Smack. One more time, the blow landed squarely between my thighs and behind. I made a hissing sound. It was 2002, I finally managed to sneak out. Everybody who follows the Browns knows that I was well-aware of that year. It was a symptom of Cleveland as a whole. Also, LeBron James.

And, he said, "how many postseasons have the Patriots made since 2002?" His tone was full of arrogance. Oh, but that Spygate joke clearly hurt. As much as I attempted to suppress a smile and giggles, I found that I couldn't help myself.

Smack. Smack. Two solid whacks, but then long, luscious rubbings of my smoking arses. He...