A World Without Peyton Manning

So one of the things that I do when I'm not blogging is this thing called TIRP, where you guest teach stuff about international relations at high schools near USC. One of the exercises I did with my classes had to do with globalization and was called "Why Should I Care?" It's a pretty simple exercise. Basically you're supposed to plan a fun weekend with your friends and then you're supposed to list all of the things you would need for the weekend. I then tell the students to cross off every single item on the list that is a foreign product or resource, which is basically everything on the list. The point is that you can't isolate yourself from the outside world and that a world without international trade would blow.

But what about if we took this same lesson and applied it to other things, like football players. What would life be like in a world without Peyton Manning?

Alright so let's plan out a fun weekend and then start taking away products that Manning is a spokesman for, and we'll see how far we get.

It's fall, so I'll be honest, my weekend consists entirely of just watching college football on

Saturday and pro football on Sunday.

Friend: "Hey Ken, there's this awesome party tonight on Ellendale. You wanna go?"

Me: "No thanks, the Mississippi State/East Carolina game is still going on."

Friend: "Ummmm okay.....well the game is 24-3, so I don't really get why you're still watching. Plus I heard a bunch of the girls from Delta Gamma are gonna be at the party."

Me: "Yeah I know, but there's still the over/under that's up for grabs in the game, but you have fun."

DirecTV: Hmmmm okay well we've all seen this ad. You know what, I don't even care about the NFL that much. I don't really need to watch those games, I'll just play video games instead.

XBox: Great commercial, really the beginning of the Manning the Salesman era. 

That game never held a candle to Madden anyway. (Additionally, real-life tie in: my XBox is broken in the real world, too.) That's alright though, there should be a few solid games on ABC or FOX or CBS for me to watch.

Sony: Wow, okay fuck that. Not only is he a spokesman for Sony, it is specifically for their televisions. (By the way, I couldn't find a video of the ad, but everyone has seen it if you've ever been within 20 feet of a television.) You know what, I'd rather see the game live, so who cares. I'm gonna go buy some tickets to the Kings game tonight.

MasterCard: Dammit, why did I forget about this? (Gotta love the bloopers.) Yeah I definitely don't have enough cash on me. How much do you have on you right now? $5.78? Yeah, okay looks like we're not going to the hockey game. You know what, Kings tickets are overpriced anyway. If we can't watch sports, why don't we just get the guys together and play a little two touch? I'll text Will and Kenny right now.

Sprint: Really hit and miss with these Sprint commercials. Okay, so I don't know how to send smoke signals, and the last time I tried, my RA chewed me out for like 20 minutes or so for setting off the fire alarm at our dorm. Hey, it's all good though. My roommate and I can always just play a little pitch and catch out in McCarthy Quad. Ian, let's roll. I just gotta grab my shoes.

Reebok: What? Seriously? Shoes are overrated anyway. My Neanderthal ancestors didn't need shoes to club animals to death, so it's not like I really need shoes to throw a football around with my buddy. Although, it is hot outside today. Peyton didn't do ads for air conditioning did he?

Gatorade: Fuck off Peyton. I like you, but this is just getting out of hand. How the hell am I supposed to replenish my body with

 electrolytes after working up a sweat throwing a football? Powerade? Please. That shit is awful. (Also, when did it become okay to blatantly copy everything about your main competitor's product including half of its name? Was Crocade already copyrighted?) Okay well, it looks like I can't do much for myself this weekend. Hmmm I've got an idea...

American Red Cross: Oh come on! What is that?! I try to spend my weekend providing disaster relief to those in need and YOU have to come in and ruin it for me?! Alright Peyton, you win. I'm going to spend my weekend in my room with the door locked doing the same as many other lonely teenagers with nothing else to do.

Carrie Underwood: Okay, not fair. He didn't date her, he isn't plugging her album, and he's not her manager. Just because she promoted her album as the musical guest when Peyton was the host of SNL does not imply that he was a spokesman for her. That'd be like saying that you aren't allowed to laugh because he was promoting comedy on SNL, or that you're not allowed to support America because he went to the White House after winning the Super Bowl. Those are the rules....that I just made up.

So I guess a world without Peyton Manning isn't that bad. I can still Google Image Carrie Underwood and have a good time by myself as long as I have my Mac.

By comparison, a world without Tiger Woods is much bleaker.

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At least I don't drunk dial Russ Martin

Cal already weighed in on the MLB playoffs, but this October evokes a generally feeling that I often get from any playoffs where my favorite team has been eliminated.

My beloved Dodgers' fall from first place in the NL to fourth place in the NL West was not only disgusting, it was heartbreaking. Every day, Dodger fans saw their team slowly crumble as a result of failures to accomplish even the most minor of tasks, like not shitting themselves in the outfield. Based on the age of some of the guys on our roster, I wouldn't be surprised if Luis Gonzales waltzes onto the field next year in some depends.) Towards the last few agonizing days of the season, the once happy rapport that the youth on the roster

had with the grizzled vets turned sour, and they began to argue about petty things, like whether or not Billingsly left the toilet seat up. It all feels a lot like a breakup that you could see coming for miles. You're not even pissed off at the end, you're just depressed. (On the bright side, I don't have to watch some snaggle-toothed alien try to heave a ball at the fragile window that is our glorious past-time for at least six months.)

And then October comes.

The once fond dream you had of your boys in blue (or green or turd brown or hot pink or whatever stupid color your team wears) raising a championship trophy for the first time in what feels like ages is gone, and instead anywhere between 8 [MLB, WNBA (Side note, why does the WNBA have playoffs? They should just have a coin flip for the championship and save me the horror of a WNBA playoff game taking up valuable airtime that could be devoted to a replay of the 1973 Stanley Cup finals or bass fishing or anything that's not the WNBA.)] to 64 teams [any ridiculous championship tournament run by the NCAA] battling to take home a trophy that should have been yours.

In fact, you know what the clusterfuck to the championship, regardless of sport, reminds me of? It's like watching that now ex-girlfriend that just broke up with you get hit on at a frat

party by anywhere between 8 and 64 assholes that want to take her home. (FYI, if your ex is getting hit on by 64 guys at a party, you fucked up bad by letting her go.) Of the guys hitting on her, there are guys you sort of like and guys you absolutely detest, and while you might pull for one over another as a lesser of two evils sort of thing, neither of those guys are you, and at the end of the night, no matter what happens, you can't help but feel a little jealous watching those cheerful asshole douse each other in champagne (feel free to extend sexual metaphor as you deem necessary). I just rooted for the Tribe to beat the Yankees and was slightly happy when they eliminated the Yankees, but ultimately, I returned to being depressed about baseball as the cameras cut to the Indians pouring Budweiser all over each in the locker room celebrating the win.

(Additionally, Budweiser? You guys are advancing to the ALCS and you're celebrating the same way a member of Sig Ep does when it finds an extra $20 in his back pocket? The guys with the lowest salaries on the roster make like $400K, the least you could do is chip in for something of a little better quality. I think C.C. Sabathia gets paid more per pitch than a fucking 30 pack of Bud costs.)

Speaking of Budweiser, I think I'll wash away the pain of the thought of either Colorado or Arizona winning the NL pennant with a beer myself because if I'm going to watch my ex get boned by some jackass in a Avenged Sevenfold shirt and "I Like Pussy" trucker hat combo, then I might as well get drunk and hit on some double-paper bagger myself. So hello men's water polo season, you'll do for tonight.

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