Before I begin, I would like to apologize for the fact that the Sports Guy's thrice-weekly, 16,000-word columns have shriveled down to a paltry single 10,000-word column per week. I know that his in-depth analysis of Paradise Motel or Malibu Island or Real World Juneau or whatever the hell it is he watches is sorely missed. I take full responsibility for this void that has been created in your lives. You should know, however, that while he uses "long hours at the office" as an excuse -- what really saps his energy is memorizing the names of every cast member from Mannequin Two and creating a puddle of drool outside Carla Gugino's dressing room.
One of Bill's recent NFL columnettes featured not one, but two outrageous attacks on my wardrobe. I believe his quote was "writing comedy segments is the best part of this job, just ahead of finding out which one of Liberace's old shirts Jimmy will wear on live TV each night." I am not so much angry as I am shocked. Shocked that someone I considered my friend could be so cruel; shocked that someone who seems so smart would so foolishly bite the hand that feeds him; shocked at the insensitivity of using a beloved, effeminate entertainer from Vegas as a punchline the same week that magic's Roy Horn was viciously attacked by a cheetah.
It is true that, on occasion, my shirts toe the line between dance instructor and clown. I acknowledge this. But isn't a complete lack of fashion sense the true mark of a man? Do you think Dick Butkus spent his time looking through color swatches? Can you imagine Jack Palance flipping through the J Crew catalogue? I can't. Moreover, what kind of a person even thinks about what shirts his friend is wearing? What kind of a "man" exchanges emails with his MOMMY (true) about another man's wardrobe?! I thought that sort of thing was reserved for the Seacrests, Kmetkos, and Aikens of the world. I guess I was wrong.
So before you, Bill Sports "Guy" Simmons, cast anymore stones -- before you criticize what others look like on the outside -- I say, look within. I think there's a scared little girl in there who just wants to be accepted. And she doesn't have to be cruel to do it. Food for thought.