Chris, near death from exposure from wandering around unsupervised on the lanai for the entirety of a commercial break, rounds the swimming pool and makes like TV's most talkative reality-show host, Phil E. Buster, arguing, "Our Bachelor may be an NFL quarterback, but this is going to be one of the biggest nights of his life." Cause-and-effect police, arrest that syntax! That sentence reads like the text-only version of one of those flip books for kids that's cut into halves or thirds, where the top of the person is wearing a business suit and the bottom of the person is wearing a tutu. Where's the correlation? Even though he plays an offensive position in a spectator sport, that won't stop him from finding momentous the experience of being pawed by strangers on TV? Am I close? Can I try one of my own? It seems kind of fun. "Though Hitler marauded the European countryside unchecked for the better part of six years, everyone seems to love pizza."
"Jesse Palmer really is the perfect Bachelor," Chris voices over a shot of Jesse throwing rose petals at the camera. Remember when Meredith did that in her promo and we reality-television scholars interpreted it as Meredith using her flowery, feminine wiles in order to snag herself a man? Why, then, is Jesse doing it? Is this his subtle way of trying to tell his teammates in the gentlest way possible that he is, in fact, a promosexual? Har har har. "He's handsome, smart, rich, and successful!" What he's saying is that he admires Jesse's commitment to community service. Just kidding. Actually, Chris is in loooooooooooove. With the sound of his own droning voice. But who is Jesse Palmer, really? According to Chris's not-too-fine a point, Jesse is "everything that every woman is looking for!" He actually says that in all of its damning totality. So, like...not to speak for 51\% of the planet's population or anything? But Jesse Palmer is everything. That every woman. Is looking for. Ever. This means you, Golda Meir. ["Even Melissa Etheridge?" -- Wing Chun] This means all of you. ["Oh." -- Wing Chun]
A shot of the exterior of Giants Stadium inspires in me the same strong emotions that it does in all tri-state area dwellers: the pissed-off feeling of not being able to get to your cousin's house for the family barbecue because that damned stadium was built literally in the middle of the base of a main highway. We cut inside the stadium to find Jesse completely alone, running around the perimeter of the field while the real team is off in Green Bay actually playing in a game. But Jesse runs and runs. Holy crap! That thing must be as long as, like, ten football fields! Nah. Maybe just a little bit shorter. Jesse is twenty-five years old, we learn now, which means he's younger than I am, which I find almost impossible considering my youthful good looks and lack of similar income. Maybe what they meant is that he was stitched together and brought to god-defying, mutant life by the deranged Dr. Frankenstein twenty-five years ago. Come on. His brow is kind of monster-y. Admit it so we can marry.