Sports for Girls: Vegas, Lesbians and the NFL

With all the glint and glamour of Las Vegas it’s hard not to throw some hard-earned cash on the table, saying “$40 on the Giants to demolish the Cowboys,” with all the confidence and swagger of a seasoned gambler. You play the point spread, feeling assured that the NFL Champions cannot possibly lose to the Crying Cowboys. A team whose Divas get more airtime for entertainment value then the team receives for simply playing a good game. You strut away from the bet with shoulders back, whispering, “don’t worry,” to your fiancé, “we can’t lose.”

A few hours later, she smacks you with the empty four-foot tall drink that you bought to celebrate. I tell you what; those are the deadliest and most wonderful concoctions in Vegas. Word to the wise, though, never order a four-foot tall Red Bull and Vodka. Trust me on this one.

The Giants lost, badly. Perhaps they do need their own Diva, Plaxico, back on the field. With his 12 touchdowns last year, and over 1,000 receiving yards, this Diva definitely draws the attention of any defense. It’s that attention to one player, the double-coverage and over-loaded zone, that distracts a defense and stretches it thinly upon the field leaving opportunities for other receivers to step up, and running backs to step through.

Stumbling down the strip, Diva central, with my four-foot long island, taking in the digital scenery and blustery weather, I pondered over the Diva’s of our past -- wait, is that Pete Rose signing autographs on the corner? -- receivers and quarterbacks who do more than just play the game, they play the part. The Divas hold center stage -- or center field on team logos -- cry on cue, complain to the tee, laugh sinisterly, and smile a glimmer of gold and silver.

The Cowboys have seen their share of Divas, from Deion Sanders to the infamous Terrell Owens. Linked into the same category, Deion never outgrew his flamboyancy, turning to commentating with the NFL Network. His talent, however, far outweighed T.O’s. “Prime Time Neon Deion” was not only a Super Bowl winning receiver; he was also an MLB outfielder. This Miss USA hosting, M.C. Hammer video star took Diva to an entirely new level with bling and flair (very Vegas style). Deion was a bad boy, but never out-right disrespectful of the game or his opponents.

T.O, on the other hand, does not wear a Super Bowl ring, or play two sports, and revels in disrespect for even his own team. Though this may not be his season, what with the tears and suicide attempts, he is still considered one of the great receivers in the league. He may have lost my complete respect when he whipped out a sharpie to autograph a football after a touchdown catch, or when he stood at center field, disrespecting a team logo, or when he pumped iron outside of his home during a press conference, but he is the distraction that draws double-coverage, both on the field and off. I’d toss T.O into the Brat Pack first, the Diva category second, and the Crybaby category third.

Another member of the Brat Pack and fashion Diva, Chad Johnson -- excuse me, Chad Ocho Cinco -- truly never ceases to amaze me. When he walked onto the field with that robe embroidered with “Future Hall of Famer,” he set a new standard for Diva. His name change (publicity stunt) also reminded us of how entertainment and reality TV inspire professional football players who sleep on hundred-dollar-bill-stuffed pillows and million-count bed sheets.

As I entered Bill’s Casino (honestly, what kind of a Vegas name is Bill’s Casino), passing a table of blackjack lesbians in matching jeans and hoodies, I couldn’t help but wonder who else should change their name for publicity purposes. Terrell Owens would be Teary-Eyed Terrell. Larry Fitzgerald could be Frisky Fitzy. Michael Vick would be simply Dog-Hater. There’s Unpredictable Eli and Predictable Payton, Piece-Carrying Plaxico and Kurt Can’t Hold The Ball Warner. The Buccaneer’s tackle Greg White recently became Stylez G. White. We should all change our names.

Publicity, however, does not always mean that one piece of bling that every NFL player dreams of; the Super Bowl ring. And for every gambler on the Vegas strip, publicity means nothing but empty promises and vacant words. Last year alone, Vegas lost $2.6 million when the underdogs, the New York Giants, pulled a rabbit out of their hats (very Vegas) that resulted in an unforeseen win (I knew I should have put money on that game). Could the Cardiac Cards make it to the big game and pull an upset? Ha, unlikely. My guess is that the Titans and Carolina will make it to the end. I would like to put the Giants in the big game, but after their performance on Sunday, I don’t see it happening without their star-gun-toting-Diva.

Making my way back to New York, New York I peek into the betting lounge, awaiting another smack from my beloved. Sin City notoriously toys with my emotions, offering lavished winnings, beautiful girls, and more TV’s with more games on than I can keep track of in my stupor. I may not be able to roll a seven, or count to 21, or rely on red 15, but “I know football,” I tell my fiancé. And come February 1st, I’ll be secretly betting Diva style, on the underdog (the Cards) to star in the next “I’m going to Disneyland” commercial.