I was watching the Cowgirls-Aints blowout and attempting to keep my eyelids from collapsing, when another commercial beating NFL fans over the head about domestic violence came on. Fuckin Ray Rice, why couldn’t you have acted like a good husband and abused your chick at home? The NFL fumbled his tape to the public, and now they’re building an endless pile-up of desperate and lame solutions to try and restore their previous reputation as a league of devoted family men.
A succession of minor celebrities, the majority of which star in TV shows that either pre-empt or follow the NFL broadcast, appeared to murmer indignation at male-on-female ass whuppings. Over and over again, close-ups of D-listers soiled my television as they droned, “No more.” The more they said it, the more I agreed. Yes, please no more. No more of the NFL’s hypocrisy and totally transparent attempt to maintain their profit margins. Incidentally, the only “no more” the fat bitch in the ad should be worried about is no more cake.
The real life mutant football league has been scrambling like Mike Vick in his prime to try and elude the historically atrocious publicity they’ve rightfully enjoyed the last several weeks. Now it seems like every other game they’re trotting out some player to talk about his kids or charity work or some other eye roll-inducing and previously insignificant manure. Sideline reporters are as useless as tits on a boar, but now they’ve been reduced from mere air-headed boobs (literally) to propaganda-spewing puppets in the NFL’s desperate all-out media blitz. I don’t need to hear about some back-up punter’s dying grandmother every broadcast to prove to me that all NFL players doesn’t treat their loved ones like punching bags. Everyone knows a few bruised apples can’t spoil the whole barrel.
And speaking of barrels, it sure is a barrel of laughs to be forced to hear about something as uplifting as domestic abuse for the rest of eternity when I’m just trying to watch a goddamn football game. I certainly don’t remember any giant media campaigns for rape during one of the NFL’s—or any other pro sports’—toilet paper-length list of sexual assault scandals. The NFL’s just lucky that nobody got raped on an elevator, then it would really be serious.
Just like the whole head injury debacle, the NFL only pretends to give a shit about anything other than money when bad publicity starts affecting their bottom line. If Chris Nowinski had never gained so much attention for his concussion investigations, or the NFL had erased the tape Nixon-style that depicted Rice’s love tap to his future wife, the league would still be enjoying brain injuries and spousal abuse galore. At least it’s hard for players to beat their wives when they can’t remember where they live.