Vinnie Tortorich

“Woke up this morning, you got a blue moon in your eyes.” – A3 “Woke Up This Morning”

When I was a kid I had the great misfortune of having to go to a Catholic school. The biggest problem with all of it was that I was taught by nuns. For those who didn’t have this experience, let me enlighten you. Nuns, in my opinion, are unattractive dykes who couldn’t get laid even by a guy desperate for drug money. If you think I’m being too harsh, believe me when I tell you that I watered that last statement down. Needless to say, I hate these sadistic bitches. I would have called them sadistic cunts, but some women take offense to the “c-word.” Early on, around first or second grade (which I remember like it was yesterday), one of these daughters of Jesus was teaching the class oral hygiene. It was funny because most of these nuns had the breath of an oxidation pond. But I digress. She said in order to get your teeth clean, you should always use a hard toothbrush, and always brush until you bleed. Being a kid who always followed instruction, I did just that. From the time I was 8 until the time I was 20 (quick math: 12 years), if I didn’t bleed when I spat, I kept brushing. It wasn’t until a dentist got a hold of me at 20. He said if my gums eroded anymore, they’d have to graft. He introduced me to a soft toothbrush, and showed me the correct way to brush. I told you that to tell you this. All too often we hang on to truths that we believe are helping us. For instance, when I was a kid, there was a great product available. It came in a 32-ounce glass bottle and it only had one flavor, lemon lime. It was called Stokely’s Gatorade. Back then it was made with cane sugar and it had a fair amount of electrolytes. That was back in 1974. I remember after each day of practicing football in the southern Louisiana heat, I would drag my ass a block over from the practice field to Bellina’s. It was a little convenience store owned by an Italian family in my hometown. I’d get myself a bottle for 35 cents. It was the perfect recovery drink. But not anymore. As with most good things, it got bastardized. At some point bigger companies bought the original product. Pepsi ended up owning it. The product became watered down…literally. It lost most of its electrolytes and gained something even worse, corn syrup (or fructose, as it’s commonly called). The reason I bring any of this up is because of a phone conversation I had with my buddy Jon the other day. I’ve mentioned him before in this blog. He and I played high school football together. He now lives in Florida with his wife and kid. He’s on the eve of doing his first full Ironman. Jon had read the blog I had done a while back on electrolytes. He decided to look into some of the products I had mentioned. I asked Jon what he was using. He said Gatorade. He seemed shocked when I told him a margarita had more electrolytes than Gatorade. He then corrected me and said, “I’m using G2.” This is Gatorade saying they put less sugar in. But guess what folks, it’s still high in sugar. Trust me, if a drink tastes anything like Kool-aid, you’re not doing yourself any favors. A full Ironman will probably take Jon the better part of 15 hours to complete. He would have developed stomach distress long before he finished, which would have probably ended his event with a DNF, nullifying the months and years of hard work to get to that one event. Just thinking out loud for you readers, I will do a blog soon on the effects of sugar on athletic competition, not to mention the effects it has on obesity.

“I like my Johnny Walker Red and my women blonde.” – Joe Namath

In the original version of the movie The Longest Yard, the famous quote was “I think I broke his fucking neck.” It was uttered by the famous actor Richard Kiel. The move that Kiel used was called the clothes line. And the clothes line is what this blog is all about today. The clothes line wasn’t invented by Hollywood for that movie. It was an actual move that real men used in football to annihilate a running back or receiver. It was used by great men with names like Butkus and Buoniconti. But you won’t find that move in football today. It’s been retired like the red, white and blue basketballs of the now defunct American Basketball League. Players used to get to the football field in a pickup truck, not a Bentley. They didn’t have portfolios. And they didn’t have many teeth because they didn’t bother with things like facemasks. I miss those men. I long for the days when Broadway Joe would limp up to the line and do something special. I long for the days when football players took care of their injuries with a couple of shots of whiskey, not with drugs. I told you that to tell you this. One of my clients had ESPN’s Sportscenter on the other day. I swear to you I thought I was watching the Lifetime channel. I felt if I watched any longer I would have to get a pap smear. ESPN should stand for Extra Sissy Pussy Network.

The first story was about Brett Favre, maybe one of the last man’s men on the planet. Apparently like a lot of pros, old Brett was having an extra-marital affair. Allegedly, he was sending some pictures of his cock to some chick he used to bang when he was in New York. Since when is a picture of a cock illegal? I happened to see pictures of the girl who’s accusing Brett, Jenn Sterger. She seems to be an identical match to Brett’s wife, but 20 years younger. Can we really call it cheating if a guy is trying to bang his wife from 20 years ago? In my opinion, this is a non story.

