How Some Want "Beautiful Athlete" to Become an Oxymoron

This is the magazine cover that has launched a thousand feminist diatribes about the objectification of female athletes.

The blog post behind that link indicates that only 4% of Sports Illustrated covers over the past 60 years have featured women. One would assume that this includes the swimsuit issue, although it's odd that the blogger, a Dr. Nicole LaVoi, would do so, since she could have then attacked SI for only featuring "women athletes" on less than half that number.

And with controversies like this popping up every time an attractive female athlete appears on a magazine cover, is it any wonder SI doesn't make a greater effort? Sure, the kerfuffle kicked up by these feminazis is not bad for SI's circulation, but once all is totaled, is it really worth all the derisive hate mail that the magazine is bound to receive?

Simply because Vonn is pretty (seriously, she's got a real Christie Brinkley thing happening on this cover), any depiction of her on a magazine other than an actual in-race action shot is automatically a Cro-Magnon sexualization, according to blogs like Dr. LaVoi's and others. If a woman's face looks like the north end of a southbound mule, then...what? Is that proof enough that she's gaining notoriety for her athletic ability and not for more prurient reasons? Are a terrible complexion or hideous scar or grotty teeth essential to be truly respected, and not just a sex object?

Sports Illustrated is getting lumped in with Maxim here, and that's a little bit unfair. Examine the cover's caption.

"America's BEST Woman Skier Ever". 

Does it say "America's HOTTEST Woman Skier Ever"? Nope. Is Lindsey a skiing Kournikova, ONLY making magazine covers because she's beautiful?  Um...no. Her resume's more stacked than she is, merely lacking the Olympic medals that seem to elude her primarily because...well, off the slope, the girl's a bloody klutz.

Is the photo of Lindsey oversexualized? Only if you think this one is.

The wet shirt clearly is gratuitous, meant to draw attention to Michael Phelps' sculpted abdominal region. Disagreement is a sign of a clear double standard. At least Lindsey's SORT OF in uniform. But wait...Michael Phelps' uniform has been, on occasion, a tiny pair of Speedo trunks. But there's no potential for the sexualization of a muscular, usually wet guy in a Speedo, is there?

As is often the case, feminism attempts to trumpet freedom of a woman's will, but goes about it in exactly the wrong way. Excoriating female athletes for using ALL of the genetic gifts they were given is an attempt to stifle the athlete's mainstream potential, merely to make some political statement about the athlete refusing to have her career dictated to her by the impulses of the male loins. All it says is that these women are blonde airhead bimbos who have to have men plotting everything, up to how many squares of toilet paper they use to wipe their asses.

Of course, now Lindsey and three other Winter Olympians have well and truly crossed the picket line, haven't they? This is tantamount to treason to their gender, is it not? Unless someone placed a gun to their heads and ordered them to put on swimsuits (or less) and pose with their skis, that is. Free will is only free when you agree with the decisions made, is that it?

At the finish line, it's all about an athlete being able to make a living at their craft. The purses in skiing aren't quite on par with those in tennis or golf, so why does anyone feel the need to step on Lindsey Vonn's chance to make her living using every tool at her disposal? News flash, Dr. LaVoi: Lindsey and Hannah Teter and Lacy Schnoor and Clair Bidez are trading on looks and talent while they have them, because both are ephemeral. They'll both be gone eventually, and if these ladies can get paid in full right now, making a better future for themselves and their children, so be it.

I perfectly get that Dr. LaVoi's approaching the issue from a "what's good for sport and subsequently for society" point of view. What I don't get is how a young girl in rural Minnesota whose parents don't have the money or the inclination to connect their house to the Internet is supposed to find role models who aren't getting respect from the mainstream media (i.e. Sports Illustrated). If Susie can't connect to some skiing or tennis or golf website for detailed research, then about who in her favorite sport is she going to hear? Lindsey Vonn, Maria Sharapova, and Natalie Gulbis, that's who.

Holding attractive athletes like Vonn up as examples of what is wrong with women's sport is not only denigrating to the work they put in to reach a world-class level, but also denying the truism that without some kind of hook, how will the sport reach its greatest potential audience?

Lindsey Vonn is that hook for the Winter Olympics right now. And instead of decrying the fact that the media are objectifying female athletes (for about the 245,349th time since women began playing sports competitively around a century ago), why not come to an understanding that the athletes are, in the end, objectifying themselves with a very specific purpose in mind?

