'Matter of Laugh or Death,' a humor column
By Bill Dunn
Interesting observations on this thing we call life
(appearing each week in the Republican-American newspaper, Waterbury, CT)
OFFICIAL FOOTBALL DOODLES ARE TOO CHEEZY
The other day I was in my car on a Sunday afternoon, so I switched the radio to a football game. The announcer said these exact words: “And this broadcast is brought to you by Wise, the official potato chip and cheese doodle of the New York Giants.”
Really? The official cheese doodle? Did I hear that right? A professional football team actually has an “official” cheese doodle?
What exactly does that mean, anyway? Are cheese doodles now a strategic part of football players’ nutrition regimen? Is that how those defensive backs get their six-pack abs? More likely it’s how the linemen get abs that look less like six-packs and more like beer kegs.
Is there a section in each player’s contract stating they are only allowed to eat the “official” cheese doodle of the New York Giants, the Wise “Cheez Doodle” brand? (I discovered afterward that the official spelling of the official cheese doodle of the New York Giants is sure to make an official English teacher cry. At least they don’t spell doodle as “Dude-L,” which sounds like the name of a rap singer.)
But what happens if a player let’s his guard down, say, at a family barbecue and accidentally eats a couple of Cheetos, which are made by Frito-Lay? Will he be suspended for four games and fined by the NFL for violating the league’s substance abuse policy?
Do you think that’s fair? I mean, how many players even know that Wise Cheez Doodles and Frito-Lay Cheetos are made by two totally different corporations? And what about Cheese Puffs, Cheese Balls, Cheese Curls and all the generic brands on the market, with names such as Chee-Z-Twists and Twist-O-Cheese and Doodily-Cheezily-Thingamabobs?
After spending hours analyzing film of the upcoming opponent, does Coach Tom Coughlin and quarterback Eli Manning spend a few more hours reviewing film of various snack products, discovering the subtle differences between the team’s official brands and all the forbidden brands?
What if a player gets traded from the Giants to the Cowboys? In addition to learning a whole new playbook, does he also have to learn a whole new set of official snacks?
How does the NFL league office—or more likely Wise’s legal department—enforce the rules? Do they send into the locker room a CSI team (Cheese Snack Investigation), consisting of forensic experts who scrape microscopic orange specs from underneath the player’s fingernails, which are sent off to the lab for chemical analysis? Because as anyone who owns a dog knows all too well, no matter how often you wash your hands, some Cheez Doodle molecules remain under your fingernails for up to 72 hours. (“Ginger! Stop it! What’s the matter, girl? Why are you licking my fingers? Oh right, I ate some Cheez Doodles the other night.”)
There’s a certain favorite baseball team of mine, if recent news reports are accurate, which should have a few “official” products of its own: “KFC, the official clubhouse fried chicken of out-of-shape Red Sox players,” and, “Bud Light, the official beer preferred by Bosox starting pitchers while in the dugout during games.”
It seems if these professional teams spent a little less time focusing on “official” snack sponsors, and a little more time on, oh I don’t know, maybe winning a few games, we’d be a lot better off. Because the way it is now, I’m a Giants fan, but I prefer Cheetos rather than Cheez Doodles. I’m afraid if the NFL finds out, I might get a four game suspension and a fine.
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