The caveman character figures out his place in this temporary world at the very same moment the audience does -- this is a dream that he and we are sharing. He's landed in an iconic moment in sports history, a context that's only fully recognizable to people over 40.

His assumption is the same as that of Bobby Riggs in 1973 -- that this is an easy win over a woman, but a look at the scoreboard proves that the exact opposite is true. I'm not interested in a parallel between the "prehistoric brain" and misogyny, this ad goes deeper than that.

To me, the true brilliance of "Match" is that our window of consciousness matches that of the protagonist, but this event has been going on for 47 minutes without both of us. That this is all established in such short strokes, using a metaphorical anchor that's only a vague touchstone for the Wikipedia generation, is quite a feat of short-attention-span cinema. Modern entertainments spend pages and chapters and scenes convincing us to be sympathetic with a lead character, but we're instantly with the caveman based on shared experience... we've shown up in the middle of an elaborate story at the same exact time.

And, of course, how could the caveman have been carrying out an active role in this tennis match if he was blissfully unaware of his own participation, his very existence within the context? What had the spectators watching, what had the "sponsor" been paying for? This might break all sorts of cogito, ergo sum rules. Reflections on the nature of existence and consciousness can last well into the next few ads, mentally obliterating those blatant little hard-sells for high-MPG cars or sexy beer.

As for the effectiveness of "Match" as a sales pitch, that's another subject. For about six months in the mid-1990's, I had my Volkswagen Scirocco insured with Geico. This was an era long before quote-buy-print, when paperwork was delivered only by the postal service instead of via PDF.

I called the 800 number, spent less than 15 minutes on the phone, and saved far more than the 15 percent cut the company had promised on television. I received discounts for being a student, for having an old car, and for being old myself. The problem was, I never received anything to put in my glovebox.

When the insurance forms and cards didn't arrive within a month, I called the 800 number again and asked when I could expect them. We already sent them out, the lady said. She double-checked my mailing address, and I waited another three weeks. The bills were showing up, but no proof of insurance. One operator said I should give my insurance number if I was ever stopped by police or was in an accident. It never happened, but I was double-extra careful out on the road so my 10-digit number and I didn't have to appear suspicious to the point of arrestability. That was the insurance, I guess... it was all in the mind.

Six months after I signed up, I cancelled my invisible auto policy and changed to some other company. I can't remember which one, probably because their ads weren't as good.