Adult Swim

I assume the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated is out, although I have neither seen it nor gone looking for it, have never done so that I recall—though I certainly do not mind it when it passes into my life, say in the waiting room at Jiffy Lube. One of our prized possessions here in the office is an old copy of a swimsuit issue from, like, the paleolithic age, with Cheryl Tiegs on the cover. I say “our,” but Sandberg owns this, and he has it positioned to advantage in his cubicle. This is one of two tremendous assets of Sandberg’s cube, the other being a limitless supply of Ibuprofen.

People have asked what the connection is between Cheryl Tiegs and The Rake. I am not at liberty to give all the details, but the basic outline is this: We are good friends and fans of Dan Buettner’s (he wrote for our very first issue, but seems to have gotten very busy ever since—the power of a byline in our little rag!), and of course Dan and Cheryl have been dating for some time now. The lovely and gracious couple has been known to show up at various Rakish soirees. Sandberg has been threatening to have Cheryl autograph his yellowing artifact from the Mezzozoic (though we hasten to add that Miss Cheryl has aged far better than the magazine).

This old issue of Sports Illustrated is fascinating to look at for reasons other than taking a trip in the way-back machine to oogle swimsuit fashions in the era of Gerald Ford. It also has a feature on Henry Bouchet, the Minnesota North Star (and Warroad native) whose career was ended by an eye injury sustained in a terrible beating that occured in an NHL hockey game. (We remember that with horror. Horror! Twas ever thus; we left the end of last season with a similar, ferric taste in our mouths.) This year, of course, we don’t have pro hockey as a distraction—although we’re fast approaching the MSHSL tourney, and as everyone knows, kids peak early these days, especially jocks, so we like to share in their moment before the long decline into hairlessness and shoe sales and reunions in unbearably long five-year increments. Cue that old saw about the one TV we have here in the office, blah-de-blah.

So, anyway, I read somewhere that Sports Illustrated has, for very many years now, made a standing offer to its subscribers: Anyone who does not wish to receive the Swimsuit Issue may request that it not be delivered, and their account will be credited with an additional issue at the end of their subscription. I also read where there is no record of anyone ever exercising this option.

In other words, the wave of cancellation threats appears to come each year not from subscribers, but from the angry spouses of subscribers and other heated busybodies. This is not exactly rocket science, of course. What we see here is a failure to communicate. Dude, forget the free clock radio, the Sharper Image gift certificates, the coily tie-less shoelaces, the TIME-AOL-WARNER brand cordless telephone with three speed-dail presets. Sports Illustrated subscribers, you need to keep your eye on the ball here. It is your job to convince your partners that the swimsuit issue is a valuable resource in your ongoing efforts to educate yourselves in the finer sartorial points that are so central to the lives of your loved ones. We have it on good authority that there is nothing sexier than a man who takes a keen, empathetic interest in clothes and fashion and accessories and footware. And this is important: Be sure to indicate that it is only through being exposed to the extreme that you can better understand the mean. In other words, it is not possible to have a good understanding of sexy one-piece woolen bathing suits with three-quarter sleeves and revealing above-the-knee skirt without a summary of what’s going on in the area of thongs and string-bras.

Also, swimming is a very strenuous and serious sport, worthy of illustration.