No Doubt, This Contest’s a Washout

The Ultimate Female was sitting in the fourth row, second seat in from the aisle, but apparently there was a misunderstanding.

“No, this is the ‘Quest for the Ultimate Female Fan,’ ” said Boomer Esiason, former quarterback, Monday night TV broadcaster and now contest judge at the Doral Country Club.

There must have been two, maybe even three reporters on hand for the soap company-sponsored event, which attracted more than 3,000 entries from across the land, the six best--including Kristina May of Venice--being flown here for a chance to win a Caribbean cruise.

More on her belly-flop later.

Each contestant wrote an essay of 25 words or less, prompting Lori Grandon to scribble: “I would rather watch football than shop.”

It probably wasn’t a good idea to begin the interview with Lori, “Where were you 26 years ago?”--because the answer was obvious: She would have been 3 and things just wouldn’t have worked out.

But there was that Ultimate Female sitting in the fourth row . . .

“I was the first woman in Boston with her own radio sports-talk show,” said soap contest publicist Janet Prensky.

Fascinating.

“Women are not accepted in this world,” she said, getting all lathered up. “So this is all about recognition, a passion that does exist.”

For soap?

“We’re going after the female audience because it’s a male body wash and it’s purchased by women,” she said.

Fascinating.

“Here, you use it like this,” she said. “You put the soap on the thingy and rub like this.”

The thingy?

“The men I know use them,” she said, and maybe there are some tough guys out there who can hold a sponge and take notes at the same time, but not here.

Since Prensky had made it clear it was a man’s world, it was time to dump her and chat with Esiason to find out what he thought about his thingy.

“A what?” Esiason said.

A thingy.

“I know a lot of things that fit that description,” Esiason said, coming clean and admitting that he had not studied his soap literature.

You know, the white scrubbing sponge that comes with the soap, and it’s easy to understand why Dan Dierdorf gets so frustrated with the guy.

“Oh, the thingy,” Esiason said. “Of course.”

When it came time for the contest to begin, it was a real soap opera because Dr. Dean, the master of ceremonies, flubbed his lines. This really irritated the two, maybe three reporters in the room, who had passed up the “John Facenda Sound-Alike Contest” figuring the winner would probably sound just like John Facenda.

In explaining the rules--over and over again--Dr. Dean made it clear the contestants would not be penalized “for throwing a football like a girl.”

And then he introduced each of the female football fans, asking them to read their essays. Of course you had the usual, “Even birthing a baby wouldn’t stop me from watching the Vikings,” and “I scheduled a C-section four days before the Super Bowl so I wouldn’t take a chance of having my newborn screw up my Super Bowl Sunday,” but the most profound epistle came from Donna Spinelli of New York.

“To me, a Sunday without football is like a person who bathes without soap. They both stink,” wrote Spinelli, and the soap company loved that until she flunked the Miss America part of the contest: the final question.

“Men make the rules,” she said, and who cares what they asked. “Let’s face it, it’s still an old boys’ network and . . .” Donna finished last. Remember, the soap company expects the women to shop for their men.

The first round of the contest had three women at a time standing behind a “Jeopardy”-like set, pressing buttons when they knew the answer.

What yard line do you put the ball on for a two-point try?

“The 10,” said one. “The 5.” “The 15,” said the third, and OK, so the Ultimate Female Fan was not going to have a perfect score.

The correct answer? Ask your husband.

When it came time for California’s own Kristina May, who was wearing a Philadelphia Eagle jersey, making her a true-blue transplanted Californian, she buzzed first on the “What school did Troy Aikman go to?” question.

Her answer, of course, “USC.”

Oh well, she would have a chance to fight back from last place after Round 1 to compete in the football throw and the field-goal contest.

“My husband is at the Sundance Film Festival showing his movie, ‘Thirty Still Single Contemplating Suicide,’ ” she said.

Don’t know how he will take the news, considering the name of his movie, but he won’t have to worry about cutting his visit short to catch a boat any time soon.

By the time it came down to the final question, everyone was chasing the woman who refused to give birth before the end of the Vikings’ game, who was dressed in the kind of outfit that suggests she must have a very loving and understanding, if not blind, husband.

“I walked around outside like this,” said Michaelle Battig, who was wearing a purple bonnet with horns and yellow pigtails over a Vikings’ jersey atop purple and yellow jungle pants with gibberish painted all over her tennis shoes. “This is what I wear to work on Sundays when the Vikings play.”

You know what the people at the Red Lobster where Battig works were saying two weeks ago: Thank God the Vikings lost.

But on this day they won, and across town as luck would have it, Minnesota’s Randall Cunningham was being selected at the same time as the NFL man of the year. So many stories to cover here, and spread so thin.

Caught up on stage, undoubtedly waiting for a congratulatory call from the president, the Ultimate Female Fan was not immediately available for interviews and the Ultimate Female was leaving.

So the two, maybe three reporters on hand picked up their thingys and left.