There were no artists in this group. That is to say, there was no one who valued the aesthetic of the thing on its own merits. It was a strange contradiction then, when five men who by all rights didn't give a flat damn about the way things looked, got out of a sleek, very expensive black car, dressed in suits so black that light took one look and called a holiday. There was no disguising their embarrassingly good looks and painfully affable natures. For five men who didn't care a lick about the look of the thing, they looked good.
One of them glanced up the street.
Standing there, on the corner, not watching them so much as seeing them by accident, was an artist. A man who cared quite deeply about the look of the thing, and very little else. When he noticed the glance and recognized its owner, he adjusted his baggy, outsize coat and second hand scarf, then shot them a look of scorn. It rebounded and made a very confused pigeon spend the evening concerned that it may have "sold out".
The five men sat together, smiling pleasantly. "Can we fit any more ads in, enjoy the refreshing taste of Pepsi?" Queried one, pausing to smile broadly and reveal grills which read Eat at Joe's.
"This message is brought to you by Pizza Hut. I think we could maybe require fans to color coordinate outfits and form giant advertisements." suggested a second. "You know, like everyone in seats 1A, 2B, and 3C wear black, some others wear white, BAM, Nike ad. Just do it."
"Gentlemen, has it occurred to you that in our crass hunt for funds, we've corrupted any pretense of this being a down-to-earth cultural experience?" The others looked at him expectantly, and he wiped his brow uncomfortably. After a few seconds, he choked out "Ford! They're... uh, good trucks." and quickly sat back down.
Glances were exchanged. A fellow on the end of the row seemed to consider what he had said, stopped choking his complimentary coed, zipped up his pants, and addressed the group. "Look, guys, some of our franchises have bigger followings than major religions. We're not just a cultural experience, we're a culture. We're practically the culture. And I'd like to thank God and the Lord Jesus Christ for everything that I have." Several members of the group nodded appreciatively. Not at what he'd said--they hadn't been listening because it wasn't them talking-but he'd been tapping out "Axe Body Spray--women will fuck you like it's actually a good decision" in Morse Code on the table with an ostentatious ring. "So I say that we don't need to apologize for what we are! We're everything American there can possibly be, thanks to our brave men and women in uniform." One of the men had stood up and removed his hat in preparation for the national anthem. "So I say no! We deserve every penny we get, or could potentially get, and at no point will the glitz and spectacle ever outweigh the value that game itself has as a metaphor for... for..." He paused, and the room was silent except for the low drone of someone humming the Star Spangled Banner. "For whatever it is it stands for!" "Home of the brave!"
He paused reflectively. "Play ball!"
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