Sportswriter's Dilemma

Author's Note: This story is fiction but it's hard to believe that something like this hasn't already happened. Bets involving nudity have been made (and lost) is other parts of the world, so it seems like only a matter of time before some US broadcaster is caught in a similar situation.

*****

When Kate Rossi left home to attend college, her father gave her two pieces of advice. First, follow your dreams; you can do anything you want to. And second, watch your mouth -- someday, it's going to get you into trouble. It turned out that he was right on both counts.

Growing up, Kate loved sports and imagined that someday she would be a soccer superstar. And although she excelled at the game in high school, by her senior year she realized that she would never succeed at the collegiate level. Standing five foot five, she couldn't keep up with the long stride of the taller players no matter how hard she tried. And as she had matured into a young woman and developed, as her mother would say, curves in all right the places, she discovered that she was consistently outmaneuvered by other, more slender athletes.

Not that there was anything wrong with her appearance -- her dark hair and eyes provided a startling contrast to her pale skin, something noticed immediately by almost every woman she met. And although it was a constant struggle to keep her weight below 140 pounds, that weight was perfectly distributed on her 36-25-37 frame. And for most men, it was her D cup breasts that were her defining asset.

Entering college, she had decided to pursue her love of sports off the field by majoring in journalism. Over the years, she had gotten used to the stares and comments from guys, and in some ways, it worked to strengthen her desire to succeed as a sportswriter. She wasn't about to let any smartass convince her she couldn't make it as a journalist when she knew she was better than they were.

She wrote at a furious pace, and the style of good sports writing came easily to her. She quickly became the lead reporter for her college newspaper, and during her last two years, she was regularly placing pieces in the local newspaper. She even had a few articles picked up for national syndication, which made for an impressive portfolio when she entered the job market.

Upon graduation, Kate had no trouble landing a job as a sportswriter and worked quickly through a series of positions at newspapers in increasingly larger cities. Then, at age 27, with an established reputation, she went freelance, picking up assignments from major magazines for national sporting events. That led to appearances on radio and on one or two rare occasions, television broadcasts. She felt she was on her way. And now, at 29, she was well known to many fans as well as to other reporters.

Even with that record of accomplishment, there were still some people that downplayed her abilities as a writer, treating her not as an equal to her male colleagues but instead as a girl who, they believed, had made her way in the business because of her tits and not her talent. And chief among those detractors was Ronnie Simpson, a sports "shock jock" who hosted a nationally syndicated radio talk show every weekday morning. Ronnie would occasionally read excerpts from her articles on air and deliberately take the opposing position. He somehow always managed to attribute their differences to the fact that "women don't know enough about sports" or that she in particular had an obstructed view because of her large breasts. And, to make matters worse, he was an ardent fan of the football team that had won three Super Bowls in the last decade while her team hadn't won a championship in thirty years.

So, it was hardly surprising that as the season progressed and the two teams emerged as the dominant forces in their respective leagues, she became a more frequent guest on his program. Typically she would dial in on Monday morning, and the two would review the weekend's games. Ronnie's comments typically focused on the inevitability that he was backing the future Super Bowl champion while Kate's team was somehow managing to remain in contention simply through a combination of dumb luck and the sheer ineptitude of their opponents.

She was infuriated by his comments, but she managed to control her emotions and delighted in poking holes in his facts and observations. Neither of them liked or respected the other but they continued the on-air bickering -- it was great for his ratings, and the extra work helped her income and gave her a wider national stage. But at best, it was an uneasy working relationship.

Just as Kate had predicted, both teams survived the playoffs and by late January were headed for the Super Bowl. And so it was inevitable that she would be asked to appear on Ronnie's radio show on Friday, two days before the Game. But somehow she hadn't been prepared for the direction that the conversation would take and, true to her father's words, it was her big mouth that got her in trouble.

