's Suzy Kolber sat in his lap while asking him questions like, "Are you gonna cry yet," and "How does it feel to be a loser."
OK, I made that last part up, but she might as well have asked Quinn those questions for all the breathing room the networks gave him as he waited to be picked. Look, I despise all of the attention given to Notre Dame as much as the next sports fan, and I suspect Quinn may be over-hyped as a result. But the man won brownie points with me when he told one questioner he couldn't lose $30 million he never had.
I like the work Washington Post sportswriter and ESPN talking head Tony Kornheiser does, but when he compared watching Quinn's situation Saturday to watching a car wreck, it was drama more manufactured than anything on a so-called reality TV show. No, the only car wreck was the networks' coverage of Quinn's situation.
Or better, their coverage was like watching Milli Vanilli search for weapons of mass destruction while singing forgotten 1980's singer Alexander O'Neal's biggest hit song - a song called, "Fake." This is what my one-time safe haven of a sports world has come to; when the draft ended Sunday I felt I needed a shower. Instead, I Googled Anna Nicole Smith and found her baby daddy's name: Larry Birkhead.
Suddenly I feel Ze****lly clean.
[Edit: why is the brand name of soap + "fully" automatically being filtered?
][Edit #2: nevermind, I got it.
]LINK
