Offend it Like Beckham

I know, I'm stretching the limits of acceptable wordplay with that title. Anyway, recently, L.A. has seen the culmination of the much ballyhooed "arrival" of David Beckham, here to ignite U.S. soccer on fire, and his wife Posh. For I guess the last two months, we here in L.A. have been besieged by propaganda for this new royalty. Make no mistake, they qualify as A+ list celebs. But I am a sports fan, and I care INFINITELY more about that angle of the story.

I've never been a soccer fan. I enjoy the world cup for 1 month every 4 years. That is my threshold. For one month I can get behind the fiery passion that is the World Cup. I was riveted in '06 when Zidane made like Moe from the Three Stooges and cold head-butted that Italian flopper who'd insulted his sister. I see the occasional insane soccer highlight on ESPN, where I'm like, "Wow, that was great!" and my soccer itch is scratched. I have to say, as if I weren't leery enough at the prospect, when I heard an excited European sports reporter talk about, "Wellllll, he's not so much of a goal scorer. But he IS great with the crossing pass!" That's like saying, "this guy can't dunk, but he sets a great pick! We think he can make basketball popular in America."

But far be it from me not to give something a chance. So a few weeks ago, Bubba and I strap in, along with Eva, Katie, Jennifer Love, Will, Jada, etc. to see soccer's messiah against some European squad. And we waited...and waited...and waited....Seems the savior's ankle is a tad gimpy. So gimpy that he STILL hasn't played, and it's been three or four games now. Well, it's not like they're paying him $250 million dollars or anything. Oh wait. They are.

LT once played one of his best games ever with his left arm broken and limp. MJ dropped 38 in the NBA finals with a temperature of like 102. Ronnie Lott cut off the tip of his pinky mid-game, rather than miss any time. Becks gets a bunion, and he's gotta sit out one or four or five.

Sad thing is, I don't even dislike him. He seems like a well enough bloke. Amiable. Gracious. Still, my sensibilities are offended, hence the bad pun title. For two-fitty, you gots to make in on the field, homes.

(editor's note: I wrote this a week ago, thought I hit "publish," but hadn't, hence the semi-datedness of the subject matter. This week, all deficiencies will be redeemed, with the greatest Orville story ever told.)