"Yeah, I'll have a couple Dempseys and one of those Ted Williams' ones...for a friend". These sports-branded condoms are up for auction, but it's unlikely they're authorized by the sports legends they're intended to represent. I suppose it's more for plausible deniability -- "no, I bought them for the sports hero on the box, I didn't look at what's inside!" -- than it is to attract buyers, because I think anyone shopping for condoms already has incentive to buy them, regardless of who's on the front.

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Esquire has the man's guide to improving sex through diet and exercise. It's actually more thorough than the "sexercise" regimens that emphasize sexiness over sexual-improvement, but what do I know, I've got a beer belly. Esquire's plan emphasizes testosterone and flexibility, which are certainly useful points. What I don't get is why they thought Mr. American Psycho would be a good illustration for this article. Here's who I pick whenever I want a sexy picture of exercise:

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The problem with women and sports is right under her nose: one in five are put off of exercising because it hurts their boobs. Of course, the story leads with the shocking part, because what that means is that boobs don't interfere with 80% of women's exercise regimen, and they're less likely to exercise because of lack of energy and lack of time, which, well, is the reason I don't get off my fat ass and exercise either.

Summer's here, and the time is right, for just going for a walk or something, everyone. Just getting off the couch is the hardest part, but once you start it's not so hard to keep going. Buy yourself a FitBit, or track down a free pedometer, and just go for a walk. Your boobs will thank you, because the rest of the body carrying them around will be healthier, and if you aren't exercising for your boob's sake, when what other reason do you have?

For that troubled 17% with boob problems, maybe fashion just hasn't caught up with women's health - maybe women should be wearing a sports bra like this young lady, and, voila, suddenly the bra isn't hurting the boobs anymore:

Pic via.

A sad day has come and gone: the Lingerie Football League, known for women grunting and colliding while wearing very little clothes, is no longer. Now, they have been reborn as the Legends Football league, who is interested in showing that the sport is serious and not all about the undies, by showing women grunting and colliding while wearing very little clothes. The queen is dead, long live the queen! Well, they do say that the "modified bras and panties" are going out, so they might be able to take the sexy out of the press releases, but muscular, shapely women are still part of the game. I don't hear anyone complaining much.

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Why does nobody tell me when there's a new bikini-themed sport? I've long been a fan of the Lingerie Bowl, and who can forget the venerable art of mud wrestling, but their cold-weather compatriots have formed into the Bikini Hockey League (site is currently down). I found out about this heavenly sport because they're filming a horrible reality show to show off just why they want to punch each other in the rink. So far it appears to be just a handful of hot chicks on rollerblades who got kicked out of their local rollerderby for having too huge boobs. But, this is how things start: if a media campaign showing half-naked women and a badly-done reality show don't get this fascinating sport off the ground, I don't know what will.

Alas, so many sports photographers will be losing a potential moneymaking source: an aspiring tennis star has decided her 34FF breasts are in the way, and is planning a breast-reduction surgery. Just think of all the mid-swing breast photos they could have sold! Don't believe me? The London Paper has provided a slideshow of the breasts in question, so you can see what assets she's dealing with on the court. To quote the website's comments: "your boobs are more precious than tennis". Someday, tennis will fall by the wayside, but her breasts will never leave her.

It's quite innocent, but it has such implications: when you're a famous sports star and a 'sex tape' surfaces that claims you're in it, you want to find out what's up. You'll maybe have to watch it to make sure it's not you, you know, see if you recognize the room, the woman, watch for clues that might tell you when it was made. You might want to stop drinking so much if, even after one viewing, you're still not sure if it's you. And, come on - after the fourth or fifth time watching what appears to be you fucking somebody, it's no longer just for informational purposes: partaking in that much self-porn might be something to discuss with your psychologist.