Guys Rule! Except When Women Do

Guys rule! At least, that’s what we’ve been led to believe for the past seven days. By actual events, too.

First, the three stooges - a.k.a. the top guys at CBS, FOX and ABC - whip out billions to show NFL games for the next eight years. The biggest reason publicly provided for the colossal expenditure is that pro football is the only item on TV guaranteed to lure the most attractive audience possible: guys between 29 and 54.

Then, just this past weekend, the big guy himself - Clinton - has to rearrange his schedule to deny under oath that he whipped out his … never mind … in front of Paula Jones, who underwent a more expensive remake than the Titanic. Despite the embarrassment, only fringe lunatics are yapping today about Clinton’s alleged behavior because he’s, well, a guy. Between 29 and 54, too. A member of this esteemed target audience.

Clearly, guys rule.

Maybe it’s because we don’t cry a lot in public. Or can fix toasters and open jars by ourselves. Don’t panic at self-serve gas stations. Get paid more for doing less than chicks … (Please excuse me. I have attention deficit disorder and meant to say “women.” Thanks for your understanding.) Guys quickly moved on after the tragic loss of Princess Di. Guys don’t freak out on those awkward occasions when another guy shows up at work wearing the same outfit. Guys regard Roe v. Wade as a couple of different ways to cross a lake. Guys figure things are OK if we can find the clicker and the Doritos.

Anyway, guys do rule.

And, no doubt about it, this is absolutely the biggest guy week in the world. Get ready to rumble: It’s Super Bowl time.

This, my friends, is what being a guy is all about. It’s why the networks risked bankruptcy. It’s why advertisers wait all year to introduce new products around new commercials that will be reviewed like movies in next Monday’s papers.

For guys. Tall guys, short guys, white guys, black guys, brown guys, straight guys, gay guys, righthanded guys, lefthanded guys, ambidextrous guys; doesn’t matter.

After a decade of self-loathing, strident sexism and incredible PC abuse, guys are back. Bigger, stronger, louder and more obnoxious than ever.

Hey, I didn’t see Rupert Murdoch, Michael Eisner and that nitwit Jordan from CBS emptying their wallets for the right to televise the Virginia Slims tennis tournament or Dick Button’s top three triple axels. Did you?

The reason is simple, too: no guys.

Guys are solid. We don’t fake it or get headaches at critical moments. We can wear one shirt five days in a row and not have to undergo therapy. We can shoot the breeze with car mechanics without worrying they’re looking at us, thinking impure thoughts. We can pull over to the side of the road if we have to go to the bathroom. We can be in a bad mood all during January and nobody says, “Oh, oh, must be that time of month.”

Guys are dependable. We pretty much wear the same color underwear every day. Sometimes even the same shorts from one day to the next, if we have a favorite. Same deodorant, too. We keep our cash in a pocket and don’t take 20 minutes fumbling through a big bag for coffee money. We don’t lose car keys. We can change flat tires. Shovel snow. Do stuff with tools. Or pretend to, at least.

Guys are huge. Guys are worth the investment.

However, there is one small wrinkle in this argument, one tiny flaw in a strategy that led so few to lavish so much on pro football: Guys can’t buy anything without permission.

Sure, guys make a salary. Guys save; invest, too. But your average married guy, 29 to 54, couldn’t buy a Snickers bar without first asking the true boss of the family.

A truck? A van? A computer? A camera? Surely, you jest.

Guys are like pets. First, we get trained and housebroken. Then we’re told to go fetch bread and milk at the supermarket. Drive to a hockey rink. Shave. Wait in the car. Don’t yell. Things like that. Be good and maybe you’ll get a treat later on.

Despite the fantasies of marketing experts and the greed of advertisers, guys are not trusted. Guys buy a ball, any ball, or a lawnmower instead of drapes or a dishwasher. Unless watched like a hawk, guys purchase Big Bertha metal woods and end up getting Big Mama quite angry.

Guys rule, all right. In our dreams.

xxxx