Naked athletes in the lockerroom and the female reporters who love them.
Time for another edition of Waxing Off, the feature born of that venerable site The Black Table and carried over here and given a sporty new coat of paint. This week we've asked five talented female writers to ruminate on: Strange encounters with lockerroom dong.
By the way, if you'd like to become a member of the Waxing Off writing staff, give me a holler at Rick@Deadspin.com.
I'm surprised more locker room dong doesn't end up on TV, especially the dongs of cocky (pun intended), muscular, rich athletes. I guess it's just good camerawork. I also totally understand why NBC cameras aren't following the New York Liberty into the locker room for some post-game analysis.
I have heard many many many guys tell stories about naked hijinks in the locker room. In fact in high school, the manager of the boys soccer team (who was gay) used to describe in detail the activity and the dongers of the whole team to members of the girls team (I still have the notebook where I wrote down every word and made a few sketches). I've always been kind of bewildered (and impressed) that guys are so comfortable just strutting their stuff around nude, snapping towels at each other and playing swords without anyone questioning their sexuality. And their behavior is not a secret! Ask any guy and they'll admit they do it!
In a ladies locker room, I'd estimate about 5% of women are walking around nude without thinking twice about it. When I was a member of the YMCA (or what I like to call "the poor people's gym") I'd put that percentage at about 55%. Now in my "rich people's gym," there are far fewer bare t & a's, but I still see far more female nakedness than I care to. And it's never who you would want to see. I'm not saying I want to see any girls naked, but if I have to I'd rather it be someone in my age bracket who shares my relative level of fitness, instead of some old "bloated" lady who sags from places I'm not comfortable discussing. When these women walk around it's like "oh shit where do I look, where do I look." Generally I just try to change as quickly as possible without taking my eyes off the area within a two foot radius, but sometimes it's like staring into the sun … it transfixes your eyes while your brain screams at you to stop. Bleckt.
-- Steezovich is a Texas Longhorn fan living in Washington, D.C. who will do unspeakable things if Sam or Tim steal Colt's Heisman. Unspeakable. Things.
One of the first times I went into a locker room, there was a player I needed to get sound bites from and I ended up finding him bent over, legs spread — greeting all of the reporters with a lovely image of his ass and his dangling sack. What made this incident more amusing was that he insisted on putting on a shirt before being interviewed on camera. Not shorts, but a shirt. Was he a man with his priorities in check, or just someone who wanted to air dry his balls?
Since I've started covering sports, I've seen enough cock to fill a few issues of Rent Boy magazine. Does it get in the way of me doing my job? Not at all. Of course, it's something you get used to. But I'm hardly some virginal creature who's never seen a grown man naked. I've watched enough porn and had enough low self-esteem sex to know what to expect when a guy takes off his clothes. You're in their environment and where they're most comfortable — so who gives a crap if they're talking to you while they're playing with their balls? It's not like they're forcing you to the ground, taking them out, putting them on your nose and giving you a roman war helmet. You just have to go in there and give them the same respect you'd expect back from them. Do you always get that? No, but in the end you're the bigger man and for some men out there, that's something they'll never be.
The view of naked flesh doesn't bother me. Although, what does bother me is athletes who wear Crocs. Now that's offensive.
— Cameron Frye can be found at the Garden covering the Boston Bruins for New England Comcast Sports Net and Wicked Good Sports. Originally from Boston, she got her start covering fashion for Bostonist.com. When asked who are the three people she would most like to go shopping with, Cameron's answers are Marc Jacobs, Isaac Mizrahi and Aaron Ward.
The Pro-Sports locker room has always had an aura of mystery. Do they really wander around totally naked chatting about the day's game? Do they act as if they are comfortable with each other, or are they silently sizing each other up? I wondered.
So that first day as a credentialed blogger, I thought I'd find out all the deep dark locker room secrets. Were there shrines to odd Gods, strange talismans or did it just look like a college frat house? On day one, after the standard post-game press conference, as the rest of the media was being herded into the tiny locker room, I was pulled out of the line.
"Not you." I was told by a PR guy. "Don't make a big deal out of this, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to go in there. And it's not because you're a woman." (I've paraphrased this because I don't want to repeat what he really said.) I was surprised and somewhat hurt, but I didn't make a scene. I walked back into the press room, and pouted like a five-year old.
