My interest in professional football has primarily centered on a three-way ring wrestling fantasy in which Aaron Rodgers, Jordy Nelson, and Clay Matthews beat the living shit out of each other (obviously including extensive double-teaming by Aaron and Jordy), until they’ve all been stripped out of their trunks and the winner gets a blow job from one loser while he racks the other across his gargantuan shoulders (yep, you can pretty much guess who’s who). Actually following a season has been outside of my frame of reference for well over a decade, and actually paying attention to draft day has frankly never been on my radar. But it was hard not to notice Michael Sam getting drafted by the Rams and sucking face with his boyfriend in celebration. The kiss seemed a tad forced and uncomfortably choreographed to me. Nevertheless, it was hot. For me. Others were clearly offended. There were apparently the predictable junior high level “ewwwwws” from the un-self-reflected narcissists privileged to remain far too long in angst-ridden adolescent ignorance and knee jerk self-defensiveness around their own secret same-sex fantasies. There was the wildly hypocritical “shield my baby’s eyes” indignation from the same mothers who blissfully see no irony in wanting more guns in their children’s schools while earnestly believing that witnessing g-rated affection between consenting adults will scar their offspring permanently. And there’s the “homosexual agendaists” who whip themselves in sackcloth because of the “politicization” of sport, and sports television, and masculinity itself. Whatever it means for football or football fans or sports television, the kerfuffle highlights the simple truth that persists regardless of where you stand: the personal is political. Oh, and two men kissing is sexy.