Temp in a Teapot

Do you remember where you were when the ink dried on David Beckham's contract...?

What follows is an apparently necessary three-point explanation why the Beckham "Phenomenon" will promptly get bent (to belabor party the pun) and Mr. FabAbs will not last more than two seasons on a pitch, or pitching products, or processing anything bought/sold, in these here United States of NASCAR.

1.) Soccer Itself

There's a reason soccer is a very popular youth sport in America-- it enables all the kids on the field but two (the goalies) to run themselves ragged. Overwhelmed parents everywhere, from red state to blue, are giddily appreciative of this mass, organized adrenaline-letting.

But there's a bigger reason why professional soccer as a product is collectively yawned at here-- because, as sports fans, our attention spans are shorter than Mrs. Beckham's skirts, and the game we are being offered has all the sex appeal of Lady Joan Plowright's Tweed-of-the-Month Calendar. Simply put, soccer is "Pong" in a "Grand Theft Auto" world. The gargantuan field, the preponderance of final scores that contain the word "nil," and the lack of organic violence all add up to a souffle that ain't worth waiting for.

2.) Adam Vinatieri Doesn't Have Too Many Endorsement Deals

Even within the tantrified mind-set of the soccer fan (three hours of agonizing stretching, huffing and eye contact for a brief bit of pleasure down the road--- Goooooooooal!), Beckham at this stage in his career is not at all like a Michael Jordan or an Alex Rodriguez of his sport, excellent in multiple aspects.

No, he is more like Vinatieri, the All-Pro placekicker. In certain situations, he can kick the ball with uncanny accuracy. That's about it, at this point. It seems there was a day when he was a Joe Montana type, steely-eyed and cool, and leading Mother England to glory on the pitch. But with age and injury he has become simply a first-rate special teams guy. Now let us take a moment to tally up all the unerring darts and horseshoe champions that Mother Madison Avenue has pressed to her ample bosom, regardless of their dimple quotient, and reflect upon the fact that the total is zero.

And, of course, the list of prominent kickers with chronically sprained ankles is even smaller.

IF....IF....IF... soccer were to ever conceive a breakthrough superstar capable of capturing the fickle interest of the American market, that player would have to be so transcendental as an athlete, that his services would be clamored for by all the other major sports, many branches of Special Ops and a Hollywood that is currently starved for a new action icon. Think Bo Jackson in his prime, merged with the aspirations of Brian Bosworth. Then think harder, with a vengeance. Which brings us to...

3. Becks Seems a Bit... Boring, eh What?
Although Joe DiMaggio was by most accounts blessed with a demeanor so curmudgeonly that Nostradamus called him "the Albert Belle of his generation," he was still able to hold up his half of the power-couple marquee with Marilyn Monroe. But that's not the case here.

Beckham is overshadowed in the charisma department by a lip-synching spouse who rose to fame using an adjective as her name. His contract with the L.A. Galaxy was intentionally misrepresented to the media as being worth $250 mill, simply to garner headlines. It's fine, perhaps even inspirational in these days of tabloid-bulimia, to simply be a bland, reliable plate of fish and chips. But it sure as hell ain't going to turn water into wine. Or even bottled water, for that matter-- unnecessary, but ubiquitous. Nope, Becks is going to disappear like New Coke, flat and forgotten and the answer to a future trivia question.