GQ Drops Back, Unloads

Written by Lisa Kearns on . Posted in Breaking News, Posts.



But that
was 17 years ago. My father’s dead and the Chargers suck.


What I was
wondering was why a fashion magazine like GQ loves football–other
than the obvious benefits that flow from nearly two pounds of glossy advertising.
I headed to Gallagher’s Steak House, to the party tossed by GQ editor-in-chief
Art Cooper along with the Giants and the Jets, to get the answer.


I’m
not the hugest football fan, and with the city looking at a real chance for
the first subway series since the days of the nickel fare, getting up for a
football-themed soiree was somewhat of a chore. But the night started with a
weirdly appropriate New York moment. My recorded cab voice was Mr. Ruptured
Achilles’ Heel, Vinny Testaverde, himself. "Please remember to pack
up your belongings," he told me. Same to you, V.


Gallagher’s
was packed, and decorated with clusters of little blue and white "GQ"-inscribed
footballs. There were GQ cheerleaders, too, also decorated in blue and
white and similarly inscribed. It was easy to guess why they loved football:
It put modeling dollars in their pockets. The central bar was three deep with
young fashionable types there for the free booze and models, interspersed with
the Sunday-pots-of-chili-and-cold-Lowenbrau guys who root for the Cowboys, or
maybe make it up to Baker Field when Princeton visits. Diehard football fans
could head to the back room to chat up some of the real players who showed up.
They could talk to Giants linebacker Jessie Armstead about his perfect attendance
record, or ask defensive back Percy Ellsworth if he missed returning punts,
like he did on occasion for the University of Virginia; or maybe Jets tight
end Fred Baxter had news on Testaverde. I asked Baxter who he liked if there’s
a subway series–if GQ can ask Patriots QB Drew Bledsoe and ESPN
host Chris Berman which football helmet was their favorite, I figured I could
ask baseball questions. Baxter told me he lives in Atlanta and likes the Braves.
He said, "If the Braves don’t make the World Series, I don’t
care who wins."


The lovely
young models in the room didn’t look like they loved football, but they
sure did like easy-on-the-eyes Giants cornerback Jason Sehorn. Sehorn is featured
in an eight-page fashion spread, and looks really good. Both Jason and cashmere
are making comebacks this year. He was holding some stack of papers, fanning
himself. "Are those modeling contracts?" I asked. No, they were just
something to move the stale Gallagher’s air around. Would you chuck it
all for a big fashion career? "No," he answered, "football is
my love."


I ran into
New York Post columnist Amy Sohn, who greeted me surprisingly warmly
and told me how simply awful it is to have a column in the New York Post.
I found GQ special correspondent and former Food TV star Alan Richman,
probably the most pleasant man in the room that evening. We talked about the
decline of Food TV until he spotted Cooper for me.


I reintroduced
myself and sent my boss’ regrets. Cooper wanted to know where the black
turtleneck he gave my boss was. "Where’s yours?" I countered,
pointing to his open, collarless buttondown.


"C’mon,"
he said. "Not in the summer." I passed along John Strausbaugh’s
scorn over a chart in the football GQ about the decline of males as they
age. According to that chart, men in their 30s experience 121 orgasms a year.
According to Strausbaugh, if that’s wads shot, it’s way low; if it’s
times laid, they’re lying. Per month is more like it, is Strausbaugh’s
view. Cooper said, "Tell Strausbaugh he’s a wimp," and then excused
himself to go give those football players some lovin’.


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