This is an outrage. It defies common and uncommon sense alike and I demand a recount. More than that, I demand an answer. For this is the greatest affront to democracy since John Gorton voted against himself and lost the job as Prime Minister. I don’t know where to start. Tell the media. Alert the Supreme Court. Demonstrate in the streets because this travesty must not be allowed to stand. Because, when all is said and done, I simply refuse to accept the result. I cannot concede that Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson is now the ‘Sexiest Man Alive’.
This is an outrage. It defies common and uncommon sense alike and I demand a recount. More than that, I demand an answer. For this is the greatest affront to democracy since John Gorton voted against himself and lost the job as Prime Minister. I don’t know where to start. Tell the media. Alert the Supreme Court. Demonstrate in the streets because this travesty must not be allowed to stand. Because, when all is said and done, I simply refuse to accept the result. I cannot concede that Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson is now the ‘Sexiest Man Alive’.
Should I blame the indecipherable peculiarities of the Electoral College system? Or, instead, should I simply heed the advice of popular music and blame it, if not on the bosa nova, then most certainly on the boogie? Presumably these events must have occurred whilst my back was turned. I certainly don’t recall voting for him. But now it’s done, there seems to be little, if anything, anyone can do about it.
I’ll admit, I’m not altogether sure what privileges come with the title ‘Sexiest Man Alive’. Whether it includes the nuclear security codes and diplomatic immunity or simply an automatic invitation to next year’s TV Week Logie Awards with complimentary showbag stuffed full of hard to get goodies like ‘The Bert Newton Exfoliating Sponge-Stick’ or a celebrity swear jar, signed by the cast of ‘The Block’, is probably best left to the imagination. But, chances are, a title like that is at least worth one of those ‘VIP’ stickers for the drive-through at McDonalds. It’s hard not to be a little jealous.
As mysterious and puzzling a decision as this may be – on par with crop circles and alien abduction – it begins to make a little more sense when you consider the circumstances. First of all, you don’t simply get handed an award like ‘Sexiest Man Alive’; you have to take it from someone else. And, this year, the person to be dethroned as world-champion all-round sexy guy is none other than David Beckham. All I can say to this stunning turn of events is: good. Other than be David Beckham, I can’t think of one thing he’s done to justify keeping the title.
Details as to how these things are decided are, to put it mildly, sketchy. You’d like to think that there was some level of integrity and that the folks responsible for the Brownlow might somehow be involved. That the title is not decided by awarding between one and three votes for each week is a loss for all involved. It causes people to question the veracity of the whole thing. Greater transparency would be a good start as, clearly, the system is not without its flaws, as previous decisions to bestow the honour on Adam Levine and Jude Law no doubt attest.
In an ideal world, I’d like to think that the title passed from Dave to Dwayne not as a result of a penalty shoot-out or canvas-rattling bout of wrestle mania gone berserk but some kind of battle of wits. Or, if that were too short a contest, perhaps by determining whose eyebrows can perform the most outstanding syncopated dance routine to ‘Uptown Funk’. Whatever their shortcomings, they each possess a remarkable set of eyebrows. Limber too.
I suppose I’m reflecting on all of this because it was my birthday the other week. And, fact is, Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson and I are the same age. (So too is Snoop Doggy Dogg, although his strict use of a high-quality anti-ageing cream means that he hides it well. Fo’ shizzle.) When the birthday candles are extinguished and the wafting, waxy smoke begins to clear, it’s hard not to reflect on life, the Rock and the Universe. At this rate, the Rock is on track to be one of the all time great Dwaynes. Despite the substantial handicap that is being named ‘Dwayne’, the Rock has just been crowned ‘Sexiest Man Alive’. I, it is fair to say, am still some distance off achieving that goal.
Dwayne may be a Hollywood star, but he started out not so far from here, having spent part of his childhood living in Auckland. Presumably this means that he’s eligible to play for the All Blacks whenever he likes. He’s a third generation wrestler too which, frankly, is a lot of men in tights for one family. Christmas must be quite the occasion as various generations launch themselves from the top rope into the present pile at the base of the tree. That’s not so different from what goes on at our house. It’s not so hard to imagine that, in a ‘sliding doors’ kind of way (but without the inconvenience of Gwyneth Paltrow) that the Rock and I could well have been friends.
I’d like to reconsider. Forget jealousy. I am flat-out delighted that one of my peers has been awarded such a prestigious honour. So best wishes, Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson; wrestler, actor, author and the most gifted athlete never to start at fly-half for New Zealand. May your reign be magnanimous and feel free to use your Presidential veto stamp as often as you like. You winning ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ is far from the strangest thing to happen in the last few weeks. I, for one, will be cheering for you.