I can't believe someone paid Posh Spice to have hilarious blow-up doll and baseball antics. :(

Victoria Beckham: Coming to America is the gripping, inspiring, thrilling, emotional journey of one woman as she packs up everything she has ever known and love (David, Brooklyn, Romeo & Cruz) and moves to a bold new place (again -- the first time she moved from London to Madrid, so this is more like a redux, but Americans don't know anything outside of the U.S., so cancel the redux, darlings.) Basically, that one girl who used to point while singing all the Spice Girls songs because she couldn't sing for falaffels in their music videos and live, is moving to the LAX. And she won't be ignored dammit. And NBC is desperate not to be ignored either. It's a match made in media whore heaven.

Victoria Beckham (The Artist Formerly and In the Future For A Limited Time Known As Posh Spice) has successfully fooled the American media. There is no sense in how one-fifth of a girl band who won American ire for their campy pop music sensibility manages to curry up favor for not only her husband, a man whose claim to fame lies in a sport that America at large frankly doesn’t give a shit about, but also for herself -- a reportedly snotty, stick-thin label shill. (I love her.)

But with the downfall of our American priestesses of pop culture (Paris Hilton leaves jail and can only muster the energy to endorse a line of hair extensions; Britney Spears is still drunk and flashing her naughty bits; Lindsay Lohan continues to skillfully avoid eating solid foods in favor of an all-liquid diet), maybe NBC’s one hour special on Ms. Posh is a glorious feast, no matter how drenched in self-promo the entire piece is. Victoria Beckham: Coming to America espouses the erstwhile pop tart with some degree of Princess Diana-esque royalty. I suppose there is no shame in that kind of gilded self-promotion. We should be grateful that this special seemed free off the scabies and cigarette butts that plagued that reality show Britney did for UPN when UPN used to actually be a network.

The weak point of the special is just how staged the entire bit feels, but then again, it is summer and Victoria Beckham is “deep as a puddle.” She isn’t promising to be quirky or eccentric. Victoria is no different than our domestic pop culture princesses. Take for instance, her own mock horror at the frenzy of paparazzi. It is quite possibly the best moment of dramatic irony in the hourlong. She’s so silly as she tries to dodge all of these allegedly harried photographers and reporters though we can be sure that she dialed the digits to get them all there -- much like the girl in a movie theatre who may light the screening room on fire and then scream, “Fire, fire!” in order to conjure up chaos.

Chaos turns to hilarity as Victoria tries to fool the paps with a blow-up doll and between that, the image of Victoria pretending not to know about the impropriety of pitching a ball at an MLB game in high-heels, to an outtake of her stumbling out drunk into David’s arms delivers all of those promises that Simon Fuller or NBC’s entertainment president were bandying on about how Victoria has a “wicked sense of humor.” I was expecting broomsticks, but I suppose blow-up dolls are fine as well.

Ultimately, this special was inert and indulgent, but until the reunion comes into full fruition, these bleach-blonde, implant-loaded bits of Victoria and David Beckham’s backside will have to make do. Who knew that in order to reclaim fame in America, all Victoria would have to do is promise not to sing anything absent of her bandmates?