For Women Who Want The Ballerific Life!
Their constant travel, discretionary income, peer-pressure influence and celebrity status expose them to women eager to please, adept at sleaze and scarred by emotional, mental and physical disease.
McNair, 36, was shot by his 20-year-old mistress, Sahel Kazemi, a waitress at Dave & Buster's. Gatti, 37, was allegedly strangled by his 23-year-old wife, Amanda Rodrigues, a former dancer at Scores.
I'm not dismissing the smaller, more obvious lessons: 1.McNair needed to keep his butt at home with his wife and kids; 2. Middle-aged, millionaire men shouldn't romance 20-year-old children who are looking for their lottery ticket.
And I'm not blaming the victims. McNair and Gatti did not in any way get what they deserved. No one deserves to be murdered.
What I'm saying is the institution of lying/marriage is a horrible idea for athletes.
I'm not even remotely against the concept of marriage. I'm against all the lies that go along with the American institution of marriage.
Today's column is about the stupidity of athletes getting married.
Besides a strip club, massage parlor or whore house, I can't think of a work environment less supportive of a monogamous, healthy relationship than a men's locker room.
Strange Tang is the No. 1 topic of conversation inside a locker room. It's not steroids, the playbook or the next opponent. It's gossip about strip clubs, girls met in soon-to-be-visited cities on Facebook and Myspace and getting drunk.
Oh, you might occasionally overhear someone on the God Squad chitchatting about the next Bible study or the evils of the Internet porn they accidently looked at for 90 minutes. But mostly the locker room is a haven for unapologetic sinners.
Why get married?
The athlete and the wife know it's a lie on their wedding day. He knows he's on a moving train and he can't jump off. She knows she jumped on that moving train and it never really slowed the whole time they were dating. It might've momentarily stopped, unloaded old passengers and re-boarded new ones, but she knows exactly where the train is headed and has a pretty good estimate on just how many miles are left on the trip.
The desperate hope is the marriage will survive until he retires and then the train will stop for good.
That's the biggest pipe dream going. By the time the train stops, he absolutely loves the ride. He can't sleep without the steady hum of the tracks, the rocking of the compartment, the look and the smell of the new passengers.
He's a full-blown addict in desperate need of his next high when they retire his jersey.
That's why he's hitting on teenagers working the drive-thru window at fast food joints. That's why he's proposing to 22-year-old strippers. He has a habit to feed.
If you're a millionaire athlete and you haven't made the mistake of impregnating half the women in your old neighborhood/college campus, why not hire someone to clean your house, prepare your home-cooked meals and date whomever you choose, whenever you choose?
Get over your insecurity that you better lock her up while you're in the league because she might not want you when you get cut and she figures out the only money-producing skill you have is throwing a football, fielding a groundball or hitting a three off a screen.
There's a damn good chance she's just as insecure as you are and has less to offer. She'll wait. Or someone just like her will.
They say it's cheaper to keep her. The truth is, most athletes should never purchase anything. Just test drive. That way, the new car smell they love never goes away.