Get your mental eye bleach ready, people, because Jay Mariotti has joined Gregg Doyel and the Knights of The Erin Andrews and wrote a column defending her honor and boy, does he have a doozy for you:
Mariotti, perhaps jokingly (hopefully), has suggested that due to Erin Andrews Incident, he is no concerned he will be the next sports personality to be videotaped nude in his hotel room.
So, sure, the Erin Andrews case gives me the shivers, too. While I’m more Jim Belushi than George Clooney, I think I’ll take a good, long look at the peephole the next time I’m in a hotel room.
God damn! Why did you go and have to write that, Jay? The mere conjuring of the image of rippling cellulite as you sashay about your hotel room is enough to give me nightmares and swear off the Greek concept of the human body as a divine work of art. Now I will forever imagine Michelangelo’s David with your head and in his left hand the statue is holding a Hardee’s Monster Thickburger.
On to the insanity.
Once again, as I did with Doyel’s column on how only he can save the sports world from itselft, I feel compelled to do yet another FJM-inspired review of a column, this time it’s Jay Mariotti’s “Lesson of Erin Andrews: Grow Up, Boys!”
This is the decade when sports stopped being about sports.
I felt the same way when Huey Lewis & The News released a remastered version of their classic album.
So shamefully, too much focus shifted toward an immature and sometimes creepy blogosphere obsession with, oh, I don’t know, the women in Matt Leinart’s hot tub, the woman on Scott Van Pelt’s voice-mail machine, Hannah Storm’s outfits, Chris Cooley’s penis, an attractive female high-school pole vaulter and, of course, Erin Andrews.
Imgaine if Chris Cooley’s penis was wearing one of Hannah Storm’s outfits in Matt Leinart’s hot tub while leaving a voice mail for Allison Stokke using Scott Van Pelt’s cell phone. That would be some crazy shit.
Occasionally glancing at such junk through the years…
Jay’s home page is a Google Blog Search for Jay Mariotti. We all know it.
…I was whisked into a cross between a frat boy’s porn fantasies and a sports remake of Revenge of the Nerds.
Starring Erin Andrews as Betty Childs, you as Stan Gable and a faceless sports blogger as Louis Skolnick, right?
Who were these geeks?
I don’t know their names, but I’m pretty sure they are all Tri-Lambs.
Why was the Internet, once again, giving semi-lives to people with no lives?
It’s Al Gore’s fault.
Didn’t it make a supermarket tabloid look responsible and dignified by comparison…
I have never written a post about Bat-Boy – swear to God.
…or at least until the New York Post crossed every line imaginable?
Didn’t that happen about 20 years ago?
And wasn’t there bound to be a cyberspace version of a nuclear explosion…
If there has been a cyberspace version of a nuclear explosion, Keyboard Cat better have been involved.
…a boiling point where one of the frequent blog subjects became a victim of some sick act?
Joe Buck prefers “disgusting act,” thank you very much.
A second-guess, this is not. I’ve been saying it for years.
And yet you stood by and did nothing to stop it. Tsk tsk, Jay.
And sadly enough, I’ve feared it would involve Andrews, whose only sin is being good-looking and blond on a powerful television network watched predominantly by sports-and-female-loving males.
And lovers of televised poker and the Sklar Brothers. Don’t forget about them.
Am I blaming sports bloggers and their commenters that a very disturbed person secretly videotaped Andrews as she was standing nude in her hotel room, then posted the five-minute video on the Internet?
Of course you are.
No, I am not…
…even though the video was posted under the title “Hot naked blonde who looks a lot like a sports blogger favorite in her hotel room.”
I’m sorry. Kige Ramsey is not a woman. I’m not even sure if he has blond hair, for that matter.
But am I blaming bloggers for helping create the daily sex-and-objectification culture that turned Andrews into an ongoing peep show on their Web sites?
Yeah, if it wasn’t for bloggers, the culture of sex and objectification would have never arisen. Such heady and simpler times before the internet came around and fucked everything up.
Damn right I am.
Such language! Do you kiss your RealDoll with that mouth, Jay?
And I wish they’d grow up -
Sorry, I listened to Milo Aukerman and the Descendents sing “I Don’t Want To Grow Up” at a young age and I kind of latched on to that philosophy.
- now, today, yesterday -
All my troubles seemed so far away, now it looks as though they’re here to stay…
- before they continue to dumb-down what is left of sports journalism and plunge it into an inescapable sewage pit.
