Cincinnati Bengals wide receiver Chad Ochocinco will be a contestant on Dancing With The Stars when the hit ABC shows graces the airwaves for season ten on Mar. 22.
Is this another indication that Ochocinco’s relevance is defined more by his media presence than by his football skills? And, how would he fare on other famous reality shows?
Even on the football field, Ochocinco’s relevance is defined more by his media reach that his abilities as an NFL wide receiver. So, the last thing we should do is criticize Ochocinco for appearing on Dancing With The Stars .
We should applaud him—for continuing to search for the talent that he was meant to do with his life. Because it doesn’t seem to be football.
And what better way to enhance your growing media presence than to appear on a network television show available to practically every household with a working television.
Ochocinco is no fool; in this era of television, free from bulky antennas and aluminum foil-accessorized rabbit ears, viewers will be able to see the enigmatic Ochocinco in crystal-clear, high definition.
At this point, the digital age can give viewers what Ochocinco can’t give the Bengals—better reception.
But that’s not to knock Ochocinco’s dancing skills. We’ve seen his celebratory touchdown dances on a number of occasions, and his footwork has been impeccable. Dancing With The Stars gives him the opportunity to dance free from the prerequisite of having to score a touchdown beforehand, which has often limited Ochocinco’s routines.
On DWTS , all you need is a fancy outfit and a neurotic addiction to publicity, and you’re all set.
Heck, Ochocinco might get the chance to duplicate his most famous dance step from the field, “The Riverdance,” on the dance floor. If that happens, viewers could be witness to an entertaining spectacle, when a flaming, aristocratic British judge tells Ochocinco that the “Irish jig is up.”
This is surely just the beginning of Ochocinco’s new obsession—reality shows. What would happen if Ochocinco appeared in some of T.V.’s greatest reality shows, past and present?
Celebrity Apprentice : Can Ochocinco butt heads and kiss ass with the best of them? Just ask Cincy head coach Marvin Lewis.
But Donald Trump won’t be so accommodating. When Ochocinco, donning a sombrero and a poncho labeled “Hall Of Fame,” appears before Trump for a presentation on a new gold-plated bathroom basin called the “Ochosink-o,” Trump sends him packing on the spot. Ochocinco seems indifferent, and later admits that hearing “You’re fired!” matters as much to him as hearing “You’re fined !”
Celebrity Rehab : Amongst a cast of celebrity washouts from the music, film, television, and obscure pageant industries, Dr. Drew Pinsky finally gets to treat a real star.
Ochocinco, in for a Twitter addiction, initially resists Pinsky’s methods, which include an absolute abstinence to internet usage. Pinsky forces Ochocinco to communicate in writing, in cursive, in ink, and demands his communiqués contain at least 1,140 characters, well above Twitter’s 140 character limit.
Motivated and cured, Ochocinco pens his autobiography in three weeks, but the 45-page manuscript is rejected by all major publishing houses.
Pros Versus Joes : Ochocinco and teammate Carson Palmer make an appearance on Spike TV’s reality game show pitting real professional athletes against amateur counterparts.
A confusing, yet hilarious chain of events follows, when Ochocinco and Palmer unexpectedly meet at the entrance to the “Joes” locker room, each expecting the other to be dressing there.
Survivor: Revis Island : Placed on an island and handcuffed to New York Jets cornerback Darrelle Revis, Ochocinco is charged with the task of freeing himself and leaving the island. He fails, and his fellow contestants vote him off the island, and vote Revis to the Pro Bowl.
The Dog Whisperer : Ochocinco finds himself at the mercy of canine task-master Cesar Millan, who unleashes a torrent of simple yet effective exercises aimed at controlling Ochocinco’s urge to mark territory with mindless chatter and images.
Pleased with Ochocinco’s progress, Milan sends him on his way, telling the humbled Bengals star that he came here “a media hound,” but he left “with his bark now no more than a whisper, dawg.”
Operation Repo : Fulfilling a lifelong dream, Ochocinco’s gets to ride along with Luis Pizarro and company on a series of staged and scripted repossessions in this TruTV show that completely takes the “real” out of “reality.”
The good times go awry when Ochocinco’s 2010 black Lexus is targeted for repossession. Before he knows what’s happening, Ochocinco is scuffling with Repo’s overall-wearing tough guy Matt, and starring in an episode of Punk’d .
The Osbourne’s : Is it possible to add more dysfunction to the Osbourne household? You bet.
Ochocinco promises Ozzy that he’ll change his name to “Mr. Crowley” if Ozzy completes a dare of snorting a line of ants and then biting the head off a dove.
Ozzy easily completes the tasks, stunning Ochocinco, who refuses to change his name. Miffed, Ozzy’s wife Sharon kicks Ochocinco out of the house, telling him “America may have talent, but you don’t.”
Before exiting, Ochocinco propositions the Prince Of Darkness’ daughter, Kelly, asking if she really wants to experience the real “dark side” to give him a call.
Celebratory Fit Club : In a new twist, Ochocinco plays host on this show, guiding a group of celebration-challenged footballers, including Andre Johnson of the Houston Texans and New England’s Wes Welker, through a two-week course aimed at adding some attitude and swagger to their touchdown routines.
Special guests Butch Johnson, Billy “White Shoes” Johnson, and Andre Rison provide personalized lessons and interesting anecdotes on the good old days, when celebration were unregulated.
Welker wins the contest with a Randy Moss/Michael Jackson-inspired routine called the “Moon Walk,” one Joe Buck surprisingly labels as “ inspiring and creative, and not at all disgusting, like when a black receiver does it.”
I Love Attention : In this spinoff of VH1’s I Love Money , it’s Ochocinco versus Paris Hilton in a test of will, patience, and adaptability. The two switch places, with Hilton assuming the role of NFL football player, while Ochocinco takes on the daily life of a camera-hogging, quasi-celebrity/socialite/media whore, a role he embraces with aplomb.
The show takes a particularly entertaining turn in Episode Four, titled “Film Day,” when Hilton watches game film in the dark, while Ochocinco enjoys footage of Hilton filmed in the dark.
However, Hilton is later kicked off the show when she arrives at practice in her bra and panties, totally misunderstanding the concept of a “seven-man drill.”
Flavor Of Marvin : This show never gets off the ground, as a casting call seeking people who have kissed Bengals head coach Marvin Lewis turns up only Ochocinco, and two women, one being Lewis’ mother.
What Not To Wear : The premise for this show is simple, and rather boring, consisting solely of Ochocinco reading the NFL rulebook’s chapter on uniform guidelines.
The O.C. : Ochocinco is stunned to realize that “O.C.” doesn’t stand for “Ochocinco.” Instead of a reality show devoted only to him, he’ll have to share the spotlight with a group of air-headed bimbos and their lame-brained suitors, a group Ochocinco likens to the participants in labor talks between the NFL Players Association and team owners.
Deadliest Catch : Ochocinco joins the crew of The Gift Of Crab , an Alaska-based vessel roaming the Bering Sea in search of king crab.
Then, amidst a brewing storm in the Bering Strait, Ochocinco and the other crew members engage in a round table discussion, drinking liquor while viewing and discussing the numerous bone-jarring hits Ochocinco has endured over the years from Ray Lewis on six-to-ten-yard crossing patterns.
Project Runway : Ochocinco hosts this Bravo show, in which eight aspiring fashion designers are given the difficult task of taking thousands of unsold “C.Johnson” Bengals jersey and making them marketable to the public.
The winner’s new design is praised for its simplicity, as the jersey are slightly altered to resemble those of the Tennessee Titans, and then sold as Chris Johnson jerseys.