During the segment, each of them offered an analysis of the teams' strength and weaknesses and then gave their predictions. Ronnie foresaw an easy win for his team while Kate forecasted an extremely tight game with her team winning by a small margin.

"I can see that we're never going to agree on the relative strengths of the special teams," Ronnie was concluding. He paused. "You do understand what the special teams are, don't you Kate?" he said in a condescending voice as if talking to a first grader.

"Yes, I do Ronnie," she responded tartly, "but it's the defense that's going to make the difference in this Super Bowl, and that's why on Monday I'll be celebrating while you'll be making excuses."

"You sound so confident, Miss Rossi," he replied. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to put your money where your mouth is?"

"A bet?"

"Yes, Kate," he responded. "Didn't you know that people sometimes bet on sports?"

The tone of his voice was just too much for Kate and without thinking, she snapped back. "You're on."

"Just a minute, though. We haven't even discussed the stakes," he said in a taunting voice.

Something about his tone set off the alarm bells inside her head. But at the same time, it was too late to back down. Quickly calculating what she could afford to lose, she responded, "Well, I'm sure I can match whatever you wager."

"Oh Kate," Ronnie said in a tone of surprise. "It's not my money that I'll be wagering. I talked to the station about this before the broadcast, and they thought a bet was a great idea. So they're willing to pledge $50,000 to your favorite charity if your team wins."

She was dumbfounded and started to blurt out that he had to be kidding. But she caught herself, making a sort of half-strangled sound that she then quickly tried to cover with a cough.

"It wouldn't be fair to ask you to come up with that sort of money, so I thought I'd suggest some other way for you to have some skin in the game, so to speak."

All of her distrust returned with a rush. Kate didn't like the sound of that phrase "skin in the game," and she feared she knew exactly where this was going. But at this point, she had no choice but to play along.

"Go on," she said, trying to keep the note of skepticism out of her voice.

"Well, I have a lot of connections in the world of media, and I happen to know that a certain sports magazine would be interested in putting some pictures of you in their publication. So, I'll put up the fifty thousand on my side and all you have to do is agree that you'll pose for them if you lose."

"And I suppose posing for them means wearing something a little provocative and revealing?" Kate replied, playing for time.

"No, it means wearing nothing provocative," he grinned in delight as if she had stepped into his trap. "In fact, it means wearing nothing at all. If your team loses, you'll have to strip naked and pose for the magazine." He waited, and hearing no immediate reply, he continued. "You know, show your fans the goodies, as they say." He paused, "But of course you don't think that's going to happen, do you?

Kate ran through a string of obscenities in her mind, silently calling Ronnie every name she could think of. But she couldn't back down -- her pride wouldn't let her, and she would be ridiculed by fans around the country. And, she reflected as she took a deep breath, what did it matter anyway. Her team was going to win and her favorite charity would be $50,000 richer.

"It's a bet," said Kate confidently. "When my team wins, I'll stop by and together we can deliver your check to the Cancer Society. And," knowing that the audience wanted to hear it from her own mouth, "if they lose, I'll appear nude in the magazine."

There were cheers in the background at Ronnie's radio studio, and they quickly signed off for her segment. As she removed the headset and turned off her microphone, she slowly shook her head and muttered to herself, "Oh daddy, what have I gotten myself into now?"

****

Everyone -- fans as well as sports writers and analysts -- agreed it was one of the best Super Bowls ever. The teams were well matched, and the lead passed back and forth between the two throughout all four quarters.

For most of the game, Kate's stomach had been in knots, alternating between exhilaration and despair. For any fan, watching their team compete in the Super Bowl is always a terrific thrill. But after making the bet with Ronnie, her excitement and nervousness had risen to a whole other level. It didn't help that several colleagues had texted her right after the radio show to ask what the hell she was thinking. Didn't she realize, they pointed out, that winning the bet was basically meaningless? And if she lost and reneged on the deal, Ronnie as well as a lot of others in the business would never let her forget it. Worst of all would be losing and paying up on the bet -- her reputation as a serious sports writer would be harmed, perhaps irreparably, and many mainstream publications probably never hire her again.

