The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue came out a week or so ago. I was buried in work the day it curled up in my mailbox. My wife and daughter grabbed it before I could see any painted body parts. They seem to enjoy it more than I do, albeit they use it for a different purpose. They actually look at the swimsuits.
By now, SI is getting angry letters from people demanding to cancel their subscription because the entire issue is filled with porn, smut and half naked women – as this issue has been since I was old enough to sneak one between the mattresses of my bed. This is not exactly a new event. It’s a swimsuit issue. Not sure what backwoods mailbox just got access to the 21st century, but Sports Illustrated has been publishing it since 1964. I was 7 years old.
Where the hell have these people been? When it started Lyndon Johnson was president, for God’s sake. The Beatles were still singing “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Are some people just now getting around to the biological fact that women have breasts, legs and men have cameras and this combination sells a lot of magazines?
The complaints will be in the next issue, probably. And I look forward to those letters as much as I do the Swimsuit Issue itself. Prudishness is humorous. When it is antique prudishness, it is even funnier. Let the wailing and gnashing of teeth begin. Go ahead and cancel your subscription and you’ll miss some of the best writing in America in the other 364 issues.
While some moan about morals and values, there is not one man who was alive in the mid 1970’s and had access to the SI cover with Cheryl Tiegs (in a see-through white one-piece) who will say with any honesty that the image is not permanently burned into his brain. If he denies it, he is a deep fried liar and should not be sold season tickets to any legitimate sporting event.
To many guys, especially beer-drinking sports fans, a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue model ranks up there with Giada on the Food Network or one of those hot female curlers in the Vancouver games. Come to think of it, a Giada Swimsuit Cookbook would sell a lot of tortellini. Paula Deen, not so much. And sorry, ladies, no one would go for a Mario Batali Swimsuit Cookbook, not even Ted Allen.
People will continue to complain about the skimpy SI apparel and act like this has never happened before. Then they will load up the family and go to the beach for vacation – where their daughter will wear less than Lindsey Vonn on page 86 and 87.
