The Rocketteer
I still don't know how in God's name I convinced Robbie Gould to dance like a Rockette. There's really no single embarrassing thing he did that I can point to. Everything just seemed to blend together into the equivalent a big, loud, accidental fart on a first date- maybe it was the orange sweater and polyester pants, which made him look more like Dave from "Alvin and the Chipmunks," than the second-leading scorer in the NFL.
If any of Robbie's teammates saw the segment, they will undoubtedly mock him mercilessly. But what they (and you) didn't get to see, was how much attention Robbie got from 6 gorgeous, professional dancers. Now don't read anything into this- all of the ladies were respectful, wholesome, and worthy of the title "Rockette." However . . . you'd have thought Tom Jones entered the room. Or, whoever else women find attractive.
I have a decent little following myself. You watch our Voicemail segments. You hear the middle-aged women say how they want me over their house for dinner. I didn't get HALF the attention Robbie got. And I still had my makeup on! I was working my swarthy, George Hamilton look. Still had the suit on and everything. Couldn't have competed.
The Rockettes were as giddy as school-girls. And in me just saying that, I may have combined two of the most common male fantasies. Point is, this is the power of being a professional athlete. It helps that Robbie is a handsome guy, and might I add, pretty smooth with the ladies. But . . . he IS a kicker. A kicker! And if people go this nuts over a kicker, how does Brian Urlacher leave his house?