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Sporn 2B Wild

by Jim Provenzano
Bay Area Reporter
Feb. 2, 2004
Sports Complex

It’s a dirty job, diving into the muck that is bred when pornography and sports collide. Regular readers know that I put my hip-wader boots on years back when casting a net to understand the realm of Sporn.

Now, corporate culture’s caught up. But before we get to the Super Bowl (I warned you), first, a few less than super balls.

Nutzo-hurto: Tadano's previous freelance gig
Tada! No
Kazuhito Tadano, the Paris Hilton of Major League Baseball, apologized again for making bad gay porno.

He just had to restate that he’s not gay, despite having performed in one or more gay porn videos in 2002, before leaving college and beginning a career as a baseball player.

His odd story, which broke last September was commented on by yours truly and several other outlets.

But it seems the Indians decided to beg for yet another round of press at a herding of media scribes Jan. 27 in Ohio, one of many states rabidly banning gay marriage.

In a second go at interpreted apologies, this leftover episode of a soap opera that failed to shock fans seems to sizzle better in its second helping, despite Tadano’s less than porn-worthy complexion.

Maybe the corporate media, from Associated Press to CNN and Sports Illustrated, just wanted to give the story a leftover stir-fry before heading on to a bigger joke, the Super Bowl.

Why else retread a sleazy baseball story in the middle of winter, other than to poke fun at it while it hibernates?

The availability of the product wasn’t stated in the straight media. You have to go to gay sources to find that out.

From various connoisseurs of the subgenre of ‘sporn,’ several claim to have purchased the Japanese DVD. Although hired by the Indians as a pitcher, allegedly, Tadano’s also a catcher.

The line of tapes is less than hi-brow, SM-flavored, and hardly a cinematic feat. American porn enthusiasts seem confused by the hybrid subgenre; bad Asian SM celebrity sporn.

With gruff macho sportscasters like Jim Rome ruminating on the concept of being "gay for pay," perhaps the nation’s got a case of Queer Eye pink eye.

I still can’t believe the Indians traded gorgeous Brady Anderson and other players for a guy who can’t even be good at being bad.

The Tadano rehash gives the right wing-controlled media another desperate shot at maligning gays without even needing a gay, while girding its Nazification of the Constitution.

Compare Tadano’s tribunal to former basketball star and avowed heterosexual Dr. Julius Irving’s alleged homemade sex videos, currently making the underground.

Is the corporomedia giving Irving more slack, for having done what’s expected of pro jocks? Irving’s not playing now, nor commenting. The lack of evidence via screen captures or downloadable mpegs prevent sporn investigators from providing a comparative analysis.

Tintin-tabulous: Tom Brady, metrosexy
Dip Tip
Before getting to the breast of our story, a few side dishes.

Last week, Fabrice Santoro and Michael Llodra of France stripped down to their undies after winning the men's doubles final against Bob Bryan and Mike Bryan of the U.S. at the Australian Open in Melbourne, Australia. They have a promising career in soccer.

Speaking of soccer, two Cuban ex-bodyguards of David Beckham have threatened to reveal the private activities of the King of Metrosexuals.

And in the kitchen, an amusingly queer pre-Super Bowl moment: actor George Eads offering chip dip recipes on Ellen DeGeneres’ talk show last week. The star of CSI, who’s stirred rumors of his sexuality by appearing at most events with his live-in male co-star, Eads delighted in sharing microwave cooking tips with fellow Texas-born DeGeneres.

After Ellen mentioned being from a small town near the Texas border, Eads asked if she crossed that border when she "broke the law."

"Oh, yeah. Lotsa times," Ellen quipped.

"Me, too. We’ve been on the other side of the law a lot," said Eads. "We’ve got a lot in common."

To which Texan law could he be referring? One recently overturned?

Hello, Titty: Janet, Justin, jiggle
The Mamm Show
We’re honing in on the titular moment. But first a brief diss of the Super Bowl commercials.

Mike Ditka hawking Levitra while tossing the football through the tire swing (get it?) served as the limp metaphor for the entire event.

Note to straight men: Honey, impotency is God’s way of saying, ‘Get a hobby.’ And Bush’s billion-dollar pro-heterosexuality campaign can’t get it up, either.

But the headlight moment of the halftime, if you don’t know by now, was not the chunky nearly nude male streaker, but half a nip at halftime.

Justin Timberlake punk’d Wacko’s sis. Oops. Not. The single boob shot of Janet Jackson sent shockwaves all the way to the stadium’s executive suites and beyond, proving that America is easily duped, and surprisingly undersexed.

Timberlake barely managed a desperate attempt at heterosexual behavior that FCC chief Michael Powell called "a classless, crass and deplorable stunt."

"It's unlikely that MTV will produce another Super Bowl halftime. We were extremely disappointed by elements of the MTV-produced halftime show," Joe Browne, NFL executive vice president, said. "They were totally inconsistent with assurances our office was given about the content of the show."

Really? What were you expecting from the sister of Miss Jesus Juice only days before the release of her next CD?

"Janet Jackson's Super Bowl Show Promises 'Shocking Moments,' read the headline for MTV’s promos. Browne’s disappointment is understandable. The mammary moment could not have been more crassly calculated and utterly stupid.

Oscar Wilde may have said there is no such thing as bad publicity, but he never had to watch Access Hollywood.

Alterna-nipple: Adam Vinatieri, post-game
A shirtless Adam Vinatieri gogo dancing would have worked fine, and would have passed network Standards and Practices.

MTV should be given a second chance to get the other nipple, and a few acts that aren’t so laughably awful, including Kid Rock (drug addict, song stealer, and jingoistic patriot) and P. whatever-his-name-is (whose athletic distinction is having upstaged thousands of other New York marathoners to raise money for an amount he could have simply written as a check).

Of the overtly staged "wardrobe malfunction" as Timberlake called it, Jackson, all CBS affiliates --and who knows, maybe even the guy who made Janet’s fancy nipple piercing-- may be sued.

As Mazeppa, the trumpeting stripper in Gypsy would say, "To have no talent is not enough."

Amid the rancor over Titilation Nation, CBS refused to air's winning public service announcement. It was deemed "political."

Right before the Super Bowl, (p)Resident Bush was given a live interview, yakking for nearly four minutes in sentence fragments plucked from the State of the Union speech written for him.

No mention of steroids this time. Strange, since Bush lapdog and Patriot QB Tom Brady won the game.

Folks in San Mateo, where Brady was born and raised, should be proud of their fair son, his tinted Tintin hair’s default metrosexualty, and the legion of gay male fans who adore a puppet of the rightwing determined to outlaw our civil rights.

Former President George Bush Sr. was invited onto the field as the "Ambassador" to the Super Bowl; appropriate, since the entire event was a calculated PR diversion.

Poppy received live coverage of his lifer CIA self meeting the coaches and officials on the field, but no nipple peeks.

No doubt he’s quite happy that the media’s found yet another inane faux-sex scandal to distract us all from his son’s driving the United States of America into a sewer of debt and global animosity.

Our Caligula would have said, "Thumbs up," but George Whistle Ass Bush (the college nickname of the former cheerleader) claimed to have gone beddy-bye at halftime.

Straight guys got a nipple peek that’s become the most replayed moment in Tivo history, and the most unavoidable image of the week.

Gays got a baseball sporn import they can’t find, and probably don’t want to watch.

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All articles copyright Jim Provenzano/Bay Area Reporter. Do not copy, post or link without written permission. Most images copyright Jim Provenzano, unless used in an editorial context, or, in this article's case, just stolen, since they all deserve it.