TRACKING BECKHAM

15 Jun

I went to a MLS game on Saturday, a clash between the San Jose Earthquakes and the LA Galaxy, with the brightest star in the universe, the supernova David Beckham in shorts. Most in the huge crowd were there to see him, and he was quite effective in leaving the impression that he will retire and join a Ramblers Society, a weird cult in England composed of people who like to take leisurely walks around wide open spaces. MLS means Major League Stroll. Becks, to give him his alcoholic moniker, made no tackles during the game, and I wondered if he had a no-tackle clause in his contract. And then I flashed back to an image I had seen of Becks two days ago, a shocking, homo-erotic photograph of Becks in underwear, showing his tackle. His body had been painted by the photoshop folks who designed the bodies of the actors in the movie 300. Legs wide open, it was cock-a-doodle do.

This coming Thursday, Becks will be in San Francisco, and I am planning a blag, fueled by Heineken.  With my new book Kick the Balls in hand, I plan to worm my way through security and get a photo with Becks holding my book. Stand by for the result and photograph on Friday, if I’m not tackled by security and thrown in jail.

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