Watch Me Take The Bar
Watch Me Take The Bar
This blog, originally started as a chronicle of my taking the bar, is now a look into the mind of an attorney in solo practice in Port Clinton, Ohio.
Monday, June 12, 2006

Fabiolous, plus...helmets, anyone?

Sorry I've been light on the blogging lately; as loyal readers know, I maintain the position that you'd rather suspect I have nothing to blog, rather than to have to come read what I've posted and remove all doubt.


I have to give Fabio a little credit. (Now, there's a sentence I never thought I'd write.) If you haven't caught the latest commercial featuring him, it basically starts off by saying it's a shampoo for a man whose name is synonymous with sex appeal (cue: whispered Fabio). We see a shot of Our Hunk (who, some may recall, got hit in the face with a bird a few years ago on a roller coaster) rowing a gondola, and once again hear the whispered (Fabio.) A shot of the shampoo. A shot of Fabio handing a rose to a woman who is clearly in his thrall.

(At home, a shot of Michael shaking his head and nearly gagging, thinking if this is what passes for sex appeal, he may as well just retire from the Dating Game at once.)

Then, the Fabster goes under the bridge and becomes a 75-year-old man. And, at home, a shot of Michael laughing uproariously at someone who can clearly laugh at himself (and the cartoon character he could become, if he took himself too seriously.)

(Oops: In checking Wikipedia to see if Fabio was in fact the guy who got hit with a bird in the face -- he was -- it appears the commercial has been around since Super Bowl XL. Shows how much TV I watch...)


I've said before that I think being a sportswriter/commentator could be kind of fun. My dad pointed out I'd probably have to have far more sports knowledge than I do, which is limited to knowing slightly more than that there are four downs in football, nine innings in baseball and eighteen holes in golf.

In any case, I think the people that make up the world of sports are fascinating and it sometimes reminds me of my old gig of politics (which may be the best argument yet for not being a sportswriter!) Anyway, one of the better, more acerbic sportswriters out there is a guy named Mike Celzic, and this article is his take on Ben Roethlisberger's recent attempts to secure a new Indian name, namely, Travels Without Helmet.

Someone buy Big Ben a helmet, please?

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