The World Cup is a hell that every four years, for those who couldn’t care less about a bunch of retarded guys kicking a dead cow’s skin around a field, are bored to death by the tedious onslaught of unrealistic hopes and ultimately anti-climatic sentiment that dominates the television. Sensing the cash to be made by the people who sheepishly follow this stuff it means it that the advertisers crowbar any reference into their ads also.
Tesco have another advert in their soap opera-like series of adverts in which we follow a family that live for Club Card Points. (Not so long ago, I seem to remember that they were particularly cash strapped, economising using the club card points to go to the cinema.)
That must have been some economy drive, because the hard times seem to have left them now and they are spending money like nobody’s business, possibly getting into debt, but fuck-it, what about the Club Card points? The fat husband, longs for a flat screen television, hinting that it would be great to watch the World Cup on, to his surprise his wife says, “Treat yourself.”
Then, in another moment, he opines for a comfy chair to watch the World Cup. “Order it.”, his wife says, to his surprise. She further encourages him to buy everything that a stupid, beer-swilling, cretin needs to watch England predictably lose.
The reason for this generosity of spirit? Bloody Club Card points. To escape the imminent tsunami of football tedium, she is intent on putting her family into debt to fund an excursion to a health farm funded by Club Card points.