All Ignored Sports Hero Men: We salute you

You know those brilliant Bud Light commercials praising
“Real Men of Genius” and “Real American
Heroes?”Â Here are several sports-inspired versions that
did not make the cut, sports fans. The man who narrates the
Bud Light commercials does so in a voice more enticing than Barry
White’s, more mellifluous than the High Life
narrator’s. The following should be read in the same way.

Today, we salute you, Mr. Bullpen-Helmet-Cart-Driving Man. Your
cart inspired relief pitchers to perform at their highest level
throughout the ’80s. 

Every little leaguer aspired to get to the big leagues, to pitch
in front of 50,000 screaming fans with Game 7 of the World Series
on the line. But above all, they aspired to ride from the bullpen
to the mound inside your giant baseball-helmet cart. You provided
protection from the rain of booze and boos, dropping your rider off
safely and returning to your personal parking spot in the
bullpen.

So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light, Mr. Bullpen-Helmet-Cart-
Driving Man. And keep on truckin’, because we miss your
services.

Today we salute you, Mr. Harmless-Streaker Man. In an age of
heightened stadium security, you risk life, limb and pride to
frolic in the grass of America’s stadiums.

You don’t have to attack coaches or players to get
attention. When the players put on their pants and jerseys to go to
work, you take yours off and get down to business. With a
well-timed jump onto the field, a zig here and a zag there, you
make security guards chase your naked body like horses chasing a
carrot. Barry Sanders, eat your heart out.

You bring new meaning to the words “Play ball!” And
for what?  For a couple of laughs, that’s what. Your
little dash may land you in the drunk-tank and emotionally scar
thousands of spectators, but at least you have cojones. And
you’re not afraid to show ’em.

So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light, Mr. Harmless-Streaker Man,
and remember: If you get a little embarrassed, you can always
blame it on that ice-cold beer you kept between your legs for the
first half of the game. Size isn’t everything.

Today we salute you, Mr. Peanut-Vendor Man, because only a man
like you can get away with yelling “Sack of nuts! Sack of
nuts here! Get your nuts!” in front of a 12-year-old and his
mother. And only you can knock an apple off a drunken fan’s
head while he’s screaming obscenities ““ directed at a
team that isn’t even on the field ““ with a bag of
peanuts from two rows down and 13 seats away.

Your deadly accuracy gets you noticed by big league scouts
everywhere. And your salty, roasted nuts are as pleasing to the
palate as any salted pretzel or 12-inch wiener. The only thing
you’re missing is a beverage to cleanse said palate. So crack
open an ice-cold Bud Light, Mr. Peanut-Vendor Man, and rinse the
nuts out of your mouth.

Today we salute you, Mr. Stadium- Restroom-Maintenance Man.
Because only a man like you can effectively clean up a stadium
restroom after men like us destroy it. Because the more we drink,
the smaller that bowl seems to get, and the smaller the bowl seems
to get, the worse our aim becomes.

But then you come along, preventing disease and limiting that
stench. You brave errant streams and broken urinals to make our
lives more pleasant. And who else would provide us with paper
towels if not you? 

Your urinal cakes render even the vilest of smells mountainy
fresh. Pink, blue or green cakes, it doesn’t matter to you.
All that matters to you is that your workplace floor is left
urine-free, your soap dispensers filled to the brim. So crack open
an ice-cold Bud Light, Mr. Stadium-Restroom-Maintenance Man, and
help contribute to the mess you so diligently remedy. You can
always clean it up later.

Nominate your own Real American Hero or Real Man of Genius
by sending Karon an e-mail at ekaron@media.ucla.edu.