The Truth About Locker Room Talk

As I’ve gotten older, one of the pet peeves in life is people who think they’re better than other people.

It might be an ego thing, a status thing, a color thing, an educational thing, a financial thing. There are a lot of different reasons behind it, but it bothers me.

In the long run, we are no better than anybody else. Yet still we judge and, when we can, we jump into the fray to make ourselves look better.

We all came into this world buck naked and bloody, greeted with a slap on the ass, and handed to a family that was expected to mold us, form us and send us off on this unpredictable journey called life.

A locker room can be an ugly place ... but usually not as ugly a place as Donald Trump described it.

A locker room can be an ugly place … but usually not as ugly a place as Donald Trump described it.

Most of us had 10 fingers and 10 toes when we made our grand appearance. We hope we stay intact until the very end.

It’s what happens from Point A to Point B that defines us, but it doesn’t stop others from ridiculing us because they see things differently.

People make mistakes and they pay for them every day. In homes. In courts. In the public eye. In private.

We forgive, we forget. We allow certain people to climb to the top, only to rise up against them and knock them off their pedestal. And, sometimes, if they’re lucky we let them climb again because we love a good comeback story.

Then there are people like Donald Trump. Filthy rich and divisive. Hated and beloved. A man who has good hair days and bad hair days. And a man who, generally, comes off thinking he’s better than everybody else.

He’s proven he’s not, though, time and time again.

I’m not a Trump supporter. Not even close. As a joke poking fun at mainstream media, I’ve “endorsed” a candidate in this very space and that is who I’m going to vote for. It is not The Donald.

But when Trump used the phrase “Locker Room Talk” when apologizing for his latest verbal gaffe, being caught on a hot mic during a TV appearance 11 years ago,, I knew exactly what he was trying to say.

So too did most people, regardless of how indefensible it was. It was common sense. At least that’s what I thought.

Then the tweets started flying from a number of pro athletes, saying they’ve never heard of such things in their locker rooms. That, of course, made sense to me simply because those locker rooms are the athletes’ offices and board rooms, and the place where they turn their athleticism and talents into their some big money-making business.

Besides if you watch ESPN or FOXSports1 you know most assaults and sexual assaults by athletes seem to take place at home, in dorm rooms, or hotel rooms or in elevators.

Jockeys are the only athletes who should truly get up on their high horse, I suppose.

But I’ve spent a lot of my life in locker rooms … dating back to my own days as an athlete and through my days as a reporter. I’ve probably seen and heard things that, if shared, could stop people from becoming an elected official … at least if this is the barrier we are going to sink to in order to pick our next commander in chief.

As such, when somebody uses the phrase “locker room talk” as a cliche, I know exactly what they mean.

Trump wasn’t being literal. It was obviously a general term he was using to describe doing what many men of his generation have done countless times in the past over seven decades … demean women through verbal attacks because they think they’re better than the fairer sex.

“Locker room talk” was a phrase … something akin to “potty mouth.”

If you say somebody has a “potty mouth” are you insinuating that the person actually drinks the urine and feces of toddler children?

As Trump keeps self-destructing in such an embarrassing fashion, it saddens me to see those trying to use such a depressing figure to prop themselves up.

And, last night, I just wasn’t very impressed how people from a vastly different generation decided to make themselves look better by publicly defending what actually goes on in a locker room.

Finally, for the record, for those of you who snapped a wet towel against my bare rear end just for laughs — and you know who you are — you have not lost my vote for any office you might seek.

Not yet anyway.




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