Monday, June 23, 2008

The Post is reporting that 9 year old Conor Kelly was supposed to meet David Beckham for his birthday because his mother bid 7000 dollars on a prize package that included 2 return flights to Los Angeles, 2 nights stay in a hotel, VIP tickets to a soccer match Beckham was playing in and the chance to meet him after the game. At the last minute, Beckham’s people deemed the meeting a security risk and the kid never got to meet Beckham.

Here’s the thing New York Post: you can’t ever really beat David Beckham down because he’s the angelic part of a pop cultural dichotomy. He’s the angelic part and Posh is the talentless, evil part. They can’t live apart and yet embody the exact and purest opposite cultural properties. Isn’t that interesting? That’s why the only bad stories about Beckham involve how he manages to miss out on children who come to see him after matches or at the airport.

This isn’t the first time this has happened either. He had the same thing happen in Australia recently and after the media showed footage of the kids crying, he said in a press conference that he had no idea they were waiting and that he would be willing to meet with them anywhere and hang out. Small children seem to always be the weapon the press uses against David Beckham. Small children who are ready to cry on camera or mothers who give quality Lifetime movie worthy quotes like this one the Post ran:

"They're keeping us in the dark," said Kelly. "Conor is heartbroken. He said, 'Doesn't Beckham know it's my birthday present?' He is my son's hero."

I mean what else could they possibly muster up? David Beckham may not be a genius and he may be a totally classless chav but he's not evil and mean spirited. That's his wife.

His WIFE is the callous, mean one.

Why isn’t the Post running something on how ridiculous Posh is if they need to run a “God, the Beckhams suck” post? I mean, she is basically insufferable on every level in everything she does all you have to do is take your pick of her daily actions.

There’s the march through the house in the morning demanding things from her staff, the oil sucked from the faces of poor African teenagers in the African desert that she smears on her body to ensure an all over, delicately moisturized tan and the trim spa martinis she has poured down her several times a day. Not to mention the fact that she wears heels to make that clacking sound so her servants know to scurry away and be afraid. She feeds on the fear of others. Are we absolutely certain she’s not Satan? Pete Doherty could be her mignon. She has several but he’s the main one. [source]

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