Sports Illustrated
Listen: I don’t get the swimsuit issue. You get 12 months a year of sweaty homo-erotic stick and ball handlers, then you get one issue of half-dressed ladies.
When I was a boy at Catholic grade school, I recall many of the lads flipping pages of ye olde National Geographic looking for the indigenous boobies – is Sports Illustrated the equivalent for middle aged men carrying on dispassionate marriages, too constrained by the bounds of civility and upbringing to go out and buy a playboy? The softest of core brought into the house under the cover of respectable football player ogling?