The bigger story was about the 3 or 4 concussions that happened last weekend in the NFL. It seems as though some players don’t like how hard they’re being hit. Let me tell you little girls something. You’re not a prisoner to the NFL. You can quit whenever you want. Nobody is keeping you there. Now the league wants to fine guys for hitting too hard. Are you fucking kidding me? Is this a goddamned joke? As a former college linebacker, we were taught to hit so the players wouldn’t get up. If we tried to shoulder tackle (which is what they’re trying to do now), any skilled player knew how to roll out of that and find themselves in the end zone. We called that titty tackling. There’s a reason why we watch NFL football. It’s violent. Don’t for one minute think that you watch for any other reason. Why do you think all those rednecks watch cars make left turns in something called NASCAR every weekend? You think they enjoy watching cars go around in circles? That’s too simple even for them. They do it because they want to see crashes. They want to see violence. By the way, since we’re talking about the pussification of this country, those cars now have governors so they can’t go faster than a certain speed. I think top speed in NASCAR is just shy of 190 miles per hour. At one time these cars went well over 200. Why stop there? NASCAR claims it’s all about the driver. Well, let’s make all the cars go 20 miles per hour if it’s really all about the driver. At one time that sport had real men like Dale Earnhardt, Richard Petty and Al Unser. Now the sport is full of pretty boys. I say give us back our sport. Give us back our violence. Let the chips fall where they may. I would also like to say Perez Hilton sucks.

“It’s a man’s world, but it ain’t nothing without a woman.” – James Brown

I got into a conversation with a female client the other day. She has a great figure. She’s a size 6 but wants to be a 4. I asked her why. She said she feels like a big moose at a size 6. I explained to her that in Beverly Hills people think that, but the national average is a size 12. She replied, “I’d shoot myself if that was the case.” Turns out, she wanted to be a size 4 because her girlfriend was. And apparently more men looked at her girlfriend than her. I knew which girlfriend she was talking about. There’s a reason why more men look at her. She’s a 10. And not just any 10. She’s an L.A. 10. For my readers who are not in L.A. or even in the United States, we tend to rate women differently here. By the way, this ain’t me talking, this is the way it is. If you’re the hottest chick in your hometown in middle America, you might be considered a 10. But because of all the beautiful starlets who flock to L.A., we have no shortage of hotties around here. For that reason, if you’re a 10 in your hometown, you’re a 6 or maybe a 7 in L.A. It’s not unusual to be a size 2, size 0, or even a size 00. I personally don’t find these stick figures with fake boobs attractive. I generally refer to them as boobsicles. I like my women to look like women. Hell, I get to sleep with a Bond girl every night. Do I say that to brag? Yes, yes I do. In case you’re skimming this article, let me repeat it, I sleep with a Bond girl every night. Thank you very much. I told you that to tell you this. I’ve been working with women for the better part of 30 years. I’ve worked with women 150 pounds overweight and women 50 pounds overweight. I’ve also worked with women who wanted to go from a size 4 to a size 2, and so on and so forth. I’m going to let you all in on a little secret here. If you’re a woman, it doesn’t matter if you are 300 pounds or 90 pounds. I’ve never found one of you to be happy with your size. I’ve often had conversations with women about this. I ask them why they do it. The answer is always “it’s what men want.” Here’s a secret for you ladies: it’s not what men want. Men want women. Period. You guys are killing yourselves to be thin and it’s not for men, but for other women. You can thank the likes of Helen Gurley Brown and Twiggy for fucking it up for all of you. I’ve often said if every woman in the world got together and decided to all get fat at the same time, men would still love them and still want them. Why? Because women still have all the vaginas. Ladies, the next time you go on a diet or ask for your dressing on the side or go to a spin class, make sure you’re doing it for one person and one person only. Do it for yourself.

I ran into a friend today. I’m guessing Jessica is in her early 20s. She seemed excited to see me. I soon figured out she had a problem and she thought I’d have the answer. It was shin splints. I gave her the one and only cure. If you’ve ever had it or if you are having it now, ice it. Ice gets rid of it better than anything else can. Out of curiosity I asked Jessica if she had started any different type of exercise program recently. She said she has been running. I then asked if she had been running on multiple surfaces. She said, “Yeah, how did you know?” I replied, “That’s usually how you get shin splints.” I recommended sticking to hard surfaces or surfaces like grass. She said that would be impossible for a while. I asked what she was training for, expecting to hear 10k or half marathon. I would have been wrong. She has been training for Tough Mudder. You can check it out at ToughMudder.com. I asked if it was like Muddy Buddies, which is done around here. She said it was a step up from that, with a gleam in her eyes. I told you that to tell you this. There are a lot of events like this nowadays. The aforementioned Muddy Buddies has been going on for as long as I can remember. The 500-plus mile solo races have all sorts of events. A regular reader of this blog would know that I did one of those events as part of a four-man team, getting three people involved that would have never done such a race. Johnny and Steve are talking about doing a two-man race next year. The fourth person on our team, Christina, is off in Austin, Texas doing another half Ironman event. It would be hard to exaggerate how many events she does a year. Her tri-bike hasn’t been home for five weeks. When she finishes a race, she simply has it sent to the next race. My cousin’s wife, Skylar, started dabbling in triathlons a couple of years back. I remember the first time she sheepishly mentioned it at Christmas time. Now she has no problem calling me and talking about Zipp wheels and Aerobikes. I have a host of friends, clients and acquaintances who are all too eager to tell me about their backpacking trips through Europe, the lower 48 and Alaska. I applaud this type of activity, and I’d love to see more of it. In an age when all hear about is kids spending their entire lives playing video games, it’s great to see young people like Jessica getting muddy. Now if only we could come up with a Jello version of the race. I’m just sayin’.