Fuck sports journalism! Cock!
Unlike one of the Erin-consumed leeches – - who admitted this week, “I have never met Erin Andrews,” -
Will Leitch is a leech? Not like the one on Gordie Lachance’s crotch in Stand By Me? Gross!
- I have met her as an ESPN colleague.
Well, GOOD FOR YOU!!
She could not be more friendly and down to earth…
Which no one denies.
…which, in this case, probably contributed to the rampant EA Mania. If she were aloof, she wouldn’t be nearly as popular and droolworthy among the testosterone-fueled masses. But by smiling everywhere and saying hi to everyone — from the face-painted freshman at Michigan State to, yes, even the very bloggers who exploit her — she only fed the monster and left the absurd impression that she actually might dig them.
So, you’re saying it is her fault? I thought…but…nevermind.
Wrote Christine Brennan, the USA Today columnist:
Jealous and bitter bull-dike…
“I wish it didn’t happen to Erin, but I also would suggest to her if she asked (and she hasn’t) that she rely on her talent and brains and not succumb to the lowest common denominator in sports media by playing to the frat house.” In truth, Andrews has been vexed in handling the intense amounts of attention, including her distinction as Playboy magazine’s “sexiest sportscaster in America.” One minute, she’s on the dance squad at the University of Florida. The next, she’s wondering how many millions of perverts are blowing up her photos on the Internet. Or what rumor is surfacing next on a blog about this sex tape or this baseball player or this college basketball player, none of which involved any attempts by the bloggers to substantiate.
Come here, Erin, let Uncle Jay make it all go away…
But when another sleazy day has ended and the creeps tell their bosses about all their Erin-generated page views…
You mean you can increase page views from posting stuff about Erin Andrews? Here I am, writing at least one post a day about and publishing photos of Chris Kaman. Once again, I’ve been left me in dark.
…Andrews still has to live with the fallout. She grew to be a well-respected sideline reporter who was placed on college football and basketball because, well, she’s young and relates to her audience.
They’re not stupid in Bristol;
They’re not? Are you sure?
…she brought in ratings. And for anyone who suggests she exploited sexuality with some of her outfits, I’ll remind you that it’s 2009 and no one should expect her to dress like a Granny.
Except for GILF-lovers…they want blue wigs and orthopedic shoes, dammit!
I’ve seen Katie Couric wear shorter dresses.
So short Marlee Matlin could have read her lips.
Last summer, Chicago Cubs manager Lou Piniella saw her in a stylish summer dress before a game in Milwaukee — professionally acceptable, according to my sample poll of females -
Prostitutes that you pay to watch you play with yourself does not constitute a reliable sample group, Jay.
- and cracked, “Is this a baseball game or a modeling assignment?”
Ha! That Lou Piniella – a regular Dane Cook posing as a baseball manager.
That prompted an Illinois sportswriter to columnize that she “sauntered around the visiting clubhouse, flitting from one Cubs player to another. Her skimpy outfit — designed to accentuate her, um, positives — had players leering at her.”
Impossible. I do not know of even one baseball player with a sports blog.
What you need to know: Piniella is 65; the writer in his 50s.
But still not yet old enough for Mariotti to challenge in a fight. They gotta be in their 70s and use a walker – minimum.
“It’s really sad that … I have people watching every single move I make,” Andrews told a Minnesota newspaper at the time. “These players are not into me like that. If anything, I think these guys look at me like a little sister or one of the guys. I don’t look at myself as a sex object. I’ve never carried myself in that way. I’m a girl that loves sports. I’m a tomboy. That’s the last thing on my mind when I’m in the clubhouse — worrying about players checking me out.
As she shouldn’t. NO ONE DENIES THIS!
“I thought at some point we were all past this. I’m not going to change. I can’t change.”
Nor should she.
Unfortunately, the perverts didn’t change, either.
Of course. Perverts fear change. Strippers don’t like getting pelted with quarters.
It’s unconscionable to think a human being would hatch a plot knowing the hotel location, the number of her room and, apparently, when she would disrobe long enough to shoot video footage through the door peephole. She is seeking criminal charges and filing civil lawsuits, but face it, she has been robbed of her privacy and equilibrium forever. How can she return to a hotel room without wondering if someone’s peeping? How can she live wondering 24/7 if someone is leering? I wouldn’t blame her if she left the sports business and entered the entertainment world.
