Not the host for my pet virus. That’s me. I’m never wrong.
I’m talking about the relatively new host of The Price Is Right, Drew Carey.
I’d been dreading Bob Barker’s imminent retirement since the 4th grade, and about a year or so ago I sensed the inevitable a few months before the announcement. I posted a blog on MySpace, a survey of sorts, to try to find a proper replacement for Mr. Barker.
I forget who all the nominees were, but I do remember that Ric Flair won the survey in a landslide. His energy would have been contagious, and I think we all missed out on something really special.
Instead we got Mr. Carey.
He’s not the champ.
Of Plinko or wrestling.
I chose not to rush to judgement on this matter, and give the guy a couple of months to get the hang of things. But it’s not helping. Bob aged like a fine wine, going from suave lady’s man to endearing grandfather figure with a mid-90’s sex scandal.
Drew? He’s got some zingers, but he lets those zany audience members run roughshod over him. Flair wouldn’t just stand beside them and laugh, he’d chop their chest to a bloody pulp.
Of course, I know CBS wouldn’t give a wrestler the gig for liability issues. But at the very least they could have gotten the right Carey.
Imagine Mariah Carey hopping into one of those hottubs with one of the models? Or Jim Carrey talking out of his ass and doing plastic face? Or how about John Kerry, painstakingly explaining every nuance of each game in four-hour episodes?
Last week my t-cells reached their highest level since my diagnosis twenty years ago. As the lives of people with HIV are extended by ever-improving HIV drugs (including universal access to life-saving medications and daytime game shows), their demands from pop culture fixes will become greater and greater.
And without a capable host of The Price is Right, is life really worth living?