Last weekend, I was given a Viagra by one of my former coaches who is about 70 years old and, even in his earlier years, appeared in serious need of help in the bedroom. I had made the assumption soon after arriving at school that he was getting some help downstairs and so I started asking him to hook me up, thinking it would make me into some sort of superman. After nearly 10 years of begging, he bestowed a single pill upon me, advising that I would only need a half and that really the impact for me, at my age, would be gaining the ability to rebound like a seven-footer with a 45-inch…um…vertical.
Overly excited that I had in my possession a video-gameish second life, I only managed to hold on to it for four days before I chomped down on half and headed to Lois Lane’s.
To set the scene, I had never slept with this LL before… And, actually, short of some drunken texts, I had no reason to think she would even be interested. So… Not sure if I believed that Viagra would also give me some pervasive powers of persuasion that previously lay unrealized, dormant but waiting in my hypothalamus… But it didn’t.
A sad ending, I know. However, beyond the pit in my stomach, I gathered a couple key take-aways that I’d like to impart at this time to any concerned or curious comers:
First, a word of advice to anyone who might find himself in this situation – use Viagra on a guaranteed, known, one hundred and however many percent sure thing. Don’t waste it on a girl who might not go all the way, could be boring in bed, or may be interested in something other than making it an all night eff-fest. If you know you only got two tries, do some recon without the heavy artillery.
Secondly, if you are like me, you will learn that, unfortunately, you are in that group that has an adverse reaction to Viagra.
Approximately two hours after downing the pill, I got out of her bed feeling really, really, extremely, uncomfortably, agonizingly, stupid hot and needing to pee something horrible. My bladder issues proved to be the lesser of my concerns as it turned out. I had barely made it through the doorway of the bathroom when the heat I had felt in bed reached nuclear meltdown levels. My knees went out, and so did my lights, as I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. Potatoes hopped up on Viagra.
Not sure how long I was out, but once I pulled my head through the fog and took stock of things, I realized that I no longer had a bladder issue. But I did have soaked boxers… In the name of cleanliness, I crawled into the shower but, truth be told, I didn’t care about the kidney liquid, I really just needed to let the sweet cold water rain down on me like a thunderstorm on a prairie fire. A prairie fire with a mean hardon.
Eventually, my body worked things out for itself and I toweled off and climbed back into bed with Miss L-squared, who, as best I can tell, was never the wiser.
Thirdly, and I wish my coach had told me this as well, please remember that some things are better left to the imagination.
Sidekicks get a bad rap. Too often they are thought of as second-stringers, window dressing that frames the main attraction. Commonly, well known duos (dynamic or otherwise) are invoked to describe the relationship between the supporter and the supportee, see: "Pippen to his Jordan" and "Peanut Butter to her Chocolate".
Just like Pippen and peanut butter, the supporter is important, but never critical. To my recollection, though, MJ didn’t win a championship with the Wizards and my ex-girlfriends never got through our breakups without some Jiff tag-teaming that Hershey’s.
One perfect example of a superstar who falls on his face every so often when he goes it alone is Lips Jagger. I dare you to name one of his solo tracks that you would choose to hear over anything he and Keith have done together... If you are thinking "Dancing in the Street" I want to punch you, and then remind you that Jagger needed the help of Super "Friend" David Bowie to "get it done". And then punch you again.
Pippen, PB and Richards aren’t the only examples of undervalued sidekicks.
Johnny Carson’s quips fell on wary customers without the chuckle of Ed McMahon to sell them.
Sherlock Holmes is just an eccentric know-it-all without Watson as his foil.
Ron Howard would get called Opie even more often if not for Brian Grazer’s imagination.
An NFL broadcast with John Madden never made as much sense as it did when Pat Summerall was there to cover Madden’s blindside.
Speaking of Blindsides, Sandra Bullock would still be making movies involving beauty pageants if Jesse James didn’t have her back.
And last, without Spock, Kirk became a roaming gnome who thinks karate is a form of negotiation. Embarrassing.
I feel like sidekicks are touted as the homosapien version of pantyhose, just there to cover up some blemishes, nicks and bruises. I offer up another undergarment example, a more appropriate one that doesn’t simply cover some flaws but turns weakness into asset: A piece of clothing that can make something out of practically nothing, give new life to the washed up and turn good into great. That special spark for so many, the wonderful, wonderful, Wonder Bra.