Russian pole vaulter Yelena Isinbayeva may have said it best when she said, "If we are ugly then no one will be interested." And if no one's interested, then what happens to a sport, male or female?

20 Years Since Buster Lit Up Tyson? Srsly? Dear God, I'm Old

February 11, 1990.

Yes, that was 20 years ago today that The Baddest Man on the Planet (TM) was captured on film looking like a guy stumbling into the street after a nasty night of drinking...or possibly a rabies patient, depending on how one looks at the mouthpiece.

I was 11 years old at the time, only a couple of years into my great sports awakening. Before I knew that death and taxes were the great guarantees in life, there was only one guarantee that I was personally sure of: Mike Tyson would feed James "Buster" Douglas his own pancreas. Most likely through a straw.

When I got this issue of Sports Illustrated in the mail, it was more of a shock than finding out that there was no Santa Claus. Honestly, I'd posed the "how's he get around the world in one night?" question pretty early, so that one wasn't all that big.

But Tyson losing to this guy? I considered a religious conversion right then and there, because it seemed like a sure sign that the apocalypse was upon us.

In hindsight, the only real world ended that night may have been Iron Mike's. It was only a year-and-a-half later that Tyson was arrested for rape, but he'd already been going through a circus, firing trainers, having promoters dueling over him, and ending a disastrous marriage. In comparison, jail may have been a holiday.

We may just now get to find out what the real issues have been with Mike, thanks to filmmaker James Toback and his critically praised documentary Tyson. Next time the wife and I head to Blockbuster, I'm most definitely grabbing a copy of that one off the shelf.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go have some prune juice and sit on the can for an hour, because I'm suddenly feeling extremely aged.

Exhibit #218 Of Why Ovechkin > Gretzky

That, friends, is 6'2", 220-pound Alexander Ovechkin absolutely demolishing 6'7", 250-pound Hal Gill of the Montreal Canadiens. At first, it resulted in a goal, but after some consultation, the referees tooketh away.

This kind of fullback intensity is why I enjoy watching Ovechkin play over pretty much anyone that's ever strapped on skates.

Gretzky never had the size or the inclination to do that to anybody. Mario Lemieux never wanted anywhere near that kind of check, even though he was plenty big enough to do it. Same with Jaromir Jagr.

You have to look at players like Rick Tocchet or Brendan Shanahan to find that sort of cross between sniper and enforcer, but Ovechkin will surpass most everything either of those two ever did...provided he doesn't kill himself smoking some fool in the process.

Comparing Tocchet to Ovie is sort of like comparing a Windstar to a Hummer. And on a good day, Shanny might get to be the A-Team van.

It's a rare talent who can thrill you with a sweet, otherworldly goal one night and then some other night, absolutely bitchslap a mammoth defenseman into the goal mouth. And me, I like a little nasty with my nice. Thrash on, Alex. Thrash on.

4 Quarters: The Music, Volume 1

If you read this, than you'd have to be somewhat blind to not notice that I've also been pimping my radio show, 4 Quarters, pretty heavily.

I'm having a lot of fun doing it so far, but I am far from a finished product on the radio. Of course, that's the best reason to be doing the show, for practice and training.

I've tried to record the first three episodes for podcasts, but through assorted operator errors and technical problems (okay, more of the former than the latter), I've managed to get the first 80 minutes of episode 3 recorded, and nothing else. Bah.

But, for those who haven't heard an explanation of the show's format, we (myself and my co-hosts Joseph and Bobby) divide the two hours into four segments separated by breaks mandated by the station. During those breaks, we play promos for the station's other shows, PSA's, etc. We separate ourselves from the other sports shows by incorporating music into our breaks, with a tremendous blend of genres and time periods.

Hence the point of this post. To get a feel for the kind of stuff we've been playing over the first three episodes, I'll present the 12 songs that have graced our breaks. If you'd like to listen to any of them, I highly recommend Grooveshark. Just click this link, and once Grooveshark loads, just enter the artist's name and look for the song.

If there's a Rhapsody link next to a song, that means it's not currently on Grooveshark, and you can go to Rhapsody to listen to it.

Clicking on song titles will take you to Amazon, where you can download the song. Clicking on artists will allow you to download the entire album on which the mentioned song appears.