I have been riding a bike seriously since 1982. During that time, I have been spit on, run off the road, run into oncoming traffic, had beer bottles broken across my back, had a McDonalds shake splattered across my face, had a used tampon thrown at me…luckily it missed, been called an asshole, jerk, been asked “what the fuck is wrong with you?,” been told to get a job and so on and so forth. I’ve been grazed by fenders and knocked into ditches. When Ford decided that the mirrors on the Excursion should stick out a foot and a half, I was whacked in the head twice by soccer moms who thought these behemoth vehicles were necessary. I’ve had several fist fights and have used the bottom of my cleat more than a few times on someone’s car, then explained to them the damage would have been worse had they hit me. Do I hate motorists for this? No, absolutely not. Most of the time, I’m a motorist too. I think there needs to be give and take on both sides. I’m offering my top nine reasons as to why I think motorists hate cyclists. I know, it’s supposed to be top 10 but that’s been beat to death. Enjoy.

Reason 1: In inner city driving, cyclists can advance faster than cars due to the fact that they’re not stuck in traffic. It’s a psychological blow to the person in the car.

Reason 2: People in vehicles feel like the road belongs to them. In most cases, they feel like cyclists are illegally trespassing. They seem to forget that bicycles have been around much longer than cars.

Reason 3: Cyclists appear to have more fun. Case in point, a cyclist commuting to work alongside a car may not look like a commuter at all, but more like a guy out having fun. This enrages the motorist into thinking that maybe the cyclist should get a job.

Reason 4: Cyclists wear nerdy clothes. Even if you don’t wear the Spandex shorts or the replica Radio Shack jersey, you can still look pretty weird wearing a helmet and reflective vest. You might as well be poindexter in a high school hallway with a pocket protector.

Reason 5: Some cyclists are assholes. I was once told that two teaspoons of motor oil could contaminate all of the potable water on a ship. Translated, one jerk cyclist who rides in the middle of the road and pisses off motorists, ruins it for everyone else.

Reason 6: In general, motorists don’t know the laws when it comes to cyclists. The main rule is, cyclists should go with the flow of traffic. I’ve often had yelled to me that I was on the wrong side of the road. For those still having trouble with it, walk against traffic, ride a bike with traffic.

Reason 7: Some motorists think cyclists should be on sidewalks. OK people, the operative word in sidewalk is walk.

Reason 8: Why aren’t cyclist allowed on freeways and interstates? The minimum CC of an engine is 125. These engines have at least 40 horsepower in general. The average cyclist typically pumps out between a half a horsepower and one and a half.

Reason 9: Because we shave our legs.

“Oh Lord won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz. My friends all drive Porsches I must make amends.” Janis Joplin

Twenty-five years ago I had an opinion about Mercedes Benz. I thought it was a terrific car. My girlfriend at the time had one. It was the cute little convertible SL model. She drove the wheels off that thing. It never broke. Beside putting gas in it, she had the oil changed and put on new brakes from time to time. The car ran like a top. By the way, does anyone use that phrase anymore? Am I the last one? Am I showing my age? I don’t think kids today even play with tops. Note to self: Go to Toys R Us and buy a top. I used to love that toy. Wait a minute, I got off subject. Anyway, although the Mercedes was more expensive than comparable brands, I thought the price might add value. You pay a little more, but you get a lot more. Now when I see a Mercedes going down the road in any of its forms (sports cars, sedans or SUVs) I think, “What a pile of junk.” Not only are most of their models gas guzzlers, but a lot of my friends own that car in some form. You know what? It’s crap. Pure unadulterated crap. Beside the little things that break in it, I think the car could be a hazard or even death trap. Let me explain. I’ve had three friends this year alone where some air compression suspension system went out. The front end of the car plummeted to the ground. All three of these people said had they been on the freeway when this happened, they’re not sure how they would have handled it. I told you that to tell you this. There are products in the cycling industry that mimic the way I feel about Mercedes. Allow me to explain. Years ago, when Italian artisans built steel-lugged frame bicycles, they were worth their weight in gold. Each bike was hand-built and brazed by the likes of Colnago, Pinarello, DeRosa and so on. The attention to detail was astounding. In my opinion, it was worth every penny. Then everything changed. Carbon fiber became the new hot thing. Italy has gone out of the way to explain why we should buy a carbon fiber bike with its top builders’ names on the side. There is the Italian premium put on it…an extra thousand to two thousand per frame, just because the name ends in a vowel. Like idiot Americans, we believe that means something. Then again, I could be wrong. Americans like to spend more money on everything. Last week I was in the mall. There was a place selling bath soap. All the store sold was soap, as a matter of fact. The prices were marked up way more than 100 percent. And there was no shortage of customers.