I should have looked away, but I couldn’t help myself. I was curious, eager for a pleasure as guilty as eating a bag of Funyuns. So I watched the Monday night series premiere of “The T.O. Show” on VH1 and felt so dirty afterward that I had to take a hot, cleansing shower.
The hourlong “reality” show, which has an eight-episode run, follows the indulgent life of NFL wide receiver Terrell Owens, whose best asset is his athletic talent and his greatest liability is his enormous ego.
The purpose of this show was to give the American television viewers some insight into the man beneath the athlete who is famous for making highlight-reel catches and infamous for fracturing football locker rooms.
But there’s no man to see. He’s just a 35-year-old adolescent whose development has been arrested by having too much money and fame and too many surrounding sycophants and enablers.
Appropriately, there is a disclaimer that follows the credits: “The National Football League and its member clubs do not endorse and are not associated with this program.”
By watching it along with millions of viewers who contributed to the premiere’s respectable ratings, I’ve aided and abetted in Owens’ continued attention-getting.
T.O. needs to be Tuned Out.
Somebody ultimately has to kidnap him, put him on A&E’s “Intervention” and get him treatment for vanity.
His narcissism is the star of this T-eality series. Owens is its executive producer, which means that what we see is more of a self-promoting infomercial than a “Big Brother”-style, quasi-objective, third-party’s perspective on his life.
What his actions reveal in the first episode isn’t flattering. What’s worse is that he is about as ashamed of this self portrait as he is of his washboard abs. (He sure spends a lot of time marveling at his own musculature.)
His best friends and co-stars of the show are his publicists, Monique Jackson and Kita Williams, and his bodyguard, Pablo. It’s quite sad that his most meaningful relationships are with people under his employ.
The show opens with Owens looking/acting despondent after he was cut by the Dallas Cowboys. Jackson and Williams arrive at Owens’ Miami home to console their friend/biggest client.
Strong, sassy and smart, these women proposed a rehabilitative plan for Owens to “work on the man … not the football player” and urge him to move to Los Angeles for a change of scenery.
But Owens, while seemingly compliant with the idea of reordering his life and his future, showed he was more intent on indulging himself by hitting South Beach clubs, flirting with gold-digging sexpots and indulging in the adulation of celebrity-struck fans who want to shake his hand, praise him and take photos with him.
His West Coast rebirth began with his purchase of an elaborate home and a convertible Bentley. The attractive, seductive real estate agent bought into Owens’ charm and later returned — unbeknownst to his handlers — for dinner, hot-tubbing and, um, no-strings dessert.
Ick.
Owens’ other Los Angeles’ affairs included a Rodeo Drive shopping spree, during which he freely drops Benjamins at boutiques and pays $137,000 for new diamond stud earrings. He also got a pedicure, sampled the nightlife, enjoyed being easy prey for what his handlers’ termed “hootchie” women and allowed bodyguard Pablo to bring an assortment of leather-panted, thong-exposing eye candy back to Owens’ new home for an afterparty.
His publicists confronted Owens about the partying, for which Owens took no responsibility. “I didn’t do nothing,” he claimed, feigning complete surprise over his residence being suddenly inhabited by instantly acquired “friends.”
In confessionals to the TV camera, Jackson and Williams talked about their frustrations about how “Terrell turns into T.O.” They seem sincere in wanting to help Owens
Nobody can help Owens, who doesn’t want to help himself. He can’t see what’s wrong with his character or his life. He shows no genuine interest in reform or maturity and no capacity for introspection or enlightenment.
In his NFL past are the teams he has splintered and the bridges he has burned. The rock bottom of unemployment didn’t last long because the
Buffalo Bills signed him two days after his Cowboys’ release.
He keeps on getting his way.
No circumstance has compelled him to take a sobering look at his selfish, self-centered ways. Only when his touchdown-catching days are behind him will he realize how empty the man is beneath the star player.
Perhaps young elite athletes will see “The T.O. Show” as a cautionary tale.
He is no hero. He is no role model. He is a gifted athlete whose life gives TV viewers every reason to continue believing that some pro athletes are undeserving of our complete admiration and respect.
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