Jay, I think starring in a Cinemax “After Dark” movie has got to be the last thing on her mind. How dare you suggest that at this time? Talk about perverts!
Just a few months ago, USC linebacker Ray Maualuga approached her from behind on the sideline and did a grind dance, which invites other athletes to do the same.
She’s going to start covering the LPGA? News to me.
But I fully expect her to stand firm and report back to work in September, when her college football duties begin on — gulp — college campuses across the land.
I find it hard to believe the administrators of an institution of higher learning would allow such shenanigans.
It’s one thing for a sports media person to be covered aggressively, quite another to be cyber-stalked. For decades, Sports Illustrated has been trotting out bikinied swimsuit models for leering eyes, but the magazine only does so once a year, not every day.
Not anymore. Get with the times, Jay. There’s an app for that now.
What kind of lewd mind lusts publicly for Allison Stokke, a California pole vaulter who became a blog “sex symbol” at 16, much to the dismay of her father?
If anyone is going to exploit her, it should be her father first! You can find it in this pamphlet, “Joe Simpson’s Guide to Making It Rich In Show Business By Pimping Out Your Jailbait Daughter.”
What kind of idiot is Cooley, the Washington Redskins tight end, for “accidentally” taking a picture of his penis and posting it?
Who hasn’t taken a photograph of their penis for insurance purposes and have it end up on the internet? Just me?
And why would anyone but a blogger care to run audio tape of Van Pelt, the ESPN TV/radio personality, leaving a message for a lady friend? Do these dopes have lives?
I’m reading your column, aren’t I? That should answer your question.
Have they ever been out on a date?
I don’t know about anyone else, but Ma says no dates until I get a job and move out of the garage.
I’m sure their parents are very proud.
Like I told them before and I’ll tell you now, getting accepted at the University of Phoenix is hard.
My punishment for writing this, naturally, will be a full-scale assault on my character by these very sites…
(touches side of nose)
…none of which are worthy of being mentioned on a respectable, globally regarded site such as this.
AOL is respectable? When did that happen?
See, these dweebs can dish out the criticism but can’t take it.
That’s the same thing my therapist said!
Rather than take on an almighty sports executive — the real test of a sportswriter in an age when leagues and media are frequent bedfellows — they go after media people.
My God! They’re cannibalizing each other!
When a blog gets something right about me, for instance, I’ll be the first to say so.
“Jay Mariotti cries after sex.” Get back to me on that one, Jay.
To date, they’re batting way under the Mendoza line, about .150.
Hey, that’s good enough to play for the Pirates.
A blog said I was with a “semi-hot blonde” at an NBA party; she was a public-relations person for a player marketing a charity game.
So, she wasn’t semi-hot? Such lofty standards.
A blog was woefully wrong about my salary, just guessing and never bothering to look into it.
Stop shredding your financial documents – it makes them harder to read.
A blog recklessly ran items that weren’t remotely true when I left the Chicago Sun-Times.
Is rogerebert.com technically a blog?
A blog said I brag endlessly about our TV show in bars; when people ask about Around The Horn, I’m friendly and answer all questions or else I’m called a jerk.
The sad thing is, they are more likely to call him a jerk even if he does answer all of their questions.
A blog said I don’t like to have pictures taken in bars; that’s true, because I don’t want some blogger running a picture and calling me drunk when I’ve had one beer.
“Jay Mariotti Gets Drunk After One Beer!” Lightweight. Once again, get back to me on that one, Jay.
If this is the American Way, what happened to the truth and justice part?
They are currently suing Ben Roethlisberger for sexual assault.
A few years ago, after the blogs had their way with me during another Ozzie Guillen meltdown, I had death threats in Chicago.
Ozzie Guillen calling you a “fag” doesn’t constitute a death threat, Jay.
The newspaper ordered me to have a driver take me to U.S. Cellular Field so I would avoid possible violence in the stadium parking lots. So, sure, the Erin Andrews case gives me the shivers, too. While I’m more Jim Belushi than George Clooney, I think I’ll take a good, long look at the peephole the next time I’m in a hotel room.
Gah! Not again! Please make it stop!!
And wonder what the hell happened to my profession.
You contemplate journalism while your naked in your hotel room, Jay? That’s weird, dude.
Lesson of Erin Andrews: Grow Up, Boys! [Fanhouse]