Shame fucks are a part of life. I knew I would eventually have one. But, is mine… Ryan Lochte?
I never thought I’d need to ask that question. Ryan was supposed to be the perfect counter-programming to Michael Phelps. Almost as good of an athelete, less prone to Subway sandwich commercials, less triangle-shaped face. And he dominated my 2012 Olympics.
But there were warning signs. The flag grill. Biting the gold medal. Jeah. “Jeah” should have been the biggest warning sign of all. But still.
I didn’t truly see what Ryan had become until this.