When I got to work this morning, I had the following email waiting for me in my inbox. (Names have been anonymized to protect the innocent):

You must blog about the women's beach volleyball team. they are incredible specimens. Aside from their good looks, the tall blonde one has this odd (but sorta sexy) touchy feely thing going on. She's always smacking the other one on the ass (which is oftentimes reciprocated, thank heavens) or hugging her, as they frolic in their sports bikinis.

Frankly, when I read this I was appalled. Let me be the first to condemn this content like I'm Max Cleland and it's a Swiftboat ad. This individual really ought to be ashamed of themselves, don't you think?

Appreciating these women for their amazing, ridiculously fit, firm & shapely physiques in some way other than athletic? Outrageous!

Interpreting their skimpy beachwear as something other than indispensible to their sport - lunging digs, aggressive leaping spikes and blocks? For shame, anonymous emailer, for shame!

Viewing the American pair's expressive camaraderie as something more than close friendship, as they encountered intense competition together on the World's greatest stage? Shocking, person whose name has been hidden for your own protection, shocking!

I in no way perceived Misty May and Kerri Walsh's end-of-match celebration when they won the gold over the Brazilians in a sexual manner, their pony tails flailing in slow motion as the instant replays showed their embrace...crashing down onto the sand...Misty on top of Kerri...arms locked...faces smiling in ecstasy.

[cough] ahem. excuse me.

"Misty May" - doesn't that sound like an actress you'd expect to see on Cinemax at 1:30 in the AM?

Anyways, I was shocked and outraged. Plus, when Cronkette saw me watching the beach volleyball match last night, she questioned my motives as well! Horrific! Can't a man simply appreciate the sport of women's beach volleyball for its grace and beauty, coupled with fierce athleticism and competition?

...Next thing you know I'm going to face slack when Wimbledon rolls around, and I'm watching women's tennis with the volume cranked up. Can't a guy enjoy the passion and, um, desire to win that you hear in every grunt and scream? Again, all I'm asking for is equal rights among the sexes - and I hope to see this in my lifetime.

In the meantime, I'm off to view the fine Emmy-caliber tour-de-force performances of old Baywatch reruns. An underrated show, if ever there was one. I bid you all a pleasant evening. Or morning. Or whatever the hell.