Episode 1:
1st Intermission: "(Don't) Give Hate a Chance" by Jamiroquai (This one was actually a last-minute substitution when the computer lost connection in mid-tune. I had to quickly pick something off of our touchscreen menu, and settled on Jay Kay and his hat. Not a bad choice, all in all.)
Halftime: "White Knuckles" by OK Go
3rd Intermission: "Giving Up the Gun" by Vampire Weekend
Postgame: "Creative Juices" by Har Mar Superstar (Rhapsody)

Episode 2:
1st Intermission: "Counseling" (Clean Version) by Clipse feat. Nicole Hurst (Rhapsody...I introduced this one as "Tiger's Theme"...listen and you'll hear why.)
Halftime: "Ride On" by Parliament
3rd Intermission: "Fallin' and Flyin'" by Jeff Bridges and Colin Farrell (From the Crazy Heart soundtrack)
Postgame: "Something I Do" by Robert Earl Keen (Rhapsody)

Episode 3:
1st Intermission: "I'm In Miami Trick" by LMFAO (A love song from me and Joseph, the show's resident Colts fans, to all the Steelers/Cowboys/Patriots/other obnoxious fanbases who might be wondering where our team can be found this Super Bowl weekend.) (Note: single download is clean version, album download is NOT)
Halftime: "Let the Madness Begin" by Fozzy (fronted by WWE Superstar Chris Jericho, pictured above)
3rd Intermission: "Romance is Boring" by Los Campesinos!
Postgame: "Stella the Artist" by David Gray

So, there you have it. Makes for sort of an interesting playlist, don't it? I know I have fun digging through the "crates," as it were.

One of these days, I'll be getting a full show recorded and put up for podcast, hopefully at Blip.tv. Rest assured that everyone checking Facebook, Twitter, and this blog will hear about it as soon as the first show (er, fourth show) is online.

Otherwise, I assure you that it'll be worth your time to go to WMTS.org and click on the headphones to listen live every Tuesday Noon to 2 Central...if only to hear what we'll be playing next.

Regarding Tebow: Do You Hate the Player, or Hate the Game?

The Internet is a beautiful place, one where opinions of every stripe can find a voice. You can always find someone willing to claim that the Pope is a child molester. You can always find someone to insist that Barack Obama is a computer-controlled puppet of Osama Bin Laden (and they'll insist that that explains the similar names). And, you can always find someone who's decided that Tim Tebow is an evil, evil man who will receive his comeuppance from the shining, virtuous NFL.

In an era where so many of our athletes are either idiots, morons, assholes, or just lovable poonhounds, we finally have a guy who loves his parents, has a charitable streak wide enough for the entire NBA to drive their Bentleys across, and doesn't appear out to screw anyone figuratively or literally...especially not Hooters waitresses and porn stars.

And he's probably the most despised man in all of football this side of Oakland, California or Washington, DC.

If it was merely a case of "eh, I don't think he'll be all that great in the NFL," that'd be one thing. In this case, it's actually summed up by the title of this Bleacher Report article: "The World Loves Watching Tim Tebow Crying."

Human nature is a major bitch. When we hate our situations in life, we lash out at those who we perceive as "having it better." We wonder, "Why aren't I glorified for being a good parent/spouse/employee when this kid gets cameras in his face all day for throwing a fucking football?"

We ask ourselves, "What do I have to do for someone to say that spending 5 minutes in my company will make you a better person?"

Do I think Tebow's going to be a good NFL player? No, not unless he ends up on some team where he can get the full Aaron Rodgers treatment: park it on the bench for three years, work on your game, soak up wisdom from a future Hall of Fame QB (provided said QB is willing to offer it), and not actually play until truly ready. Problem is, when you're packing a Heisman, a national championship, a slew of SEC passing AND rushing records, and a media presence that dwarfs every other college football player in the past two decades, time to learn is not something that's in large supply.

This isn't the obscure, undrafted-free-agent-out-of-a-small-college Tony Romo getting to toil on the third string for four seasons until he stumbles into the starting lineup. This is Mr. "Thick Polygons and Smooth Flat Planes and Inescapable Corn-Fed Handsomeness" himself.