Seriously, sidekicks are just like wonder bras, filling voids and supporting the superstars of society. Without them, just as without sidekicks, the world would be worse off.
So, I raise my glass to the idea that I will find my Robin and that she will get the credit she eternally deserves.
During the first few weeks of school each year at USC, young entrepreneurs make their way from dormitory to dormitory with trash bags full of t-shirts for sale to 18 year olds freshly free of the watchful eye of mommy and daddy and ready to assert their independence.
These t-shirts are generally the graphic design equivalent of a bologna sandwich but they sell because they say things like "Don’t Bruin Your Life" and "FUCLA". The ones that really are the hot sellers though play off of our namesake – Trojans. For example, the front of one shirt makes the very intelligent suggestion to, "practice safe sex" the kicker is the back of the shirt which goes on to urge readers to, "make love with a Trojan"…
I was recently reminded of these shirts while watching this week’s episode of "The Office" on Hulu. During the episode, I was served a commercial for the new Trojan Condom product, Trojan Ecstasy. The name sounds pretty standard though it does make me think about hooking up with a dehydrated girl in a bathroom stall… but that is neither here nor there. Intrigued, I clicked through to the website and it has this to say about the product:
TROJAN® Ultra Ribbed ECSTASY™ condoms feature a revolutionary new design that let’s you feel the pleasure, not the condom!
UltraSmooth™ Premium Lubricant inside and out for a more natural feel
Comfort shape allows freedom of movement for a more natural experience
Deep ribs at base and end to increase stimulation
Tapered at the base for a secure fit
Made from Premium Quality Latex – to help reduce the risk
Each Condom is Electronically Tested – to help ensure reliability
All sounds great; ignoring the compromised logic that something could not feel like a condom and yet has “deep ribs” at the base. While I only have a sample size of 1 on which to base this opinion, I feel confident in saying that if a guy has deep ribs at the base of his johnson – he needs to stop reading this right now and head to the clinic to get that shit checked out.
Anyway, my problem is not so much with the name or with the product description on the website, my bone of contention is with the line in the spot on Hulu; “It feels like there is nothing there”. W(hy)TF would someone want intercourse to feel like there is nothing there? Sure if you are a 16 year old boy who’s known to erupt while walking through the melon section of the market, feeling like there is nothing there would be beneficial. But I’d wager for the post puberty male and 100% of the penetration loving population of females out there, you want to feel like there is something there. The phrase, “hot dog down a hallway” comes to mind and when I have heard it used, it was never in a complimentary fashion.
Let me be clear. I am all for practicing safe sex, especially with Trojans, but for the love of god Trojan Brand these commercials miss the mark by a mile. I sat there waiting for Michael Scott to pop up and say, “that’s what she said” and for the whole thing to be a spoof… sadly it wasn’t and so if I were your brand manager, I’d go ahead and leave your ad agency being the ones feeling like there was nothing there.
Thanks for finally posting an AP story on the accusation that Big Ben (Roethlisberger) raped a woman in Tahoe in 2008. I know you had a lot of other stuff to report on over the last two days… like the ever-thrilling middle of the baseball season, the lack of any significant changes in NBA free agency and the two angles you promote on the Tour de France each day: the stage result and what Lance tweeted.
Big Ben at his finest.
I also really do appreciate that you were able to link me to the leaked LeBron video because it almost lived up to the amount of coverage you gave it last week.
I also thoroughly enjoyed that you published a story on the Lebowski Fest in Seattle, this is a significant sports story and the public needs to have the opportunity to read about it from the "Worldwide Leader in Sports".
According to some sources (Jemele Hill's Twitter page) you have a policy to not report civil complaints not accompanied by criminal proceedings.
As far as the Roethlisberger rape is concerned, I don’t know how you did it. It’s astounding that somehow you managed to get around your own policy to not report on this sort of case and that you came to terms with abandoning your self-imposed standards within a mere 48 hours of everyone else in sports journalism reporting on it. Brilliant work!
