Well, the Super Bowl is over, which means it's that time of year again: Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Edition is out. Like any plugged-in American, we have plenty of other avenues for our occasional need for women lacking clothing, so we always approach the SI swimsuit edition with bemusement; it's the side-boob shots you can claim to your wife you were sent by accident! This '50s snigger-snigger attitude wears on us, though, to be fair, when we were 13, we looked forward to the swimsuit edition with something resembling rabid mania.
Anyway, our issue just arrived, and we have the same question we have ever year: Whose job is it to strategically sprinkle the sand? We really, really hope it's Dr. Z's. We also enjoy the yearly tradition of assigning a middle aged SI writer hanging out at the photo shoot and desperately trying to write a 4,000-word piece about it without sounding like an asshole. (This time, they get around by having Rick Reilly write about that supermodel who lost her boyfriend in the tsunami disaster.)
But yeah: The SI swimsuit issue always strikes us the same way as those old debates about Barbara Eden's navel on "I Dream Of Jeanie." Wait ... this is what is so "controversial?" You're so risque, SI! What ever are we gonna do with you?