Long before I was allowed to eat fish with bones, could go all night without peeing in my bed, or beer cap bikini Gilligan's Island wasn't real, I loved baseball.
This New World.
We shagged foul balls, but in retrospect, I guess we were more decorative than functional.
Sports Illustrated published a series of stories from unidentified female sports reporters painting a black picture of what some journalists deal with.
I was doing that one recent day when a wet, naked body walked into my trance.
Yes, I was that excited.
In fact, there were several other female sports reporters present who seemed to have no problems containing themselves.
A naked man standing in a locker room is not enough to sidetrack me from a task.
But I'm hardly some virginal creature who's never seen a grown man naked.