Can’t you just imagine the high-level meetings taking place daily in the British Petroleum war room these days, full of top execs and engineers, neither of whom speak the others’ language, or have even close to the same concerns?
“Why can’t you stop that goddamn gusher? Are you trying to make me look like a fool in front the entire world? I’m a CEO, not a numbnuts puppet, which is the way I’m coming off. Thank God President Laid-back is treating this like a toilet where all you have to do is jiggle the handle to stop it from running.”
“Well, we gave it our best shot. But it might have helped if the plans you gave us didn’t make instructions for building your own tool shed — written by some Chinese guy with English-as-a-fourth-language — look like something Leonardo da Vinci would have drawn up. Not that we didn’t give it our best shot. I mean who thought filling the pipe with golf balls, dead shrimp, mud, and remaindered ‘Indianapolis Colts — NFL Super Bowl Champs 2010' T-shirts wouldn’t do the trick?”
“You have got to be shitting me! It’s one thing to say we don’t know what the hell we’re doing, but some of your solutions wouldn’t pass the laugh test on ‘Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?’ I mean I’m going in front the cameras with some cockamamie idea every day and trying to keep a straight face while I explain how we’ve got the problem licked now, and the next day a tar ball the size of Moby Dick rolls up on some beach in the bayou.”
“OK, I’ve been thinking about it, and I think we really do have the solution now. We build this giant Tampon, position it in front of the gusher pipe, and then ram it home like Johnny Wadd has come back from the grave. What do you think?”
“I think you’re fired. And remember that no-whistleblower clause in your contract, or you’ll be swimming with the oil-covered fishes yourself. Anybody else have a genius idea? I can only keep lying to the media for so long. Well, actually, I’m not being fair to myself. I’m CEO of BP, which means I can lie better and for longer than anyone in the biz.”
Despite the possibly misleading headline, Phillipe and Jorge are not talking about members of the Tea Party. Rather we refer to the idiot Mr. Man sports reporters who will ridicule the soccer World Cup that begins on June 11 in South Africa.
P+J aren’t about to give you a World Cup primer, but there are points of interest for even a soccer know-nothing.
The host South African team, while possibly the worst in the whole 32-team field (with North Korea pressing them for that honor), is called “Bafana Bafana,” which means “The Boys.” Don’t expect a soccer version of the movie “Invictus” here.
The player to keep an eye on is Argentina’s Lionel Messi, the reigning World Player of the Year. Cute as a button, and deadly as a cobra. The Argentines provide some of the best players in the world and have for decades, and the only thing that may hold them — and Messi — back is the coach, Diego Maradona, a deity in his home country, who seems hell bent on committing seppuku with his squad.