Friday, November 19, 2010

Something Old, Something New

I just read that 80 to 90 percent of athletes cheat on their wives. My first question is how on earth did they get men to admit to that? I assume that even if the survey results are supposed to be completely anonymous, men would still lie. Right? It’s like the penis size survey. Supposedly, the average is six inches, but if you are a guy and you think you have a small dick, are you really going to have it measured? More than likely, only men who believe they are hung like a horse are going to be proud enough to drop trou. Those who are hung like a pony are not going to participate. Same with the number of cheating men – there are always going to be some who lie and some who boast. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle. (And which sports did they measure? Do football players cheat more than basketball players? Surely, hockey players get less action on the side, than say, baseball players?)

So let’s half that number and go with 40 percent of professional athletes cheat on their wives. What woman in her right mind is willing to take on those odds? The pressure of always being thin, well-groomed, pleasant and sweet-tempered, and let me emphasize this – willing to put out, must be exhausting. If the culture is to score as many broads as you score points, then how on earth can the average woman compete? We aren’t even playing the same game.

A normal guy, after a rough day of work, comes home to his wife. His ability to pick up a PYT between the door of his office and the door of his home is probably pretty slim. Sure, there is always the time-dishonored work affair, but since those always leave pretty obvious repercussions (Favre), let’s ignore them in favor of the stranger quickie. The athlete (or actor, or politician, or rich old guy) does not leave the [insert gym, studio, Senate, or office] and head directly home. There are lots of steps in between, i.e., business dinners, hotels, flights, meet-and-greets, etc. The guy doesn’t have to initiate conversation, wine and dine, even really impress a woman – in fact, he might not even have to talk to her directly at all and just have a handler do it for him. They can order a piece of ass the way others order a piece of steak. That’s got to be very, very tempting. Plus, you have to eliminate the natural barriers to complete stupidity – friends. Sure, they’ll take your picture when you are drunk and post it on Facebook, but will they hand you a condom as you go cheat on your wife? A good one won’t, but a paid one? Please. Tiger’s caddy probably kept them in a range of flavors. Add in being on the road alot and what happens in Colorado supposedly staying in Colorado seems like a pretty solid plan.

So, what is a scorned woman to do? She played the odds and lost. Does she rise above (which in celebrity-gossip is almost always the road not taken)? What fun is that? Eva Longoria (I’m pretty sure the Parker is long, long gone) is practically pulling a public Lorena Bobbit on her husband. And why shouldn’t she? It’s humiliating enough to realize your husband is slam-dunking his balls in someone else’s court, quite another to know that it is going to be aired on ESPN.

Cheating is never an accident. I am pretty sure that you can’t trip and accidentally stick your dick in someone. I can’t even imagine the position a woman would have to be in for that to happen. Some clothes have to be removed. The flag doesn’t rise on its own (past the age of say 17). There is a level of premeditation involved that cannot be ignored. Room service and hookers must both be ordered; they don’t just show up at your door. And if you go to as strip club and take home a stripper, it’s a lot like taking home leftovers in a doggy bag – you still paid for the food.

In a perfect world, the sanctity of marriage would be revered, power would not be an aphrodisiac, and sex would not be news. But we don’t live in that world. In this world,” til death do us part” is just another slogan and marriage to an athlete is just another game for the wagering.

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