Dumpster fire. I don’t know why I look at them. Probably because I’m waiting for someone to come to his defense. Anyone at all.
The league as a whole has been silent. Buffalo hasn’t said anything. Caulder deleted every social media account he had. There’s been zero response.
I close the app and look up—at the wrong fucking moment as a mention of this shit is skimmed over on Sports Spot.
“I’ll be interested to see if the current social media slaughter will affect Buffalo’s game tomorrow,” Reese Davie says. “They’ve had a decent season. Not the best in the Atlantic Division, but such an improvement on last year.”
“Very true. They’re skating by the edge of their blades as far as making it to the playoffs. This disaster could have serious consequences on their game play,” Dari Nolan responds.
Thankfully, they move on after that. I’m scowling. These fuckers. You’re adding to the bullshit, even if in a neutral way. I’m thankful that almost all of Sports Spot focuses on sports. Not players’ private lives or any other drama.
Molly Zubin is their ‘athletic lifestyles’ anchor, which to me is a fancy title for gossip monger. I’ve turned the channel every time she comes on. I don’t want to hear her opinion because it’s just going to piss me off.
“You know,” Keno says and I glance in his direction. He and Etna are sitting in front of my coffee table with game controllers in their hands.
I have a true bachelor pad. The big TV hanging on the wall usually always has Sports Spot on. Sometimes I change to one of the other sports channels, but this one is my favorite. When the big television’s off, a screen saver pops up, making it look like living art. It’s cool until one of the random graphics starts watching you as you move around the house. Then it’s just creepy as fuck.
There’s a fifty-inch television on the low stand beneath it that’s connected to all the game consoles. I don’t always have both running. In fact, I rarely do. Usually only when there’s agame I want to watch, but it’s not quite holding my attention, so I’m playing video games too. Or when my friends are over.
“I can appreciate that the world blows up straight boy drama just as much as gay boy drama,” Keno comments.
Etna snorts.
“No really,” Keno continues. “I think the last big thing was… Felton Cock Sucker. A couple months ago, right? Would it have been blown out of the water like that had it been a straight guy shooting porn?”
“Yes,” Hilt and Horny say in unison.
“In his case—similar to Max Latham’s—it would have gotten just as much negative attention. What wouldn’t have been tagged on is the hate toward them that came with it,” Hilt says. “Porn is porn.”
“The world is still in its sex-shaming era,” Etna says. “Ohh, people enjoy sex. Shaaaameful.”
I chuckle, despite my sour attitude. His prissy woman voice always makes me laugh.
“But like… the Buffalo trio? Yeah, that was only heightened because it’s three men. It probably would have gotten some attention if it was one man and two women, but not like it did for them,” Hilt agrees.
“Then there’s Coach Adak,” Horny adds, “who did absolutely nothing wrong but rescue his boyfriend from an abusive situation, and look at the field day the media had there.”
“At least that ended well,” Etna says. “And Carolina is having a fucking year, man. Toby Eads says they’re going to make the playoffs. He’s calling it between Carolina and Tampa.”
“Ugh,” Keno groans. “I hate that Tampa might win. Why do the jackasses always win?”
“I’m totally rooting for Carolina,” Horny says. “Unless we get our shit together and kick some ass—then I’m rooting for us.”
I chuckle.
We fall silent again when Reese Davie makes another mention about Caulder. My blood turns hot and I’m real fucking close to shutting the TV off.
“You think he did it?” Horny asks.
“No,” I say sharply. My tone is apparently aggressive enough that all four turn to look at me.
“You two are friends now, right?” Etna asks.
I nod, trying to curb my irritation. How can someone even question this?! I mean, that chick is looking for attention. Drama. Fucking money!
“You’ve talked to him about it?”
“Yes. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t even leave the hotel in Philly. Caulder doesn’t go out unless he’s in Buffalo and only then, he goes with his friends to a single place where they play pool and foosball and shit. He doesn’t even know who she is,” I say defensively. Because that’s my only mode right now.
