| | You don't want to think about Vince McMahon running a professional
football league, but like the little dog in the corner of the painting,
like a 31-car pileup on the interstate, like a downwind tire fire, or
Monica Lewinsky for Jenny Craig, you just can't help but look.
|  | | Vince McMahon has jumped into the football ownership game. |
Yes, he says it's going to be good "old-fashioned smashmouth football
but with cutting edge marketing and promotion values."
On the other hand, he also has given us simulated kidnappings and
vehicular mayhem, women wrestling in chocolate pudding and a character
named "Mr. Ass."
That's right. Chocolate pudding.
In other words, there is no reason why we should take McMahon at his
word here. I mean, one of his employees named (perfectly enough) Basil
DeVito cited the success of God-fearing quarterback Kurt Warner as one of
the examples of overlooked players the XFL wants to attract.
That's right. God.
McMahon said he expected skepticism from the traditional sports news
media (as opposed to, say, the Wrestling Observer), but we wouldn't do
that. We have seen him make household names of such gentle souls as Chyna
and Hunter Hearst Helmsley. We have seen him make villains (and therefore
stars) of his son Shane and daughter Stephanie. We have seen him dominate
the cable television ratings, although critics still lean toward "The
Sopranos" for the critical praise, largely because Lorraine Bracco has not
had to wrestle Nancy Marchand in a vat of treacle.
That's right. Lorraine Bracco.
What we have here in Vince is someone who has made himself a
billionaire by playing on our eagerness to know the con while we're falling
for it. Now how is that different from watching Art Modell, Bob McNair or
Paul Allen work a city for a new stadium? How is that different, for that
matter, from watching Deion Sanders work a press conference? I mean, other
than steroid-enriched sociopaths hitting each other with conference tables?
The only difference is that, while Modell, McNair, Allen and Neon do
it with a straight face, thereby insulting your intelligence, McMahon does
it with a smirk, thereby making you feel less of a sucker while you're
allowing him to make you one anyway.
That's right. Conference tables.
In short, Vince McMahon really is crazy to try to do serious football
now that he's cornered the market on pantomymetic mayhem. After all, a
billion doesn't go as far as it used to, especially when there are blood
relatives already budgeting the inheritance.
On the other hand, we're crazy to think he couldn't actually pull it
off. He took his father's company, which ran promotions in the Northeast
corner of the country, and made it a semi-global phenomenon. He took a
small syndicated wrestling show, which he often paid stations to run, and
turned it into the best-rated cable show in the country. He went from being
just another carny barker into someone who, like Joseph Stalin, Albert
Einstein, Pokemon and Steve Forbes, has made it to the cover of Time
Magazine.
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“ |
What we have here in Vince is someone who has made himself a
billionaire by playing on our eagerness to know the con while we're falling
for it. Now how is that different from watching Art Modell, Bob McNair or
Paul Allen work a city for a new stadium? How is that different, for that
matter, from watching Deion Sanders work a press conference? I mean, other
than steroid-enriched sociopaths hitting each other with conference tables?
” |
That's right. Joseph Stalin.
So you go on and laugh at Vince McMahon, putative football
commissioner. Have yourself a thigh-slapping, commode-hugging good time at
his expense. But consider the following:
He doesn't have to deal with 32 owners, any of whom think the NFL would
run better if he were in charge.
He doesn't have a World Wrestling Federation Players Association.
He doesn't have stars in his promotion being arrested for murder on the
night of Wrestlemania.
He does have employees who say what John Rocker said to Sports
Illustrated, but only because they're all reading off the script he
provided.
He doesn't have point-shaving worries, because there are no points in
wrestling, and there isn't much money in shaving a match that has already
been fixed.
He doesn't have to ask the Canadian government for subsidies to keep the
Ottawa Senators in business.
He doesn't need Stone Cold Steve Austin the way David Stern needs Michael
Jordan.
Now tell me that, in their heart of hearts, Stern, Paul Tagliabue, Bud
Selig and Gary Bettman don't envy Vince McMahon, just a little bit.
And tell me that Vince McMahon doesn't have an impact on society as a
whole when model Naomi Campbell can plead guilty to a charge of beating an
assistant with a telephone. Heck, wrestlers beat each other with telephone
booths. Yeah, Vince knows his business, all right.
That's right. Basil DeVito.
Ray Ratto of the San Francisco Examiner is a regular contributor to ESPN.com. | |
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