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Sports

Athletes, Fast Food, and the Long Con Killing America

Athletes make the perfect fast food pitch people; they are also the best proof as to why you should not eat fast food.
Brian Spurlock/USA TODAY Sports

"Republicans buy sneakers, too," declared Air Jordan in 1990. This was simple fact: in the game of corporate business, in the context of billions of dollars, red state or blue state affiliation matters little. What matters is synergy: can a sports star and company mutually benefit from a partnership in pursuit of positive image and profit?

After all, athletes are the perfect pitch people. Passion, strength, and humanity. Iconic players abound, and there are billions to be spent and made in sports. There are stadiums, jerseys, teams, and events to sponsor, and even athletes themselves.

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But just as the Jordan Rules applied to the 80s hardwood where Chuck Daly's Bad Boy Pistons sought to annoy His Airness, the trends associated with the modern sports hero—and contemporary society in general—may prove to be similarly constraining on the world of athlete endorsements. This goes especially for the food and beverage industries, and the athletes who smile for the camera on their behalf.

On one hand, the sports world is pushing fast toward peak performance; athletes are achieving physical feats previously thought impossible. On the other, an American public with exceedingly poor nutrition and lackluster exercise habits, that is consequentially suffering from rising rates of preventable diseases and rapidly declining health. Stuck in the middle are the athletes shilling those diabetes-inducing cheeseburgers and soft drinks to the general public.

Throw in social media transparency with multi-medium visibility, media overexposure, and a hyper-aware, issue-hungry online ecosystem, and an "unstoppable force, immovable object" paradigm may be in play. Take my advice, because I'm not using it? Which leaves open another question: is any of it, for brands and athletes alike, ultimately sustainable?

Take LeBron James. James spent the summer using his social media accounts to shed light on his no-carbs, no-sugar diet for 15.6 million Twitter and 7.3 million Instagram followers. Lean meats, fruits and veggies. Paleo, kind of. Health first-second-and-third. Tragically, no dessert in Greece because it didn't fit his program. Eventually, he lost more than 20 pounds. Everyone from ESPN to US Weekly gushed. Maybe LBJ even got too skinny.

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Cut to this summer's McDonald's commercial blitz. The King. Johnny Football. Alex Morgan. Some NASCAR driver. The whole gang hanging out at the Bacon Clubhouse with (presumably) Ronald and the Hamburglar. Good luck getting in. Or getting your hands on that well-protected sandwich. Then, soon after, James is donning a giant metallic top hat, taking Rich Uncle Pennybags' hand in his, and welcoming back Monopoly. So much for Paleo.

The inconsistency is in no way exclusive to James and the Golden Arches, merely the tip of the iceberg lettuce conundrum. We see big food and beverage companies partnered with big, friendly athletes everywhere. The greater the relative critical mass on each side, the stronger the fit. The King simply plays the cards he's dealt.

"McDonald's is one of the best known and most recognizable brands in the world," James' manager Maverick Carter said in 2010. "LeBron couldn't ask for a better partner and for him to be involved with such a company says a lot about where he is in his career."

Once that career crescendo is realized, sponsors jump in. And this, often, is where the absurdities begin, for athletes of all types.

Olympic gold medalist? Apolo Ohno. Quasi-paleo dieter. Oreo man. Subway aficionado, alongside world famous basketball, baseball, and football players. Forget the questionable pretense of "Eat Fresh" and the swirling health debate about the world's fastest growing chain.

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Super Bowl winner? Peyton Manning. Career longevity that's second-to-none. And a cool $12 million in endorsements this year. With a big thanks to Papa John's and weed legalization in Colorado

Best women's tennis player ever? Serena Williams. Gatorade. Oreos. Even McDonald's, once upon a time. Today, she's allegedly a vegan. Among others, personally moving in the opposite direction of fast food.

In fairness, all of this has been going on for ages. Started, more or less, as a bond between baseball and cigarettes. A true double-play combo. Cards stuffed in cigarette boxes at first; T206 Honus Wagner, anyone? Moved to run-of-the-mill "I love smoking" variety. Stan Musial and Willie Mays for Chesterfield. Mickey Mantle and Hank Aaron for Camel. Twenty-one out of 23 Giants giving their rousing backing of Joe Camel, too. Eventually, big government stepped in, after cigarettes were categorically written off as a killer.

But cigarettes back then weren't alone. Wheaties got in the mix. Sugar, too. Which brings us quickly to the here and now. Sugar is still a problem, perhaps the problem.

The documentary Fed Up describes the sweet stuff in vivid, factual detail, comparing its effects on the brain as to those of cocaine and linking it to childhood obesity, diabetes, and disease en masse. Some highlights: "Kids watch an average of 4,000 food-related ads every day. One soda a day increases a child's chance of obesity by 60%. An estimated 93 million Americans are affected by obesity."

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The CDC notes the growing trend. So does Michelle Obama's White House Task Force. None of the findings are particularly good. Especially for Coca-Cola and Pepsi. And Snickers. And Oreo. And the athletes who back them.

