Dear loyal readers:

In 1995, a year after graduating from the University of Delaware, I smoked pot twice. The first was via a joint, and I felt nothing. The second was via a bong, and immediately after the smoke entered my body I started to believe I had a large helmet covering my head, a la The Great Gazoo. I know many of you believe me to be a role model, and I have let you down. From this point on, I will stop watching the Flintstones.


Jeff Pearlman


For the record, this whole Michael Phelps thing is insane. Beyond insane. I know … I know—lucky Michael Phelps. All those gold medals. All those endorsements. All that money. But, really, look at the guy. What kind of life has Michael Phelps lived? In pool, out of pool. In pool, out of pool. In pool, out of pool. In pool, out of pool. In pool, out of pool. As other people his age spring breaked in Cancun and guzzled beers and chased women, he was swimming laps. And more laps. And more laps.

Hence, why is anyone surprised that Phelps took a bong hit? Hell, for his sake I hope he took more than one …