It’s the pre-game show to the game you don’t care about (well, not that much). It’s the post-game wrap when your team’s just been slapped with the postage home. Or maybe you’re just Cup-drunk on a six-day soccer bender, belly-up on your sofa, demanding your room / best / life-mate feed you snacky-snacks on the vuvuzela as if it were a bullhorn. What’s left to look at until s/he arrives with the stale Chee-tohs? Commercials!
Who doesn’t love a great sports spot? They’re fast-paced, quick-witted and sticky-sweet with visual treats. If you know nothing about the game, you will enjoy a hottie, a tune, a vibe and a joke. If you know everything, you nudge and wink with the with-it writers while complaining that everyone will iPod what was your favorite song since for-eveh.
You soccerwits have seen Nike’s 2010 ‘Write The Future’ a gazillion times and find its slobbering worship of Cronaldo and slathering homage to Rooney so just done it. But not the first bazillion times, when you went hoarse shouting ‘Drogba! Cannavaro! Ronaldinho! Ribery! Iniesta!’ with your telebuddies. Your less-World-ly friends raised an eyebrow at familiar faces, like Kobe (He likes soccer too?) or Homer (They are so smart) while your girlfriend glanced up from People for the baby-boomlet (omg so cute) or the red carpet (Is that Paris?). It’s the “Thriller” of sports ads and Alejandro Inarritu deserves an Academy Award. So here it is:
Best World Cup Ad: Call me, Alejandro
And now, your BadAddies:
1. Thanks, I’ll Wait for the Spinning Class. Any ad, and I’m talking to you Deixarem, that features a close-up of Carles gazing up is bad. We love an ad with a little Cap’n in ‘em, but the mophead’s mojo is lost in slo-mo … he looks less like a man determined heart’n’soul to lead his team to victory than your boyfriend’s college buddy after his wife has kicked him out and changed the locks and can he crash on your couch just for a day or two? Then a strange sequence in which he is joined by a prancing yellow-tee’d boy chorus. What is that? An Orwellian aerobics class? P(uyol)90X? Now it’s just creepy. I’ve switched to ‘Mr T’s Kitchen Revolution’ already.
2. Leo The Loser? This runs 24/7 in Spain; the only Internet version is Greek. Everything is muy chill out. It’s a simple soirée, some chicks, some chips. Leo shuffles in munching his Ruffles, plops down on the couch and a buddy says, Pásalas (Pass them). Leo thinks. He’s selfish that way sometimes. But the crowd calls to him … he does it! He passes! He shares! That earns him a sticker with Miss Preem the Preschool Teacher! But wait a minute. Click that little cursor back. Are we to believe that Messi, Leo Messi, is going to walk through a party and no one is going to talk to him? Not one girl is even going to glance at him? Only some sofa slug who demands … a Ruffle? Now, I appreciate that Ruffles does not want to make us not feel inferior to the soccer supernova. But I don’t think we should feel sorry for him. Ruffles, send that man a hottie with some dip.
3. Piqué, Puh-lease. The Príncipe cookie company has snagged the one Barça player blaugrana babes would snog for looks alone (according to recent polls). And then they do this to him. First they turn him into a cartoon character. (To be fair, the Príncipe prince himself is a cartoon character). Then they send him to a silly scrimmage with some friends (guess who got picked first?). Then everyone is thrilled when he scores on them. Now, Príncipe cookies aren’t your Aunt Emma’s Nilla wafers. These babies are 70% cereal, so eating one is like shoving a few Nature’s Own bars into your cookie hole and washing them down with Metamucil, which is why Spaniards eat them for breakfast. Gerard isn’t doing the soccer slide… he has been dragged to turf by the gravitational excess of his lower intestinal tract. And that grin? Pure cheese!
4. Brother, Can You Spare an Euro? Spain is in trouble. Mama Merkel wags her finger and Buddy Barry prank calls from the Oval Office. Even the Selección feels the pinch … the Captain is so hard up he has to pinch the referree’s ceremonial euro. And where will Iker spend his ill-gotten gain? A new casa for Mama Casillas? Some Zara for Sara? Oh, no … this keeper’s nobody’s fool. He’s got his eye on a new … Chevy! Because now he’s what? Taking the subway to work? Wonder Twins P & P approve. Maybe they want to get him in a getaway car and get him as far away as possible from la Carbonaro, pouting about the goal line with her cute pouf of a mike: ‘I-kie! Ikie, where are you?’
5. Um … ¿qué? Damn, this Estrella Damm ad is dumb. I guess the message is supposed to be that Hard Work Pays Off or Everyone Is Part of a Team. Or something. I can’t figure it out. I mean, beer and sports. How much easier can it get for an ad guy? But this commercial must have been scripted by the Underpant Gnomes: ‘First, random hottie. Second, we don’t know. Third, profit.’ We got the hottie, and then it all plays out like a public service announcement for a correspondence college: ‘Call today and get your degree in … beach combing … culinary services … physical education … and much, much more!’
Until next week, my Blaugrana Bloggers, when we review European Soccer Shows!