Her apprehension ruined the entire weekend. She tried to keep her mind off of what she had done by throwing herself into her work Saturday, finishing up two long pieces that she had promised to deliver the following week. She had intended to sleep late on Sunday, but woke up before dawn, tossing and turning in bed for another two hours before finally getting up. She flipped aimlessly through the talk shows and pre-game specials, unable to concentrate on anything other than her own folly.

Kate had turned down a number of party invitations and a last minute offer from some friends to catch the game at a nearby bar. Several times in the past she arranged to watch with several fellow sports writers so they could discuss the game as it unfolded. But she knew they were aware of her bet, and the last thing she wanted was to be around other people if the unthinkable happened.

But, she kept telling herself, it was impossible that her team would lose. She had watched them all season with an increasing sense that this was a team of destiny. Like any real fan, she was certain deep down inside that their time had finally come. And the additional consequences -- the fact that she would have to decide whether to pose for nude pictures that would be seen by hundreds of thousands of people or forever live with the reputation as someone who didn't live up to their word -- appeared intolerable. They simply had to win.

So it was with a huge sense of relief late in the fourth quarter that her team stopped their opponents at midfield after a blocked pass on a fourth down play. Leading by four points, they took possession of the ball just as the two-minute warning sounded. Now, she thought, all they had to do was kill the clock as the other team used up their timeouts. Even if they were forced to punt, it would place the ball at least ninety yards from the goal line and with only enough time left for one play. She could finally relax, and she began to compose the lead paragraph for her article that would be posted online that night and run in papers tomorrow across the country.

Then, suddenly everything went horribly, drastically wrong. With less than thirty seconds to go and unable to convert on a third and two situation, their quarterback inexplicably threw a pass rather than punt. Out of nowhere, a defensive back intercepted the ball. He ducked two or three tackles, made toward the sidelines to stop the clock, but then realized there was an open field in front of him.

Kate watched in horror as he galloped past the fifty, the forty, the thirty, the twenty, swerved to avoid one last futile attempt at a tackle and then plunged into the end zone as time ran out on the clock. The game was over, and her team had lost. Everything seemed to stand still -- the noise of the TV faded into a dull buzz as she sank back in her seat.

She felt totally defeated, unable to move for several minutes. She looked down, half expecting to already see her clothes already stripped off and lying on the floor. This can't be happening, she thought. It can't, it can't. Finally, she leaned forward and, staring at her computer screen, highlighted the paragraph she had written during the closing two minutes of the game and hit the delete key. She then started typing again.

"One of the most unforgettable Super Bowl games in history came to a thrilling conclusion tonight. As a lifelong fan of the losing team, I can repeat all the trite phrases about what a great contest it was, how well everyone played, and how lucky we were to see such a game. But the truth is that there's no comfort in this outcome. It hurts -- it hurts a lot. And it hurts especially for me because I have to make two phone calls tomorrow morning. The first one will be to a beauty parlor to set up an appointment for a bikini wax (and ladies, you know that can hurt almost as much as losing). And the second is to Ronnie Simpson to let him know that I will live up to my end of our bargain. Because, as my Dad always taught me, 'Kate, you should never welsh on a bet.'"

****

The phone call with Ronnie the next morning had been short and definitely not sweet. Ronnie kept their conversation direct and to the point; it was time for her to deliver on their bet. She responded that she had already heard from Sports World magazine and they were negotiating the terms of her appearance in the magazine. "Talk is all very good, Miss Rossi," he replied. "Just let me know when the pictures are published, and we'll be happy to have you back on the program."

With that, he hung up on her. Kate placed her phone down, realizing that his words were just one more reminder that no matter what she did now, her career and her income were going to take a hit. If she went through with the photoshoot, she could expect many of the mainstream publications to shun her. And if she backed out of the bet, she'd never get another shot at national radio. But not living up to her word, she decided, was not an option.

