Monday Night Politics

I didn't watch the debate between Alfred E. Newman and Girly Man because I don't care how many people rock the vote next month. It ain't gonna matter. Either way, my cousin in marketing still won't find a job. Dan Rather will still be sorry. And no matter who becomes president, you can bank that we'll get out of Iraq faster than you can say Saigon. Listen, I don't have time for this foolishness, when much more important stuff is going on. The Yankees are starting the playoffs. Kobe hates Shaq; Shaq hates Kobe. This could be the year the Eagles go all the way. And there's a new Coors ad with those twins on ESPN. Which, if the pols really want us to do our civic duty and give a tight end's ass about who is commander in chief, is the network that presidential debates ought to be aired on. And let's have a glowing-yellow, AOL-sponsored first-down marker separating Tweedledum from Tweedledee, a crawl running across the bottom showing updated ratings by NFL city, frequent commercial breaks filled with ads for Outback Steakhouse, Chevy trucks and Valvoline, and moderator Stuart Scott yelling "Boo ya!" every time George pronounces a multisyllable word correctly or John keeps the same position on an issue for more than five minutes. We're disingenuous when we talk about politics as marketing. We talk about media strategies and targeted spending. We call it a spectator sport. But really, it isn't that. As my friend at one of the big advertising holding companies said last week, "We're the ones who know how to do it." He watched the debate, hoping "lightning would strike." But he did in a desultory way. Like it was a duty. Not like that blood-tingling, shivery anticipation you get on a fall Saturday morning, knowing you have 12 hours of wall-to-wall college football waiting for you. Europe is where politics is serious business. But ours is a Raider Nation. Politicians love to campaign with God. But in America, sports is our real religion. We could wipe away voter apathy in a single stroke if we were just up front about it and marketed candidates like athletes and political parties like sports teams. Dress 'em up in uniforms, for starters: the GOP in lone-star Cowboy blue, the Democrats in those cute powder-blue Carolina Panther colors. Borrow from Nascar and slap logos on the candidates. Sponsor the rallies: Bush at West Point, brought to you by American Express. Kerry on somebody's front porch in Davenport, Iowa, sponsored by Miller Lite. And no more of that weepy, cuddly "Morning in America" crap that agencies are dragged in to create. I say we get 'em to report for duty with quick-cutting, body-slamming, heavy-metal-blasting ads. "Are you ready for some Pol-ball?!" Enough with the walking heads and loosened ties and headlines screaming about who voted for what or not. Let's see some big production numbers with Dick Cheney, à la eBay. Or that spooky Sprint guy following John Edwards around, offering sage advice on how not to go over his speech minutes. Give us presidential sweepstakes, tailgate parties, big-budget Super Bowl ads with misbehaving animals ... and those twins. That's how to get me back to the tube on debate night. A little marketing razzle-dazzle, and there won't be any undecideds. We'll all go to the voting booth with painted faces, air horns and stupid signs, fully engaged and screaming for our favorite candidates. One thing, though: Don't get Janet Jackson to perform at the convention. That's a little much.

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Monday Night Politics

Jack Feuer

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Jack Feuer