Invariably, some team (if it's the Jaguars, Tim should just head for the Philippines now, because he'll have more pressure to deal with than Marino, Obama, and Christ put together) will decide that selling tickets for this season is more important than the player's development and try to thrust Tim into the starting lineup long before he's ready. At that point, Tebow will proceed to absorb a mighty ass-kicking. He won't complain a bit, but he may get emotional after a loss. And the envious will eat it up with chopsticks.

And the media will alternately cry about it or simply shrug and say, "We told you so."

The photo to the right, let's be honest, it's funny as shit. I like Tebow probably more than most, simply because I'm refreshed by a guy who isn't slinging guns in clubs or locker rooms, snorting coke or who-knows-what-else, making it rain all over strip clubs, or generally being a complete walking stereotype of the shallow, selfish, greedy, hedonistic jackass athlete.

But the picture's implication that announcers from CBS/FOX/ESPN/any other network that's carried a Florida game the past four years have been greedily slurping up figurative manjuice from Tebow these past four years? Yeah, that's pretty damn accurate. If I didn't carry so much respect for what he's accomplished in college football, I'd probably be pretty annoyed too.

Does he deserve the Thom Brennaman "10 minutes makes you a better person" tongue-bath? Eh, I dunno, I never met the guy. I sincerely doubt it, though. Still, the fact that he's an excellent athlete (and trust me, for ESPN to gush about a white guy's athleticism, he's got to be pretty damn impressive) who doesn't act like a complete douchebag will always score points with me.

I'm far from a religious person, so the verses on the eye black and the constant references to Jesus in the interviews are all lost on me. I've simply enjoyed him as a COLLEGE football player, without fishing for something to bitch about and settling on "Well, he'll suck in the NFL."

Whether I agree on the feasibility of airing a pro-life commercial during the Super Bowl or not (and for the record, I don't; not because of any philosophical favor or disfavor of abortion, I just think it's a bit too heavy for a football game, where all the other ads will be for cars, beer, erectile dysfunction pills, and GoDaddy), if you've read Tebow's story, you can appreciate the unique perspective he carries on the subject.

If your mother drank heavily while pregnant with your younger sibling and said sibling came out with serious mental and physical deficiencies, wouldn't you carry a little perspective on fetal alcohol syndrome? And do you understand why Tim and Pam Tebow might want to appear in this kind of commercial? If you said no to both of those, you have very little to offer this planet. Seriously.

Hating the media's slobberbath of Tim Tebow is perfectly acceptable. I have to roll my eyes at it myself. I place Tebow in my Top 10 list of all-time great college football players, but I don't need it made to sound like he's God's great-nephew. Fair enough. None of this fawning is his fault, though. Dude didn't ask for it, he just lives his life how he wants to, not how "fans" think athletes should, with strippers and strapped posses.

We're all sick of hearing how great he is, but why delight in his current Senior Bowl struggles, or cackle with glee at hearing that he might fall to the third or fourth round of the draft? He'll be the most hyped third-round pick in history, sure, but why be annoyed by it at this point? Simply move on and ponder your team's picks or players from your school or whatever angle usually draws you into the NFL Draft. We all know that it takes a great player, not great hype, to succeed in the NFL.

Difference is, I'm smart enough to separate the hype from the person.

Are you?

Does God Hate Clippers Owner Donald Sterling (& Does He Care)?

In the wake of the season-ending aggravation of Blake Griffin's knee injury, "The Curse of the Clippers" has returned to the news. (It may be noticed that in almost every article that moans about the injuries to Danny Manning and Griffin, it is noted that 1998 #1 pick Michael Olowokandi played in "only" 45 games in his first season, neglecting that that was the infamous 50-game "lockout" season. But I digress.)

Immediately after Griffin was drafted, Bill Simmons came up with a chronology of the Clippers' woes that presented compelling evidence that the team's futility even poisoned the career of their first celebrity fan, Billy Crystal. Seriously, go read it. You'll laugh.

Simmons wonders if the Clippers' 30-year malaise was the result of some besmirching of sacred Native American spirits or something. An interesting theory, and the avalanche of misfortunes, coincidences, and calamities make a reader feel like there's GOT to be SOMETHING going on.

Me, I'm not a religious fellow, but after this latest shot to the gut, even I get the feeling that (Insert Your All-Powerful Deity of Choice Here) is seriously trying to stick it in and break it off. Not on the franchise, per se, but merely on its owner, Donald T. Sterling.