Over the next few days, she had numerous occasions to rethink that decision. She had a series of calls with the magazine as well as with a lawyer friend that she had asked to review the contract. After each call, she kept asking herself the same question: "Do you really want to go through with this?"

The answer, she came to realize, was more complex than she had initially thought. Yes, she was determined to honor her word, no matter what the personal consequences. But by the time she faxed back the signed agreement, she had accepted the fact that this was a challenge that she was determined to meet. Yes, the stakes were higher than facing a superior opponent in soccer or busting your ass to meet a deadline. But those situations had always gotten her adrenaline pumping and spurred her to do her best work. She decided to face this situation with the same level of determination.

All of these thoughts were going through her head several days later as she sat by herself trying to enjoy a cheeseburger in a New York City bar and grill. She had come to the city that afternoon at the expense of Sports World magazine and met with Julie Chapman, the assistant managing editor who had contacted her after her appearance on the Ronnie Simpson radio show. Together they had finalized the timing and details of the photoshoot. The magazine wanted to move quickly to get her pictures in print while the media buzz around "the bet" was still fresh in the public's mind. Also, the issues in the weeks after the Super Bowl were typically their lowest-selling ones, and Sports World was counting on her pictorial to boost circulation.

As Kate sipped on a beer, she realized that information still evoked mixed feelings for her. It was always good to know that her work would help circulation -- that was every writer's goal. But she would have preferred that the interest was generated by her words and not, as it was in this case, by her body. She chuckled quietly to herself as she recalled a bit of advice she had heard somewhere once -- "if life gives you lemons, make lemonade." "Looks like I'm going to be making some lemonade tomorrow," she concluded.

Sports World had told her to expect to be in town for several days. They wanted to meet with her briefly in the morning at their offices for a few publicity photos with the staff. Julie would then take her to the studio to meet the photographer and videographer. During the negotiations, Kate had learned that they planned on taking pictures for the magazine article as well as shooting a video that would be posted on their website. Kate was uncomfortable at first with the idea of a video -- photos were bad enough -- but the proposed compensation was substantially more than she had expected. Ultimately there didn't seem to be any difference to her between total strangers staring at her boobs in a video or in a photo, so she agreed to do both.

So, here she was grabbing a bite to eat before she headed back to her hotel to try to get a good night's sleep. "I don't want to have dark circles under my eyes for the photos," she thought to herself. "Just in case anybody's bothering to look at my face."

She had almost finished her second beer and was thinking of asking for the check when she happened to overhear a group of guys talking loudly behind her. What grabbed her attention was the mention of the name "Ronnie Simpson" followed by a mention of the "chick who lost the bet." Her back was to the group, and she was wearing her hair pulled back and tucked under a baseball cap, which she had pulled low over her forehead. That, and the fact that she was dressed in jeans and a non-descript, somewhat oversized sweater, made her confident that none of the group would recognize her. So she turned a bit to be able to hear better as their conversation continued.

"Have you seen a picture of her?"

"I think so," another in the group replied.

"Well, she's hot. But there's no way she's going through with it."

A third person joined in. "I heard on the show the other day and she said she was. That girl has balls."

That got a general laugh from the group. "Hope not," the first guy said followed by a general sound of disgust from the table.

"Still, that's pretty awesome. I mean would that be the ideal girlfriend or what? Loves sports and knows what she's talking about. Killer body and not afraid to show it."

The fifth friend now spoke up. "I could spend my whole life looking for someone like that and never find her. Why do I never meet girls like that?"

"Definitely not at a place like this," the first guy joked as he raised his glass to his buddies and took a long sip.

It was all that Kate could do to refrain from getting up and going over to tap that guy on the shoulder. But if there was one thing she had learned as a journalist, it was not to interrupt when someone was talking candidly. That's when you got the best copy.