The honking geese overhead, the smell of pumpkin spice in the air and the terrifying Halloween decorations in our neighbors’ yards declare the arrival of my favorite season: that’s right, folks, it’s football time! Oh yeah, and it’s fall.
My appreciation for the gridiron has developed over time. With Neyland Stadium, home of the University of Tennessee Volunteers, just down the road from my childhood home, and Friday night football games a rite of passage in my middle and high school years, football was definitely part of my cultural upbringing. But marrying a sports fanatic—my term, not his—has deepened my appreciation for the game itself to include more than the halftime show and concession stand.
The year we got married, the Indianapolis Colts conveniently drafted Peyton Manning, making my transition from high school and college fan to the NFL an easy one. We didn’t have any “channels” when the kids were growing up, so watching was a bit of a challenge, more of a special occasion date night event. But now in our empty-nest phase, Jim and I love nothing more than pulling up our TV trays and settling in to watch our favorite teams compete.
Like all great loves, there is always a rub, a thorn in the flesh to remind you that there are no perfect pleasures this side of heaven. NFL football has a few for me: Tom Brady’s annoying face, ridiculous “insights” from commentators like “Well, Joe, I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m going to say that the team who scores the most points is going to win today.” But for me, there is no greater fly in the ointment, no bigger pain in the neck or downpour on my viewing parade than . . . commercials.
Football and commercials go hand in hand like Montana and Rice, Brady and Gronk and Mahomes and Kelce, culminating in the Super Bowl of advertising, which is, well . . . the Super Bowl. But recently, a certain trend, with a few exceptions, has ruined the pairing for me.
No, it’s not the ubiquity of the medication ads and their endless side effects, which frankly sound much, much worse than whatever rash or other issue you are setting out to cure. It’s the never-ending parade of celebrities that has me reaching for the yellow flag and calling a penalty on the field.
Celebrity endorsements are nothing new, but recently I’ve noticed a significant uptick in the number of actors and professional athletes appearing on the small screen. If they aren’t trying to bankrupt us with betting apps, they are selling us insurance, sandwiches, beer, and credit cards. I’m waiting for the ad that just rolls them all into one with Samuel L. Jackson placing a bet with his Capital One card while eating a sandwich with Jake from State Farm driving shotgun on their way to pick up Jackson’s rash medication.
It is, of course, every person’s right to earn a little extra cash by lending his or her name to a product they believe in. But there are a few things that rub me the wrong way about it: The borrowed capital of a “personality” greatly reduces the creativity of the ads. I know commercials aren’t up for Oscar nominations, but when corporations ask us to shell out cash for whatever they are selling, it would be nice to feel like they have put a little work into it. Using a celebrity spokesperson feels like cheating. There’s no catchy plot twist or carefully crafted plot line. It’s just “See. Famous Guy likes it. You will too.” Even companies like State Farm and Progressive have fallen into this by making celebrities out of their spokespeople, though I will give Progressive a bit of a pass for their hilarious “Homeowners Turning into Their Parents” series. I have seen feature films that are less entertaining and insightful than those classics.
Speaking of feature films, the second thing that bothers me about this trend is that it demeans the actors’ craft to see them playing themselves while hocking GLB-1s, Dunkin’ Donuts and Uber Eats, especially since that particular pairing seems to create a vicious cycle of overeating and weight-loss drugs. It pulls the curtain back on the film industry, shattering the illusion that these are artists rather than glorified salesmen. Sure, we all know they aren’t doing movies for free, but the audience would like to believe that at the heart of their performance is a love of the medium, not just the paycheck. As a side note, this isn’t true for professional athletes, but in their case it feels like double-dipping. You are already getting paid millions to play in the games we are watching (after paying a gazillion dollars for every cross-referenced streaming service known to mankind). Can’t we just pretend like that’s enough till you retire and blow through your wealth faster than Jahmyr Gibbs running the 40-yard dash?
Finally, it is the pretense that celebrities are just everyday folks. They drive down the road singing “Living on a Prayer” just like we do. Ok, so they do it with John Bon Jovi on board, but still, they can relate. And when they ask us to gamble away our hard-earned dollars or book a trip using airline miles we earned buying groceries at the Piggly Wiggly, they aren’t asking us to do anything they haven’t done. Of course, they are gambling while sitting on millions in the bank, traveling in private jets to exclusive resorts and haven’t stepped foot in a real grocery store in years, but hey, they are just like us. It isn’t that I resent their millions. But can you stop pretending to be my financial equal? Jason Kelce isn’t making cupcakes for his friends, Peyton Manning isn’t buying a Bud Light at the local bar, and Danny DeVito isn’t eating at Jersey Mike’s. Ok, Ben Affleck is eating at Dunkin’ Donuts but he drove there from his L.A. mansion.
So here is my advice: advertisers, take all those millions you are paying Charles Barkley and hire some talented writers and let them do their thing. Celebrities? Stick to the big screen and the arenas and let some unknown play a more convincing everyman. Or if we must see your face during commercial breaks, let it be for companies you actually use or, even better, created. Ryan Reynolds might have a mean-girl wife, but props to him for actually creating something.
If you won’t do it for your stockholders or me, do it for my poor husband who just wants to eat his snacks and root for his team, without me complaining in his ear. He would consider my silent contentment something to truly cheer for.