The story goes that in 1979, Dr. Jerry Buss sold a handful of apartment buildings to Sterling and proceeded to use that money to cover his purchase of the Lakers. That transaction has continued to be rubbed in Sterling's face for 30 years.

The perpetual flaunting of Sterling's subsidizing of Buss's good fortune appears to have melted Sterling's brain over the decades, and he's taken his fury over ending up with Los Angeles's red-headed stepchild out on whole segments of society ever since.

Let's start from the beginning. In San Diego, Sterling tried to stimulate Clipper season ticket sales with billboards prominently featuring the team's heralded new acquisition: himself. By January 1982, he was getting fined by the NBA for thinking out loud about how nice it might be to tank some games to "earn" the Number 1 pick and the chance to draft Ralph Sampson.

He wasn't paying hotel bills. He wasn't making payments to players' or general managers' pension funds. He couldn't even pay for dinner some nights.

The man hired one of his girlfriends, Patricia Simmons, as an assistant general manager, booting coach Paul Silas out of his own office. Simmons is listed as a former model, but as it's pretty hard to find pictures of her online, she must not have been terribly successful. Click that link there and scroll to the bottom to see how much basketball knowledge Sterling had, let alone Simmons. (John Have-lie-sek, indeed.)

In recent years, he seems to have gotten more basketball savvy. T.J. Simers put an optimistic spin on things in November when he wrote this praise of Sterling in the LA Times:

He built a state-of-the-art practice facility, allowed Dunleavy to go free-agent shopping with an open checkbook, cut ties with Elgin Baylor after 23 mediocre years as general manager, and now has hung in there with the same coach for seven seasons.

Because in today's sports climate, not firing your coach every two years (and getting caught up in millions of dollars in deferred settlements) is cause for Nobel Peace Prize nominations. And while Simers may have been happy about Elgin getting canned as general manager, Elgin himself certainly was not, filing an age and racial discrimination suit against Sterling. (Me, I'd have fired Elgin for selecting Danny Ferry over Glen Rice, but I'm a Big Ten homer, so I might be biased.) Baylor claimed that Sterling's ideal vision for his basketball team mirrored a Southern plantation, with a bunch of "poor black boys from the South" playing for a white head coach.

Dunleavy getting an open checkbook is certainly a turnabout from the days when players like Lamar Odom and Andre Miller were allowed to bolt in free agency rather than getting anything resembling a decent offer. Even guys who got decent offers (see Elton Brand's matched $82M offer sheet from Miami in 2004) weren't exactly thrilled to be staying. Brand proved it five years later by completely welching on his deal with Baron Davis to team up in LA and sprinting as far across the country as he could get. Not sure how the Sixers are feeling about that deal right now, either.

Sterling's tried to manicure his image, spending the years between 2006 and 2008 declaring the impending construction of a homeless shelter/hospital/school/legal advocacy center in a Skid Row neighborhood of Los Angeles. We're well past that time period now, and you would be correct if you assumed that the arrival (nay, even the groundbreaking) of said building is still "impending."

The homeless-center boondoggle would seem much more genuine if there wasn't such a tremendous initiative on Sterling's part to keep the homeless population expanding. He's been nailed with housing discrimination suits not once, but twice.

In 2003, his practices of ignoring maintenance complaints, harassing tenants with surprise inspections, and refusing rent checks to hit tenants with non-payment charges earned him a lawsuit that was settled in 2005. Almost $5M in legal fees alone were awarded to the plaintiffs.

A 2006 lawsuit by the U.S. Department of Justice alleged that Sterling refused to rent to African-Americans (because "they smell"), Mexicans ("they just smoke, drink, or hang around the house"), or anyone with children, giving preferential treatment to Koreans instead. That one was settled this past November for around $2.73M.

And just this week, TMZ has reported that a negligence lawsuit has been filed by a group of tenants in a West Hollywood building owned by Sterling...and one of those tenants may be recognizeable as Ginger the secretary from "The West Wing."

Apparently, through all this, Don hasn't lost his touch with the ladies. In 1996, he was sued for sexual harassment by a woman who claimed that she needed to carry a gun afterwards for fear of retribution from Sterling.

Seven years later, Sterling got to be the plaintiff for once, suing an employee whom he would regularly pay for sex in an effort to reclaim a $1M Beverly Hills property that she believed to be a gift. He appeared to take a lot of delight in recounting the details of their sexual encounters in a deposition obtained by The Smoking Gun. Click that link if you like, but if anyone walks up and reads over your shoulder, be prepared for a "Why the hell are you reading porno fanfic?" line of questioning.