Meanwhile, a Yale study last year called out the hypocrisy, specifically LeBron, Peyton and Serena. Other studies point to the susceptibility of parents to trust athlete endorsers. Objections to the London 2012 Olympics' McDonald's and Coke sponsorships crop up. Ditto the 2014 World Cup. From the November 2013 issue of Pediatrics:

The World Health Organization has recommended policies that limit young people's exposure to food advertisements. Professional athletes are in a unique position to use their highly visible status to promote healthy messages to youth, and their role as athletes may lead the public to perceive them as credible sources of knowledge on a healthy lifestyle. Conclusions: youth are exposed to professional athlete endorsements of food products that are energy-dense and nutrient-poor.

Another question: will it ultimately be good business for brand-conscious athletes to partner with the foods and drinks that make us fat and unhealthy? Can this continue uninterrupted?

Not to say that athletes don't indulge in sugar or junk themselves. Hard Knocks gloriously detailed Chad Johnson's morning, noon, and night McDonald's diet. ESPN profiled Lamar Odom's full-baked candyman-ness. Marshawn Lynch attributes lifelong football glory to Skittles "power pellets." Derrick Rose, Dwight Howard and Michael Beasley also worship at the altar of "Taste the Rainbow." For full-blown sugar-addiction, see Caron Butler's relationship with Mountain Dew. The UConn star battled headaches, cold sweats, and a couple weeks worth of withdrawal symptoms after weaning off his career-long daily routine of—at minimum—six 12-ounce helpings.

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But unless athletes' sugar addictions begin publicly spiraling out of control and fast-tracking a larger debate, the near future of the partnership between them and junk food providers will probably look a lot like the present. Sure, there is mild progress. Fast food companies are finally seeing decent nutritional value as something to be proud of, because consumers are starting to realize that they would rather look like LeBron James than Homer Simpson.

Derek Jeter's partnership and food-truck christening this summer with declared healthy food company Luvo (Jeter better-living quotes, included) planted the tiniest cherry on top of the retired Yankee's legend-cementing sundae.

Oberto Beef Jerky is surfing the rising tide, too, with a for-athletes-by-athletes push toward healthy snacking that features a commercial with Stephen A. Smith living inside Richard Sherman's stomach. How healthy? Debatable. Better for you than Slim Jims? Case closed.

Body Armor coined the "Upgrade Your Sports Drink" slogan, added heavy hitting shareholders like Andrew Luck, Kobe Bryant, and Buster Posey, and went helmet-to-helmet with beverage OG's Gatorade and Powerade. Their coconut water-based product line promises twice the electrolytes and less sodium. Like Amar'e Stoudemire's endorsement with Zico Coconut Water, this is savvy business.

Kobe Bryant, meanwhile, knows the harsh realities of sponsorship better than most, having cut his endorsement teeth with Sprite. Today, the Black Mamba blasts the Gatorade bros as "bland with no innovation." He Instagrams his ire that ballers should be allowed to choose their sports drink; a crusading better-sports-drink democratizer. Perhaps the greater the skin in the game, the stronger the opinion, the sweeter the irony— and the bigger the ROI if you put your mouth where your money is, like Kobe does, especially for the "right reasons."

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And James, to his credit, even opened up Miami's first cold-pressed juice shop.

Really, much of the sports world is headed for the moral fitness high-ground. NBA stars Dirk Nowitzki, Kevin Love, and Kevin Garnett, among dozens of others, have taken to the yoga mat. Jurgen Klinsmann's USMNT is on a healthy food kick with personalized shakes and peanut butter balls. Chip Kelly is trimming alcohol consumption for his Eagles and implementing quasi-fascist training and dietary methodologies, objections be damned.

Ditto much of the world at large. Mayor Bloomberg's big soda ban. Chefs Roy Choi and Daniel Patterson start mass-market, healthy-leaning big food play Loco'l. Changing consumer tastes and demands. Technology and transparency—the things that started this mess via James' healthy selfies—could potentially spark collective social action. Government intervention could follow, just as it did a few decades ago against big tobacco.

But we are decades, if not longer, away from these trends actually realizing any change, the ultimate french-fry-oil tanker. So, in this moment, should we expect more movement? Only fair to give young, newly-minted McDonald's spokesman James the closing words.

"McDonald's and I make a great team," James said in 2010. "We share many of the same core values, including a commitment to excellence and giving back to the community. I am also excited about the opportunity to work with Ronald McDonald House Charities, which helps improve the lives of so many children and their families around the world."

Excellence. Community. Core values. Improving lives. A great team. Yes, The Chosen One is a helluva teammate. He certainly chooses wisely.

Which is paramount in the game of sports marketing chess. Usually smart for athletes to align their interests with the intangibles that always resonate with our hearts, bodies, and minds. Might follow that it makes sense to keep those same interests aligned in the realm of healthy hearts, bodies, and minds, too.

But, for today anyways, probably best to heed one basic truth: The King stays The King.