TEAM LAST CALL

The other day, as I tried to maneuver my little car through the snow in a relatively busy shopping area, I suddenly noticed in my rearview mirror what I could only assume was a battleship that was terribly, terribly lost. Noting that the battleship was about two inches from my bumper, I thought it best to switch lanes and allow it to pass.

As I swerved into the slow lane, the battleship rushed past me and blared its horn so loudly that I couldn’t help but pee a little. I peered up to where I imagined the cabin would be, but rather than finding a stately sea captain gazing off into the horizon, I saw a red-faced, bug-eyed businessman grinding his teeth and giving me the one-finger salute as he blew past me in his sparkling, new Hummer.

For anyone who isn’t familiar with Hummers, I’ll do my best to summarize them in the most fair and objective way possible.

A Hummer is like a four-ton Viagra pill on wheels, usually driven by a guy with a temper shorter than Justin Guarini’s singing career. They weigh 6,500-8,500 pounds each and are about as aerodynamic as Anna Nicole Smith, which is most of the reason why they average 8-12 miles per gallon. I’m also pretty sure that they promote back-hair growth and shrivel one’s sexual organs, although I can’t prove it.

After being popularized during the Gulf War, these enormous military vehicles are now being marketed for $106,185-$117,508 to ordinary civilians, by which I mean people who make more money than the New York Yankees. Now, I’m not trying to judge anyone for the kind of vehicle they drive. Our Constitution gives every American the right to destroy the environment to the degree that he or she sees fit. All I’m saying is that people who drive Hummers will never, ever get into Heaven.

Hummers aren’t all bad, of course. For example, because of their tremendous size, most people whose cars collide with a Hummer are killed instantly. Wait, that isn’t right. What I meant to say was, because of Hummers’ ridiculously bad visibility, statistics show that Hummer owners as a group have developed the regrettable habit of backing over their own children in the driveway. Boy, this just isn’t coming out right.

But you know what’s boring? Facts. Let’s leave the indisputable truth behind (you know, like how SUV drivers tend to be “insecure and vain” and are “apt to be self-centered and self-absorbed,” according to market research conducted by the automakers themselves*) and try to concentrate on more ambiguous matters, like what attracts people to Hummers in the first place.

As far as I’m concerned, driving a Hummer anywhere in Central Pennsylvania is like trying to pick a piece of broccoli from your teeth with Ruben Studdard – sometimes the situation just calls for something a little smaller. Like Clay Aiken. I mean, maybe, maybe if you’re living in the frozen tundra, then perhaps you need a vehicle with a little more oomph to it. Something with an engine the size of, say, an Alaskan oil drill. But otherwise, driving a Hummer down our Pennsylvania streets is like trying to remove a splinter from your thumb with a bazooka.

In theory, sure, Hummers make for a great off-roading experience. But the truth is, not many of the Hummer drivers you see hogging up both lanes of our city streets are en route to an off-roading adventure, unless you count the speedbumps in the grocery store parking lot. And I don’t blame them – if I spent $100,000 on a car, I’d be afraid to get it scratched, too. For similar reasons, I’ve been a little hesitant to wear my new cashmere gym shorts when I take my dog to the dog park. I usually leave them at home, safely folded beside my diamond-encrusted jock strap.

Now, I’d be lying if I said that Hummer commercials didn’t resonate with my inner-frat boy. What red-blooded man doesn’t want a vehicle that is both as large as a tank and nimble enough to drive over a mound of Green Party protesters, should such a mound happen to cross your path?

I mean, with their size and agility, Hummers are one pair of bikini briefs away from being a professional wrestler, give or take a few IQ points. It’s like strapping a saddle on Stone Cold Steve Austin and riding him around town like a big, bald bronco – but in a totally chummy, hetero kind of way. But as attractive as that image may be to Hummer owners, certainly there are other, less destructive avenues of expressing one’s manliness, like refusing to shut the bathroom door when you pee, or eating your weight in beef jerky.

Now, there are those who would argue that men who drive such enormous vehicles are trying to compensate for certain shortcomings in their lives, if you catch my drift. I, for one, am not going to stoop to that level, primarily because I don’t think that Hummer drivers’ teeny little bits and pieces have anything to do with it. Nope, I don’t think that their itty-bitty twigs and berries have any bearing on this situation at all. As far as I’m concerned, there’s really no need to even mention their wee little pigs in a blanket. Let’s be mature and not drag their baby peas and carrots into this.

I’m sure that once this article comes out I’ll be getting plenty of friendly fan mail from Hummer owners, mostly to the effect of, “I’m going to drive over you with my Hummer.”

To which I boldly reply, “Please don’t.”

* “High and Mighty,” Keith Bradsher