Da Bearz. Really?
Am I the only one? Maybe not. But I’m one of the few who’s willing to be honest about it.
I think it’s ridiculous, tiresome, esthetically offensive, weirdly lewd, and hypocritical to boot.
I’m talking about breast cancer awareness month in the NFL. Pink shoes, pink sleeves, pink gloves, pink crotch towels, pink pacifiers*(?), pink helmet decorations. Stop it.
Why pink? Because pink is appropriately girlish? Or because nipples are pink? You decide.
I don’t doubt that NFL football players have a great devotion to the female breast. Otherwise they wouldn’t be continually arrested for sexual assaults in strip clubs and jealous violence against their girlfriends.
But what’s this October Pink thing all about, really? It’s a PR stunt, an incredibly forced and long-running one that detracts from the game without doing a scintilla of good.
Women in the NFL audience are unaware of breast cancer. They see Brian Urlacher wearing pink shoes and they think, “Hmmm, maybe I should get a mammogram.” Or their husband Chet sees Michael Vick’s pink sleeves and he thinks, “Hmmm. Maybe Marge needs a mammogram.”
Bullshit. It accomplishes nothing. The media are jam packed with stories about breast cancer. You can’t get through a normal day without hearing some story about sufferers, survivors, or even preemptive mastectomies.
But guess what? Prostate cancer kills almost as many men as breast cancer does women. Nobody talks about it but Don Imus, which is why nobody watches him anymore. Men are the prime audience for NFL football. Men are far less likely to go to doctors at all, get screened for prostate issues, or urge other people to do the same. But we don’t have a calendar month of bright blue shoes and big blue ribbons on the lapels of every sportscaster on TV. And I don’t want one. My prostate is my business. As a woman’s breasts are her business. (Who could think they enjoy pink NFL accessories that cause everyone in the room to stare at her bosom with a giant question mark on their face? That’s helpful? How exactly?)
Before you get offended, think about it. Of all the causes in the world, breasts are the single easiest one to get behind. Women want to keep them and men want to see and touch them. Being for them is a win/win. Unless you’re not a gullible idiot about the silliest things done in the name of breast health.
So? The NFL cares about breast cancer and literally nothing else. If it were just a stunt, as it so obviously is, I’d leave it alone. But I don’t watch the Chicago Bears or the Pittsburgh Steelers to see them dolled up in pink tights and pumps. I expect them to look like men playing a man’s game.
And I can’t get over the suspicion that a bunch of twenty-something men are acting out a coarse joke and laughing about it in their locker rooms. Pink is a porn term, you know. Or didn’t you?
Sick of the whole thing. I know a LOT of you agree with me. I understand if you don’t have the guts to admit it. Just know that I know that you’re out there.
*Yes. The Giants’ Victor Cruz is wearing a pink mouthpiece that looks exactly like a baby’s pacifier. Who’s he laughing at? The Giants generally are wearing enough pink to be hawking for a Vegas brothel. Think that’ll help them beat the flailing Eagles?
P.S. The NFL just ran a commercial featuring a woman claiming she hadn’t thought of checking herself until she saw the pink accessories. I don’t know about you, but my bullshit meter is pinned on 11.
I have loathed the pink clothes from the first time they did a few years back. The alleged inspiration for it makes the whole thing even worse, though, as it was Redskins owner Dan Snyder’s wife who got breast cancer and said, “Oh wow, even totally obnoxious, rich folks can get this cancer thing? THE PEOPLE HAVE TO KNOW!” Thus was born Pink Month. It’s gay as shit.
There’s even some Mexican restaurant down here that has hung all manner of pink ribbons & garbage around it. Because, naturally, as you’re stuffing your face with chips as you guzzle your fishbowl margarita, waiting your steak fajitas with sour cream to arrive, you’ll glance up at a pink ribbon and remember how badly you need a mammogram.
I also find all of the insufferable Susan Komen stuff rather specious. Not sure what good it actually does but you can’t get chicks to shut up about it and the media constantly barrages you with it. But you can’t say anything about it, otherwise that means you want *EVERYONE* to die from breast cancer. Mark Steyn mentioned once that we used to cure things, but now we merely “raise awareness” about them.
PS – bullshit meter? Nooooo, not at all. I think that adorable couple had never before heard of cancer or breasts until they saw the pink uniforms during a game. Just like that plucky lad whose life was saved by the amazing Obamcare insurance policy which he didn’t actually sign up for.
Women are just jealous because they don’t come pre-armed with that ticking time bomb doctors call “the prostate”.
The whole thing is stupid, effeminate, offensive in every aspect, pointless, manipulative, and as far as I can tell, completely inescapable. I do not watch, I do not support, I do not donate. Not until some sort of sanity or equity is to be had. Which apparently will be brought no sooner than the arrival of a certain equestrian quartet.
I almost forgot: You’re definitely not the only one with readership to hold the view.
I was very impressed with the blogger you linked. My wife said, “meh.” I pointed out how rare it is that someone of the younger generation can write, effectively and even literarily, beyond mere journalism and against the grain of convention.
She said it was too long.
I know my wife likes men and doesn’t idealize women, but there’s something here she’s not cottoning to. I have to think it about it more.
Oh, I love and adore JudgyBitch, even though there are a few topics on which we are unlikely to ever agree. Very few. She does go on a bit, it’s true, but at least it’s a flurry of scalpel and acid the whole way. She makes me laugh while sharpening my wit.