It's here.. Blag It Like Beckham

Sunday Mirror, Aug 17, 2008 by MICHAEL CALVIN

SURGICALLY Enhanced Enter pr ises, in con junction with Airbrush Associates, presents Hollywood's latest blockbuster, Blag It Like Beckham.

It's a tale of simple folk, starring a semi-retired footballer and his fading popstar wife. You'll know them as David and Victoria.

Set over a three-week period in late summer 2008, we follow them on a global tour that takes in Los Angeles, London and Beijing.

The scene is set at the Teen Choice Awards, in the Gibson Ampitheatre, Hollywood.

It's August 3. Victoria learns from a German historian that she is distantly related, on her mother's side, to a key aide of Karl Marx.

"I'm a worker," she tells the slavering hacks. "That's why I was different from some of the other footballers' wives.

"It never really interested me, that lifestyle of spending your husband's money."

David is preoccupied with a surfboard, his prize for being voted Choice Male Athlete.

He looks distinctly nervous when the MC announces Fergie as his next guest, but it turns out she's the singer from Black Eyed Peas.

Life seems sweet. David's perfume, Instinct, an eau de toilette derived from notes of grapefruit, mandarin leaf, cardamom seeds and patchouli, is a best seller.

His underwear ads have led to a 150 per cent increase in demand for Armani briefs.

Amazing what can happen with a pounds 20million contract, a bit of baby oil and 10-storey posters featuring the gentle contours of your reproductive organs.

But all is not well. Tim, CEO of the conglomerate paying David pounds 131million to encourage Americans to buy replica shirts, flies into a rage.

Risking his pounds 2,000 suit in a sweaty dressing room, he tells David's team, a collection of has-beens and college kids known as LA Galaxy, to "get it right or get lost".

Within a week Tim fires Ruud, the coach who invented Sexy Football, and Alex, the club president, whose CD "Ginger" is regarded as a definitive example of punk metal.

On August 14, Galaxy play the "Super Classico" derby against Chivas USA, an Hispanic team named after a whisky brand.

The clubs share the Home Depot Center, a stadium likened by locals to a dog track.

Galaxy salvage a 2-2 draw in injury-time, but haven't won for eight matches.

David is booked, and, at the final whistle, indulges in a brief bout of handbag swinging, which passes for a mass brawl in Major League Soccer.

He's morphing into an American Footballer. He resembles one of those kickers down the road at Oakland Raiders, nerveless and fantastically accurate at dead-ball situations.

Never the quickest physically, he's slowing down, but his clarity of thought sets him apart. The fans, in their ignorance, love him because he's a trier.

That's enough for Fabio, England's football manager. He makes a mockery of his image - Michael Corleone meets Brains from Thunderbirds - by selecting David for the August 20 friendly against the Czech Republic.

Victoria just happens to get caught shopping in London by those horrible paparazzi. She looks on regally as David uses the Wembley game as a warm-up for the main event.

On August 24 he stars in the closing ceremony of the Beijing Olympics, kicking footballs out of a London bus, to kids whose smiles are miracles of orthodontistry.

The value of Brand Beckham soars. Perspiring sponsors queue up, and beg the golden couple to star in yet another soft-porn photoshoot.

The final credits - "To Simon, and everyone at our management company" - roll.

You couldn't make it up. The scary thing is, I haven't. Not a single word.