My wife is a football fan. Granted, that's not such an unusual thing in today's society. Women aren't just running barefoot around the cave painting "honey do" lists on the walls while we men go out discovering fire, inventing the wheel and dodging dinosaurs -- depending on how long ago you think the Earth was formed/created or if you think "The Flintstones" is an historical documentary.
As the barkeep tells hopelessly chauvinistic Ron Burgundy in "Anchorman": "Times are changing. Ladies can do stuff now, and you're going to have to learn how to deal with it." And, yes, I get all my life lessons from "Anchorman" now that Sheriff Andy Taylor has died.
Having a wife who loves watching football means that it's perfectly acceptable to plop down on a couch for much of a Sunday afternoon. It means that I'm occasionally allowed to eat unhealthy foods associated with football such as chicken wings and chili dogs. It means that when I scream at the TV, "That was interference!," she follows it with "Yeah!" instead of "You know, they can't hear you." Like men, she knows that if you yell loudly enough at a referee on TV, they can faintly hear a voice of reason in their heads.
However, it appears advertisers haven't quite gotten the message that many women love watching football. I'd venture to say that at least 90 percent of ads during football games are targeted at men. It might even be 100 percent, but I miss at least 10 percent of commercials for runs to the bathroom.
Commercials during football games sound like the elements of a David Allen Coe song as updated and corrected by Steve Goodman -- they're all about trucks, bigger trucks, erectile dysfunction drugs, beer, stuff that makes you smell like you drive a Mercedes instead of a big truck, unhealthy fast food and food that goes great with beer.
And most of these commercials feature guys holding beer while surrounded by good-time buddies and hot women, who in real life tend to avoid beer-swilling guys chowing down on a two-pound burrito -- because no matter how much Old Spice you put on, it's going to be a foul-smelling occasion soon.
All this set me to thinking about what would make the ultimate commercial to show during a football game. Here's what I came up with. Just imagine Sam Elliott narrating, which I think he does for half of these commercials nowadays:
Around these parts, a man is real. He's dirty. Dusty. Gruffy. Extremely patriotic. Even his urine is red and blue. He never calls in sick. Even if he's an insurance agent, he rides a horse to work and wears a cowboy hat. He loves puppies and blows holes in deer. He loves children and his mama. His buddies are always there for him, usually with a cold beer and at least six hot women they abducted from a truck stop.
And real men drive the Machismo C-150 truck with a V-12 engine and enough horsepower to tow Mount Rushmore. The C-150 has an Old Spice spray button in the steering wheel to wash off the stink when the workday is done. With plush wolverine-hide seats and leather dashboard, there's enough cabin room for those six hot truckstop chicks and enough room in the back for a beer keg and all your buddies, plus a dirt bike and a hound dog. And don't forget the new hands-free burrito feeder that allows you to keep one hand on the wheel and one on Sally Mae. It goes 0 to 180 in three seconds. Sometimes stuff blows up around it from sheer awe.
And if that ain't enough to rev your engine, you'll find a 30-day supply of Vialis in the glove compartment.
Connect with Chris Johnson at Facebook.com/KudzuKidWriting.