A few games later, I was allowed in. The first thing I was greeted by was one bare-assed hockey player dressing in the corner. Today, I think it may have been staged to see my reaction, or lack there of. No gasp, no lady-like fainting, no giggling and pointing. I uttered not a sound. But then again, when you've seen one hairy male ass, you've generally seen them all. I guess I passed the test and was allowed in from then on.
I almost had that privilege taken away when one young, particularly handsome player entered the hallway after showering in nothing but his shower shoes. There was an audible gasp, a blush and a muffled giggle, which was quickly replaced by total professionalism as I buried my head in my notebook and hid behind a colleague.
Had it not been someone I found attractive; seeing them undressed would have no effect on me, and hasn't. Chalk it up to maturity or watching too many pornos when I was younger, but naked is just naked and doesn't interfere with what I'm there to do.
Of course, if a male in the room is going to TRY to get a reaction out of me by doing something "unprofessional," I may have to resist the temptation to blurt out "NOICE!" or the unpopular "I've seen better." But hey… I'm a professional now. I'll act that way.
— Dee Karl, NYI 7th Woman, www.7thwoman.blogspot.com
While I have not personally been subjected to co-ed locker room nudity, I'm of the opinion that football players should think twice before dropping the towel. My reason is this: the average football player's upper body is large, muscular, and well, sometimes just fat — if everything from the waist up has a commanding presence — unless you're packing heat to the degree that you've considered having women sign a waiver form absolving you of uterine trauma before engaging in sexual acts — then the little general becomes an afterthought. My apologies to Mr. Shiancoe, but after studying those pictures like the Zapruder film, I have to say, I'm underwhelmed.
Basketball players on the other hand? By all means, we love your work (except you Eddy Curry). Your bodies are tall, svelte, and well-proportioned to amply show off the goods in full glory.
Several years ago while still in college, a sorority sister of mine once said of a now NBA all-star with whom she had a long-time, strictly sexual relationship, and shall remain nameless (though should learn to keep his off-season recreational drug usage a private matter) "its the biggest I've ever seen. He could literally do me from across the room." Needless to say, I'd be fine with more towel dropping in NBA locker rooms across the country.
For the NFL players out there, I implore you: stand in front of the mirror, evaluate your proportions, your strengths and weaknesses. If the pinch test is required whereby you're channeling an obsessive anorexic girl, then so be it. But please, for yourself and for all of us viewers out there, make sure you're camera-ready.
Also, make sure I'm not on camera, as I'd almost certainly have this Mike Meyers face going on the entire time.
Bay Area Claire:
Plain and simple, the penis is not a pretty sight. It may be attached to a work of art, but when it comes down to it, the presence of an exposed penis is not something that will distract me from doing my job.
While covering a sporting event during the summer, the winner maintained eye contact with my breasts during the press conference. Granted, the man with the moobs next to me was probably not as appealing, but he never broke eye contact with my chest. During this staring contest between the athlete and my breasts, I never let it interfere with my job.
As a journalist, my job was to get the story and not let the static interfere with my purpose. As a woman, seeing this guy's behavior downgraded him in my eyes.
Many men are proud of what they're packing, no matter what it looks like. There seems to be no shame when flashing or discussing the goods. When that happens, it becomes fair game. I will judge a dick-flasher like no other. A penis' look is not a good indicator of how good he is in bed, so when it comes to a man showing his package, he will be judged by looks alone-not by potential.
If one is a penis-exposer, he better not be housing a forest in his pants, he shouldn't blame the cold weather for a scared little member, and he needs to be real with himself and what resides in his boxers.
Trust me, there are men known by penis-inspired nicknames bestowed upon them by me and my friends-"SHD" (short for "Shows His Dick") and "Little Pecker," just to name a couple. I honestly don't know some of their real names.
Put me in a locker room, I'm not going to lie, I'll sneak a peek. But a glance to the nether regions is caused by curiosity, nothing more. A naked man standing in a locker room is not enough to sidetrack me from a task.
Sorry guys, the almighty peen is not as mesmerizing as a good set of breasts.
— Still high off winning money in Vegas on the Pacquiao fight, you can find Bay Area Claire trying to recover from a weekend of overindulgence. Read her digressions at examiner.com and BleacherReport.com.