However, it makes be wonder how your strict journalistic standards managed to reach the open window so much more quickly in October 2008 when Colts receiver Marvin Harrison was sued over his alleged involvement in a shooting.
So...were you not reporting on Roethlisberger because he is a famous white quarterback? Or because you sometimes pretend to have some sort of ethics. Cause, technically, the Harrison case is a civil suit. Don't make me get Al Sharpton on the line.
I just want to say, I’m not breaking up with you, but you’re going to need to take your head out of your ass and start providing different angles of each story, more investigative material, and more than just one compelling column each week. I’m not breaking up with you, but we need to take a break. So, while I appreciate the time you’ve spent copying and pasting and linking, I am going to go ahead and just get Lance’s tweet sent directly to me tomorrow.
Recently and not surprisingly, I was diagnosed with sexual addiction… don’t feel bad for me though, I’ve watched every episode of Californication so I’ve seen how to live with it.
One day while dwelling on the "symptoms" of my addiction, I came across a story on HBO’s "True Blood" and I realized something, Vampires have a lot in common with sex addicts. We both do most of our work at night, have a hard time looking at ourselves in the mirror, we crave the fluids of others and posses a beguiling charm. Not to mention we are both turned off by garlic and anyone wearing a crucifix…
(Photo by Jean Baptiste Lacroix/WireImage)
This year is obviously the Year of the Vampire, with all the books, movies and television shows featuring the cunning blood-suckers. Is it possible that our society is dealing with sexual addiction or perhaps more likely living out some sexual repression through these mythical figures?
The short answer is yes, as I am by no means the first to make such a leap and evaluate the sexual meaning behind the bloodsuckers. Freud’s official biographer, the psychoanalyst Earnest Jones spoke of the connections between vampires and the unconscious drives of humans in the early 1930s noting that when normal sexuality is repressed, lower forms are often expressed… one of which is oral sadism – clearly a vampire-like act and favorite of mine as well.
Let’s take a step back and recognize that romance novels, a variety of books that like those about Vampires trend towards women, have seen a boom in this down economy. The stories allow readers to fantasize about something better than their lives. This Vampire enthusiasm, however, I can chalk up onlyin part to the escapism illustrated by the romance genre. I think the extra lust for blood and aggression and really that desire by so many of the female protagonists to be taken by their male Vampire flame is a result of something new in our culture.
The boys who grew up playing soccer games where the score wasn’t kept and where everyone got a trophy are the "men we saw entering the workforce over the last 5-7 years with their parents helicoptering all the way… those guys, those guys are now getting married or at least in serious relationships -- relationships that are often doomed because the emasculation of boys in the 80s and 90s through political correctness and the rise of the metrosexual left us with too many men who don’t know how to please the women in their lives.
I’ll be honest, even with my clinically identified/carnally driven state of being, I have been told by a young woman that she needed less talking and more wall-throwing out of me. What did she mean when she said that? She was telling me that she wanted me to get aggressive. To take control. To fucking take her, because the way I was using my mouth just wasn’t fulfilling her needs.
A good friend of mine who has an appetite for sex, not unlike Joey Chestnut’s for Nathan’s Famous, recently started posting all sorts of comments on FB about her love for Edward Cullen… at first I thought it odd that she was into a fictitious figure but then it all made sense, her boyfriend is in finance and they have been dating for 4 years. Chances are good that he is depressed and not getting the job done at home like he used to. She is escaping her situation, fantasizing not about sex with a man, but with a being that can truly satisfy her. In her world, men fall short.
Now we see this phenomenon stretching to television for teens with the CW’s pilot, "The Vampire Diaries." In large part, trends for this demographic are influenced by what their college-aged siblings are doing and so it is something of a trickle down effect. I think it also comes from the prevalence of sex in high school and more specifically who benefits from it. Teenage boys are more likely to be sexually satisfied than teenage girls as at this age getting a guy off is easier than taking a knee in a football blow out, while and getting a girl off is about as tough as scoring a 5 on the AP Chemistry exam.
Even at a young age women may be learning that they need something more than what normal boys have to offer them… so who better to take care of them than these Vampires that their older sisters already fantasize about and who act and look so dreamy on the pages and screens. At the end of the day, the meteoric ascent of Vampire stories tells us that women, young and old, still crave a strong and powerful man who has abilities where it counts. And perhaps a prominent set of fangs.
