GLAZER'S EDGE

In March of this year, I sent out a mass text to about 60 of my friends in the NFL and a bunch of UFC fighters. The text read, "Dude, some stuff just went down and your name came up. My phone's about to die. Call me in the hotel @ 416-xxx-xxxx. The # was actually a male chat line called, like, Maneater or something ridiculous like that, and it cost like five bucks a minute. I got head coaches, GMs, players, team presidents, league officials. After most texted back, they were gonna kill me — but they were howling, and almost all of them re-sent it to someone else. Some of the straightest, blandest guys publicly have the greatest senses of humor privately.