Bizarre

Hundreds compete and I don't get it?  I guess for a chance at snagging a multimillionaire NHL football player.  Got hooked into the tryouts for the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders last night.  Could not tear myself away.

Mostly dyed blondes, they were clones of each other.  So were the few brunettes.  It's not as if these girls were all bimbos; some have successful careers.  One was a chiropractor, another owned her own computer business, another was a chemical engineer.......so why they would want to subject themselves to what they will be subjecting themselves to if they succeed is a mystery to me?

But they were not all playing with a full deck.  One interview was stunning.  "Who is the Commander-in-Chief?" asked one of the judges.  With a proud beaming grin, the girl gave the name of Jerry Jones, the owner of the team!  Do you know which political party the president belongs to?  She shook her head.  "Do you know what a political party is?  Again the head shook. 

You could not make this up.  I was incredulous, so were the judges.  Thrilled at her chance, another girl jumped in and said, "Barrack Obama and he belongs to the Democratic Party".  But the next question stumped that five-star member of Mensa.  "Which party did both Presidents Bush belong to?"  "Oh, I know this........the...uh.....the....um.........oh dear, I just can't think of it right now."  Unreal.  Needless to say, both were weeded out.  But this was the final round and each girl had actually made it all the way there!  If I were a judge, I'd suggest having the "brains" portion of the tryouts first up. 

"These girls have to be able to converse intelligently at dinner where they might be seated next to a senator or a congressman -- or even a team owner!" drawled one of the judges, herself an older, desperately pulled-together, former cheerleader.  Here's a bulletin girl: the senator, congressman or team owner doesn't give a whit if the cheerleader next to him knows who the president is.  He has only one thing on his mind.

Yet, I could not bring myself to turn the TV off until the girls who were chosen for training camp had been selected.  As each name was announced, the weeping-with-joy began as they rushed to the stage.  And they're not even cheerleaders yet.  Many who had made it to previous camps lost out to this new group of masochists.  "I didn't make it this time," sobbed one loser, "but I'll be back next year." 

Leaving the venue, they fell weeping into their waiting mothers' arms -- the latter older saggier versions of the daughters, of course. 

Sad.  Had I been one of the losers, I'd have packed it in and got on with my 'real' life.