In the words of Jack Black, “This is a song for the ladies, but fellas listen closely.”
Remember the rumors about the football players on campus getting tutors to write their papers? The baseball team getting to eat in a cafeteria separate from the rest of the student body at the University of Wherever? The swimmers getting to pick their classes before the insolent frat boys could even open their fall schedules? Well, it’s all true.
Being a college athlete is exactly like everything you’ve heard. And I loved it. I loved the free books, the help with homework, and getting outfitted in stuff that could not be purchased, only earned. But what I really loved was having teammates.
I share a bond with the guys I swam with in college that remains five years later and which decades from now will barely show a hint of attrition. While I may not talk to those guys every week or even every month I know that they will be there if I need them. This sort of bond is a universal for college athletes with his or her teammates but for swimmers, the connection extends beyond one’s immediate teammates; it includes rival universities and even connects swimmers from different eras.
I believe that this bond is created through several means. Obviously the shared experience of countless hours in the pool is a big commonality. But I think that there are social constructs beyond the pool that truly allow a different kind of strength to this swimming brotherhood. Codes as well as traditions passed down from swimmer to swimmer and from generation to generation (including workout and meet routines, objects of significance, school/team sayings and handshakes) are examples of these constructs. “Team bonding” weeks exist to teach team members to depend on and support one another, naturally imparting a sense of connection to all those who came before and will come after.
I can recall several occasions at alumni events when a former swimmer would approach me and ask if “the ball” had yet to be dropped or if “I loved Tommy’s in the morning.” These sorts of things are the best part of that camaraderie and always made me smile. But, with such an interconnected sport, things tend to get complicated.
At times traditions can be misconstrued or taken too far, especially in long established programs where respect for the history and “legends” of the past are as important as finishing chest skyward on backstroke or with two hands on butterfly or breaststroke. Sometimes jealousy and personal pride can overcome and be mistaken for the very tradition they are betraying. Yes. I’m talking about ex-girlfriends.
When ex-girlfriends of team members are arbitrarily and permanently taken off the market, the brotherhood thing has reached an extreme. Truly it’s become a bit ridiculous.
I’m all for respecting the bounds of a relationship (and let’s all agree on that one) but… Let me pull out a random example: If you think that dating a girl for nine months means that no other dude who has donned a Speedo is allowed to date the girl after you, you might as well be the guy who opens a two-liter of Dr. Pepper, takes a sip and pours the rest of the bottle down the drain (you fascist) so that none of your friends can have any. Meanwhile, random people you have no connection with are allowed to buy as much Dr. Pepper as they please.
Friends=Verboten; Randoms=Meh.
The friend already knows if you hadn’t acted so selfishly and poured out the remainder that he still wasn’t going to get the same carbonation in his drink as you did… so come on, if he really is so set on taking a sip of those 23 wonderful flavors, why not let it be?
Actually that is a terrible analogy. Okay. To say it another way: if you and your girlfriend broke up and now she wants to date a teammate of yours, take it as a compliment. It means you hang out with good dudes. She gets to make her own choices. So do all of your teammates. You should trust that they’ll make good ones.
You obviously dated her for a reason. And you know these are the guys you count on, so why not have some goddam faith that the world will continue to spin properly if she gets a cup of coffee with the guy whose locker is next to yours.
I think this frustration is even more prevalent when an underclassman dates the ex of an upperclassman. This is a bit odd because, in every other way, we hope for the younger guys to follow in our footsteps. How is it fair to draw the line at an ex-girlfriend? If the social constructs we hold as swimmers and as teammates truly lead to men of the highest caliber, then be glad that she is with someone who will treat her well. If you’re uptight with that then maybe you are the one who needs to return for another week of “team bonding” to grow a freakin backbone and to learn the meaning of the word hypocrite.
Passing Poli-Sci 353 and finalling in both the 100 and 200 fly at NCAAs doesn’t make you Wonderboy. If you really want to be a leader, unite your team, don’t divide it.
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and turn good into great. That special spark for so many, the wonderful, wonderful, Wonder Bra. 
