AT FIRST glance, the new commercials are so overwhelmed by menacing gangsta images and attitude that you figure these might be updated public-service announcements, the kind that end with, “It’s 10 p.m. Do you know where your children are?”
But with the appearance of Allen Iverson, in full gangsta character, the commercials quickly reveal themselves to be for – what else? – sneakers. Reeboks. Allen Iverson’s signature-brand Reeboks. Obscenely over-priced, Third World-made basketball shoes/street status symbols.
And that figures. That makes all the sense in the world in a world gone senseless.
The evil that sneaker companies do and trade on is so practiced and so palpable that its marketing strategies are now as predictable as they are pathetic.
The sneaker fashion formula has been in place for 15 years: Get the baddest dudes in the ‘hood to wear ’em – preferably young felons – and American kids, commercially and socially instilled with projecting attitude, will be mobbing malls to get ’em, two months later.
To that end, Reebok didn’t have to first market the Bloods or the Crips by sending out “street agents” to gift local gang leaders with the latest sneaker numbers. In this case, Reebok didn’t have to resort to that old bottom-up sneaker marketing plan.
In Iverson, especially given his vile new gangsta rap CD and the residual publicity it generated, Reebok already had the baddest dude in the NBA on its payroll – for $50 million. So then, why not simply cut to their own salaried gangsta?
Iverson, by virtue of his new gangsta rap artistry, was suddenly an even more valuable commodity in Reebok’s unconscionable dash to pump up its bottom line. That Reebok would exploit Iverson’s bent toward the disgusting was as predictable as fourth-quarter hack-a-Shaq.
Unlike Fuzzy Zoeller or John Rocker, Iverson wouldn’t have to suffer the commercial consequences of his bigoted spews. Quite the contrary. In fact, Reebok saw only money – big money – in Iverson’s, ahem, freedom of expression.
Iverson’s public antisocial sins are far greater than any of those who have been forced to walk the plank for uttering bigoted, hateful comments – real or perceived, and even in tasteless jest. Iverson’s hateful lyrics about gays and women, his frequent use of the “n” word and his glorification of street violence were the result of a written, approved, rehearsed, recorded and manufactured commercial enterprise.
Iverson’s gangsta rap CD is an indisputable case of mindless violence and bigotry for profit. And no white sports figure would suffer anything less than universal condemnation and commercial ruin – and perhaps even professional ruin – for such an enterprise.
Yet, Reebok, as would most sneaker companies eager to make a killing among America’s young, surely had to be thrilled with Iverson’s particular form of CD-recorded artistry. Why else wasn’t he fired by Reebok? Why else did Reebok respond with commercials that flat-out celebrate Iverson’s commercial fondness for the gangsta life?
It’s one sick world, folks, and getting sicker by the minute. And sports and their commercial enablers – but above all the sneaker companies – remain the most eager to feed the fire in order to cash in. It’s so easy it’s easily predictable. It’s like taking candy from a baby. And replacing it with poison.
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WHEN Al Gore was a senator from Tennessee he was one of the few elected officials of national repute who had the knowledge and inclination to provide critical public inspection of America’s cable TV gorillas. In fact, Gore once referred to the biggest boys in the industry as “the Cable Cosa Nostra.”
So there was ample reason to believe that if Gore became Vice President under Bill Clinton long-abused cable consumers could expect a modicum of relief from their unfriendly local TV monopolies.
But from the moment he began to run for VP, Gore made cable, a populist issue if ever there was one, a non-issue.
And now, according to The Center for Responsive Politics, as cited in a recent issue of Cable World magazine, Gore, among all political candidates, this year accepted the most campaign money from cable TV interests – at last count, over $153,000.
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TIGER Woods feels used and abused by the PGA, and last week let the world know about it in a public declaration. He claimed that the only time the PGA shows him its sensitive side is when commissioner Tim Finchem personally asks him to play in events, thus ensuring a big payday for all.
We can get behind Woods on this – to a point.
But Woods doesn’t seem to grasp the fact that, while he’s the greatest golfer in history, he’s not the first to find the PGA strapped to his back. And golf, as do most sports, ebbs and flows with the star appeal of individuals as opposed to the game they play.
Forty years ago, Arnold Palmer, then Jack Nicklaus, saw the PGA unilaterally and logically hitch a ride on their bandwagons. Prize money escalated along with the public’s interest. And, believe it or not, TV responded much the same way as it has to Woods, including the production of shows that found Palmer playing made- for-TV head-to-head and four-ball matches.
And while Woods’ reps claim that his gripes have absolutely nothing to do with money, once Woods went public with his gripes the public can’t reasonably be expected to think that they don’t have a lot to do with money.
The public, after all, is always told that it’s not about money. But it’s always about money.
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GEORGE Kalinsky, 34 years The Garden’s master photographer (and one sweet guy), recently was named Photographer of the Year by an industry panel, then, last week, hosted an exhibit of his work that raised $170,000 for the Lustgarten Foundation for pancreatic cancer research. The foundation is named for former MSG chairman, Marc Lustgarten, who last year died of the disease at 52.
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THIS has nothing and everything to do with the current state of sports:
“The Grinch,” a movie which will be released Friday in order to cash in on the Thanksgiving/Christmas holidays, is based on the Dr. Seuss book, “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.”
“The Grinch” is rated PG, parental guidance suggested. Dr. Seuss, however, never wrote books that would’ve carried a PG rating. He never wrote books that found kids needing parental supervision before or while reading them, unless the kids couldn’t yet read the words.
But a movie based on a Dr. Seuss classic now carries a parental warning that “some material may not be suitable for children.” Another pathetic sign of the times.