Man Not Convinced Women’s Soccer Violent Enough For Prime Time
BOISE, ID—Local man Bob Howard was sitting at home watching television with his family when he bravely voiced his disapproval at the amount of women’s soccer games airing on late-night television.
“This is when the good stuff is supposed to be on. Not that this isn’t good, I don’t mean it like that,” sputtered the 45-year-old between mouthfuls of pigs-in-a-blanket. “It’s just that other stuff is better.”
Howard, who can't play recreational sports due to his "gad dang bum knee," felt it was his sincere duty to declare, in front of his easily-influenced adolescent daughters, that women’s soccer should air “during the daytime, or like, 3:00 AM or whatever. Like when Ellen's on.”
When asked of his reasoning by nervous wife Lorraine, 42, Howard responded that the world-class female athletes, while quite sexually appealing—"love those asses and ponytails"—just didn’t provide the brutish charm of their physically-hostile male counterparts.
“I mean, men have died playing football," he expressed, gesticulating emphatically with his Miller Lite. "And that's not even counting the good ol' CTE."
As the Howard girls would soon learn, in their household, no sport was to be deemed worthy of the coveted 8:00-10:00 PM prime time TV slot unless it featured physical contact so unmarred by basic safety guidelines that incidental deaths transcended urban legend; unless the sinewy muscles of the players were so engorged by steroids one could feel the flaming heat of the testosterone radiating off the screen; unless the only sports bras in view were those of scantily-clad women projected like blow-up dolls on the jumbotron.
No—the good sports channels were for rebels, mavericks, bad boys. And that's just the rules, shit, explained Howard eloquently.
“I’m not saying I’m a bad boy, but when I got fired from Tommy Bahama for spitting on a customer, I dropped a lincoln log in the dressing room,” reminisced Howard, artfully pinching a fallen Frito off his John Deere hoodie and popping it in his mouth. “And I’m not just talking your average number two. I ate three number 9s at lunch. That shit came out in hot snakes. Women's soccer is just boring.”
