The gym I go to nine a few days a week is absolutely chock full of meatheads. Now, I have nothing against bodybuilding or having deltoids the size of a cantaloupe or so many veins bulging out of your neck that it looks like you have straws under your skin. I’m talking about the guys with the facial hair chin straps who grunt even when they walk and drop weights on the floor. And holy crap is the place I go to full of them. One guy there has biceps so big that he can’t straighten his arms all the way. Another guy wears sweatpants and a sweatshirt underneath one of those tin foil suits so he can sweat 24/7 (and look like an extra from that Mork & Mindy). And I swear on my life one time I saw a guy in nothing but a Speedo, dancing to whatever Lady GaGa remix was blasting from his headphones in between sets.
I’m more confident that half of my gym’s members take steroids than I am that the earth is round. But despite having more testosterone per square foot than anywhere, I’ve never seen any sort of violence or bouts of roid rage. Which leads us to Alex Rodriguez. I don’t know what kind of juice you’ve got to be loading into a needle and jabbing in your ass to grope female police officers, but it’s probably best we keep that stuff off the streets. No wonder Madonna had a thing for this guy! “Like A Virgin?” More like “Like An Abuse Victim.” “But he was trying to catch a fly ball and couldn’t stop running!” Mike Nelson you exclaim. Riiight. Because a guy who makes half of his living reacting instantly and making dives/leaps to stop a hit can’t get stop his momentum. Or maybe he’s still trying to fix his image after that Details cover shoot…