Through all of Sterling's misanthropic fuckery, Herr David Stern (ten times the Nazi commissioner that Roger Goodell will ever be, for all the good and bad points that his hard line merits) has remained absolutely mum. He's found time to mandate a business-casual dress code for the players. He assesses fines on Mark Cuban because he posts tweets posing valid questions about game officials. But flaunting sexual exploits and flooding elderly black women into an early grave so he can get them out of his apartment buildings? Fair play, apparently.

Stern's got no compulsion about demanding his players toe a disciplinary line, but why not the owners? Because they paid to play with these expensive toys, and as long as they keep contributing to the NBA kitty, the rest is their business?

Will it become more of an issue when lines of protesters picket the Staples Center and prevent Ice Cube, Spielberg, Jack, and Dyan (little ditty...ahem, sorry) from getting in to see a Lakers-Clippers beatdown?

Will it become an issue when players decide they're not willing to relive the slave days and quit rather than go play on the "plantation"?

Or will (Your Almighty Deity of Choice) continue popping ACL's and breaking kneecaps in the hopes that Sterling will eventually pop an embolism and go rent an apartment off the most unforgiving landlord of all? (Hint: he doesn't fix the air conditioning...EVER.)

Icarus is Flying a Little Too Close to the Sun

As sympathetic as I am for Tennessee fans who just watched their coach run for the border like he had ten pounds of Taco Bell headed for his back exit, the operative question here has to be:

Why in the blue flaming hell are you surprised?

Lane Kiffin's done little in his career but prove that he would light his mother on fire to get a "better job" (and then drag his father along right through the ashes).

Actually, scratch the last half of that sentence, and let's leave it at:

Lane Kiffin's done little in his career.

7-6 at Tennessee is nice and all, but did he beat Florida, like he said he would? No.

Did he beat Alabama? No. And since when do coaches get paid for moral victories?

USC is the closest thing to an NFL job that still has "university" in its name, and if one asks the right people, one could probably get it said that USC pays better. And they take care of their coaches, too.

So, what was the NFL record for Kiffin? 5-15? There's only so much that we can blame on Al Davis and his senility.

And speaking of Al, even as stuck in the '60s as he is, he's probably so incensed at this news, he's going to take his complaints straight to President Johnson. Methinks he might be waiting a while for a response.

Is taking USC a great career move for any coach? Probably. But, after Pete Carroll's nice run, you need to be highly convinced that you can deliver the mail, because USC is the only pro football in the second-largest market in America, and there are a lot of people watching.

Of course, we all know that the last thing Lane lacks is confidence. If Urban Meyer ends the "leave of absence" next week, some wit will be asking Kiffin if Meyer's back because he, Kiffin, left. And don't think for a second that Lane won't get a chuckle out of that.

The whole thing kind of brings to mind the story of Icarus. Kiffin only got his wings after getting in his slapfight with Al, and he keeps soaring higher without doing much looking around to see how close he is to the sun. In Los Angeles, though, it's all about the sun, and a lot of people are ready to see if Kiffin's wings are going to melt.

Just imagine the recruiting hostesses he can recruit at USC, though. Living in Tennessee, I can tell you there's the occasional hottie to be found here, but they don't quite grow on trees like they're alleged to in LA.

There's a school of thought that says that Kiffin, with his run-ins with the NCAA already well-documented, would not have taken the USC position if there were too many signals that the Compliance Mafia were about to whack the Trojans. This could be a valid point. After all, it's kind of hard for a coach to send his hatchet guy to steal UT's recruits if they're going to be hearing that they'll have no chance to play for a national title.

All that being said, if USC fans wanted their school to get off the NCAA's radar, they're probably nursing some nasty hangovers this morning. There's going to be an NCAA compliance officer pitching a tent right next to Mike Garrett's secretary's desk. Hopefully, the campfire doesn't set off the sprinklers.

The whole moral of the story, kids, is this: Lane Kiffin has a job with a lot of money, a ridiculously hot wife, beautiful kids, and he's becoming one of the most famous men in sports. You, too, can be a success in life by screwing players, giving the finger to a big and loyal fanbase, and generally being a complete douchebag. Take notes.