Screen Break
George Forman, shameless huckster - not that I would say it to his face
By Martin Kelner on Nov 26, 2006 - 4:55:00 PM
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I have addressed before in these columns the problem of what an athlete does once his or her career in sport is over. The question arises every time I see Frank Bruno on TV doing his tiresome Frank Bruno act, which he trotted out again last week on Question of Sport. Why can he not be more like another former heavyweight boxer, George Foreman, who has found something useful to do with his life?
I refer, of course, to the George Foreman lean mean fat-reducing grilling machine, which the veteran of the Rumble in the Jungle is currently plugging with the kind of tireless dedication which normally only precedes a title fight.
For those of you who have not seen George's TV commercials for the product or attended one of his numerous personal appearances, it is one of those miracle grills, which cooks your meat and vegetables to a turn, locks the flavour in, in fact, while - would you believe it? - the fat just filters away.
I am sure there were hucksters flogging similar devices at the Ideal Home exhibition thirty years ago, but how much more likely are you to buy one from happy healthy born-again George, than from some fast-talker in a shiny suit, wearing too much after-shave?
George's brand of celebrity salesmanship has never quite caught on over here like it has in America, where it is impossible to turn on the TV without a celebrity trying to sell you something; Paul Newman's salad cream, Joan Rivers's jewellery, Victoria Principal's skin secrets, they are all at it. While famous people appear in ads here, they are rarely for their own brand products.
Lloyd Grossman's pasta sauces (or pooarsta, as he calls it) are an exception, but I could find no takers for my idea for the Ally McCoist electronic personal organiser, which tells you where you are, where you are supposed to be, and what to say to the wife when she finds out.
I remember Joan Rivers doing chat shows after she first started up in the jewellery business, and smuggling in a mention of the jewellery in every interview, even on ITV's fearless This Morning programme, where she was interrogated thus: "I believe you've got your own range of jewellery. Tell us about that."
Foreman, appearing on Jonathan Ross's Friday night Letterman imitation, waited for no such invitation. Ross showed a clip from When We Were Kings, and asked George to tell him about the Rumble in the Jungle.
"Well, I was in Africa waiting to fight Ali," said the former champ, "And I was eating a cheeseburger, and the grease was dripping from it, but if I had had the George Foreman lean mean grilling machine, the fat would have just filtered away. I would have won the fight."
Shameless, said Ross. And when Jonathan Ross describes you as shameless, you know you are getting an expert opinion. Until Friday I had studiously avoided his new chat show, a choice vindicated by the following joke from this week's show: "Jonathan King is in the showers at Belmarsh Prison, doing a remake of his big hit, retitled 'Everyone Wants Me To Moon'." Even if you think the King case is a laughing matter, that is a dreadful joke. All in all, I think it may be the worst joke I have ever heard.
I am no expert, but I should say if there were any humour to be derived from the Jonathan King story, it stems from Simon Bates's appearance in court as a character witness: "This is a story aboud a guy - led's just call him Jonathan - who, quide liderally...." Works brilliantly with the music.
Back to George, though. On his way in to Ross's programme, he managed to fit in an appearance on the Hawksbee and Jacobs show on Talksport, where he not only talked about the mean, lean etc., but grilled steaks live on air. I would not have believed an ex-boxer and a pile of meat products could be such an entertaining listen. According to presenter Andy Jacobs, though, this historic moment in British broadcasting nearly never happened.
Apparently, the boxer's people sent the mean, lean thingy over, in readiness Andy purchased some prime cuts from one of West London's top kosher butchers, and then at the last minute they 'phoned to say George could not make it. "Maybe," said Andy, out of the side of his mouth, "If George isn't here, the steaks won't come out so good." Boxers' people tend to understand that kind of language, and George duly showed up.
I did not know he had five sons, all called George. "If you shout for George, how does the right one know it's him you're calling?" asked Ross. "Oh, he knows all right," replied George (senior, the ex-boxer). A fun guy to share a steak with, I should say.
And before we leave the eating habits of born-again Christians, I am indebted to Clive Tyldesley on The Premiership for the information that Glenn Hoddle and West Ham's Glenn Roeder were dining together on Saturday night. You can imagine the quips being batted back and forth across that table.
I am afraid I was not able to make it, Glenns, but if you are looking for a device to make sure that next time the food at least has some flavour in it, I can put you in touch with someone.
