David Beckham Commits L.A.'s Unpardonable Sin

He's boring us.

Was it just a little over a month ago that the blond bombsheller was touted as US soccer's second coming?

Yeah, well, things change.

Half hour into last night's already-embarrassing Galaxy game (always nice when your midfielder kicks the ball into his own net), Beckham sprained his right knee in a clash with some other loser player and had to leave.

To his credit, Becks came back out and sat on the sidelines, nattily decked out in a trendy suit and tie. Very nicely tailored. I'm guessing he was multitasking, probably doing a GQ photoshoot whilst cheering on his mates. And his hair was perfect.

But, can we be honest here, Becks?

Good grooming, while quite an admirable trait here in the Land of La, just isn't enough.

Yes, given your sickeningly beautiful body and face, we were willing to root for this thing you call soccer or football or whatever the hell it is, but only on one condition.

You were supposed to win.

Instead, not only do the cellar-dwelling Galaxy continue to suck, but you seem intent on injuring every one of your body parts from the ground up.

Sidelines-sitting and paparazzi shots of your anorexic wife buying bling on Rodeo Drive get old quick. Seriously, dude, if you don't want to end up on a fast track to The Surreal Life, you had better do something.

What, you ask? Well, here are some possibilities:

• Rent a Carbon Canyon beachhouse accessible by air and water (make it easy on the paps), have your pubes buzzcut by Federick Fekkai in front of an open window, then go commando;
• Get trashed on Jager and eight balls on samesaid beach, then go on a drunken high speed chase of your personal assistant;
• Videotape yourself in flagrante delicto with Posh and Ronaldinho - better yet, you, Tom Cruise and Ronaldinho;
• Slit your wrists, then issue a vague press release asking for "time to heal."

Damn, all that's boring now too! Been there, rubbernecked that.

I dunno, Becks, this is why God created publicists. Hire one and let them figure it out.

Or, wait! You could do a reality show where you hire a half dozen publicists and let them compete for the best PR strategy that will keep you on the map. You know, David Ogilvy meets Survivor meets M.C. Escher.

Anyway, good luck, dude. Meanwhile, we here in L.A. are going to go back to our mocha ice blendeds.

Let us know when you're interesting again.