I was watching the Suns/Spurs game tonight and, just as I thought to myself that this was the most entertaining game I’d seen in ages, they cut to the Suns’ owner, Robert Sarver, who engaged in an embarrassing series of violent, pelvic thrusts. The awkwardness of his pumping–which entailed rocking his head back and forth like an
autistic who has missed nap time–would have convinced me that he was a 43 year old virgin. As he was a billionaire sitting there with his wife and kids, I could merely conclude that he had never brought a woman to
orgasm and that his children would one day take aaptitude tests that suggested they become personal trainers.
This, in turn, reminded me of seeing the same man on Sports Center. Sarver had dunked a basketball during half-time of a Suns game. On his third try. Using a trampoline. Injuring himself in the process. And I thought, “Jesus Christ, not another one of these guys.
Why the fuck does everyone see fit to indulge each billionaire who wishes to make a public spectacle out of his midlife crisis? It’s one thing if you work for some fifty-year-old jackass who thinks it’s really cool to rent out Giant stadium so he can hand glide from the press box down to the field, or who takes up team luging. Maybe he just drives a Bentley GT and blasts Jay-Z with his 20 year-old girlfriend in the passenger seat. In any case, he’s your boss and you have to play along. But, this Suns dude isn’t the Sports Center anchors’ boss. They should be like, “you know, that’s really impressive because my daughter needed two tries to dunk using a trampoline. Oh wait, this guy needed three tries? With a fucking trampoline? Um… let’s just hope he never spends
any time in prison.” Instead, they just took a “what a colorful character” stance.
Fuck these guys. Perhaps a few thousand people in the history of the world have enjoyed their good fortune, and they use their vast resources and boundless energy to turn around moribund NBA franchises, attempt to fly around the world in balloons and star in bad TV shows. Strangely enough, the reaction of our society is not to demand that these men pull their heads out of their asses and lend a hand to the less fortunate, or at least support education and the arts, but instead to act with the deference of employees or tenants. Nobody ever says “no” to these guys and so they become ever more self indulgent, eventually coming to believe that they are rock stars instead of boring dorks who made a lot of money in real estate or software.
This is where we should spring the trap. Let them think they can do no wrong, until they slip into utter ridiculousness. After a lifetime of women faking orgasms, the Suns’ owner probably thinks he looks like a sex machine when he lets fly his spastic cock-pumps. He’s wide open. The scene could be a longer running joke than the Dean scream. There could even be a reality show that cajoles these guys into making total buffoons out of themselves. But instead, we’ll just keep acting like a nation of yes-men to someone else’s boss.