List lunacy

Let's lose this love affair with year-end lists. Most are nonsensical anyhow. Take GQ's so-called Men of the Year, for example.

By TOM ZUCCO

© St. Petersburg Times,
published November 20, 2001

The publication is Gentlemen's Quarterly, so it stands to reason its nominations for Men of the Year would, shall we say, border on the exotic. Sports Illustrated will pick someone like Tiger Woods. Time will lean toward someone like Rudy Giuliani. And Cave-Dwelling Maniacal Terrorist Monthly will pick . . . oh, I don't know. They'll find someone.

GQ has come up with 19 Men of the Year, gleaned from reader votes, and here's the lineup: seven actors, three sports figures, two fashion designers, a novelist, a politician, a TV news anchor, a movie director, a rock band, a musician and a chef.

What, no mimes?

I don't want to be too critical here, but if the best you can do is a collection of B-list celebrities whose tether to planet Earth is about as fragile as Kathie Lee Gifford's ego, it's time to rethink this whole list concept.

Consider some of GQ's nominees:

• Rob Lowe. Mr. Camcorder. The pretty boy's pretty boy. An actor who each week on The West Wing goes to great lengths to transform himself into that great American statesman George Stephanopoulos.

America thanks you, Rob.

• Hedi Slimane, menswear designer. His quote: "I am not of the past, but of the future." That is like sooooo deep.

• Michael Bay, director. Never heard of him.

• Jamie Oliver, chef. Chef. That's funny.

• Ben Affleck, actor. If the category is best actor in and out of rehab, Robert Downey Jr. is a far better choice.

• Brian Williams, MSNBC news anchor. His quote: "I am a walking anachronism who seldom unbuttons a suit button. Who will have me?" That's even deeper. But next time, send a sympathy card. Don't play one.

• Tom Ford, menswear designer. Hey, that's my first and middle name. But I never heard of this guy, either.

• George Clooney, actor. O Brother, Where Art Thou? Nobody saw it. Perfect Storm? See giant wave. Look scared. What a performance. Didn't he used to be Tom Selleck?

• The band U2. U kidding?

GQ did make some good choices. Lance Armstrong made the list and deservedly so. He beat cancer and the best cyclists in the world to capture his third Tour de France title this summer. And Vermont Sen. Jim Jeffords, who followed his conscience and switched political parties, was a thoughtful choice.

But some men on the list just didn't make sense. Bruce Springsteen, for instance. The Boss is still cool, but what was his major accomplishment this year? A concert on HBO. Anybody can do that (see Spears, Britany).

Then there was Philadelphia 76ers coach Larry Brown and Los Angeles Lakers star Kobe Bryant. Huh? Why them and not Sammy Sosa? Or Randy "the Big Unit" Johnson? His nickname alone qualifies him.

In fairness, the list was compiled just before Sept. 11, so no one could have foreseen the contributions of New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani or the hundreds of rescue workers, many of whom gave their lives trying to save those trapped in the World Trade Center.

Still, this is Gentlemen's Quarterly, the magazine that pays no attention to normal people and will always smell better than you do. (I haven't confronted this much cologne since I fell into the Brut by Faberge! display at Target last year.) If GQ is noted for anything, it's its ads.

Example: Three perfect young men. Wearing sunglasses, suits and ties. And what are they doing? Riding dirt bikes in the middle of the desert. It's an Izod ad, of course.

This is why millions of people outside the United States think we're insane.

That, and our lists.

Why even bother naming the Men of the Year? Isn't a local paramedic who saves a life just as worthy as someone who donates a couple million dollars to a hospital? And why does it have to be something dramatic? What about the quiet accomplishments of teachers, clergy and counselors? Or your own father or brother? You could go on and on.

But Americans love their lists -- just quantify, baby -- so at the end of each year, we trot them out.

The sad part about this kind of list is the timing. As GQ found out, circumstances can change. And with the speed at which events are unfolding now, no Whatever of the Year list would be safe unless it is compiled at midnight on New Year's Eve.

Maybe all we can say is that there are too many Men of the Year to count. A husband whose wife thinks he's the Man of the Year is just as valid a choice as George Bush or Tony Blair.

If I had to pick, I'd nominate two small groups of men. The first would be Todd Beamer, Jeremy Glick, Thomas Burnett Jr., Mark Bingham and Lou Nacke.

They were the passengers on board United Flight 93 who tried to regain control of the jetliner after four hijackers killed another passenger, injured both pilots and were aiming the plane toward Washington, D.C., on Sept. 11.

During a frantic struggle in the cockpit, Flight 93 slammed into a field in southwest Pennsylvania, killing all 45 people on board. We can only guess the number of lives saved by the heroics of Beamer and the others.

These were ordinary men. They were celebrities only in their own homes. They didn't even know each other. Beamer, a Sunday School teacher and businessman, called a GTE operator from his cell phone and said he and other passengers knew they were going to die, but they had decided they wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Are you ready?" the operator heard Beamer ask fellow passengers. A few seconds later, he said this:

"Let's roll."

My runners-up would be Erik Weihenmayer of Golden, Colo., and Sherman Bull of New Canaan, Conn. Last May, Weihenmayer and Bull climbed Mount Everest.

Lots of people have done that, but at 63, Bull is the oldest ever. And even more remarkable, Weihenmayer, 32, is blind. He followed the sounds of bells tied to the jackets of his climbing mates and made the summit in four days.

Okay. There is one more guy.

Honorable mention and a free balloon angioplasty go to Takeru Kobayashi. He's the 130-pound guy who on July 4 scarfed down a world record 50 Nathan's hot dogs in 12 minutes. That was nearly 8 pounds of food. If you can call hot dogs food.

Now that took guts.

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