Sell This Team

Given any option at all I would happily fill my tv viewing hours with sports, the History Channel and Skinemax. However, as a fully domesticated 21st century husband, modern mores dictate that I must devote at least one hour a week watching some show that Mrs. Swing and I can enjoy together. We watch Sell This House on A&E. I am not being noble here. While the show is actually quite informative and helpful, I just watch for Tanya Memme. She could repaint my rec room anytime, if you catch my leering drift.

Every episode is based around what home sellers need to do to entice potential buyers to cough up the offers. Big, beefy Roger, the power lifting decorator, coldly shames the homeowners into dismantling that life size replica of Vince Lombardi built out of beer cans they have in the living room. The black and orange wallpaper in the den is replaced by just the right shade of mauve. Following a couple of dumpster loads of almost every other thing not nailed down, the offers pour in. It's simple, easy and cost effective. Ah, were it only so for your San Francisco Giants.

Despite every trick Roger has at his command, the poor decorating choices Sabean has made can not be so readily dispensed. It's like the billboard sized matador on black velvet has been welded to the wall above the the mantle. TNT couldn't move that. The pecky cedar paneling is as institutionalized and permanent as the pyramids. The avocado colored kitchen appliances run on kerosene. George Clooney couldn't even get lucky with post stir Paris Hilton on that purple shag carpet in front of the pellet stove. Mere cosmetic changes are well nigh impossible to pull off when the foundation has dropped two feet under the garage. The Giants have become that shack under the airport landing path, next to the sewer treatment plant, infected by root rot. The local Hell's Angel chapter just moved out of the neighborhood because it had become a bad influence on their kids.

Never have Roger's special gifts been more in demand.