A Common Man's Night With The Playboy Bunnies

Around 12:30 pm last Wednesday, my plans for the night were set; go home, eat, pass out on chair. Fairly typical. But all that changed five minutes later when the invitation was extended to me, courtesy of the best damn editor in Boston, to attend a Playboy Golf Charity Party at Felt in Downtown Crossing, where local reality TV stars and no less than 6 Playboy Playmates would be in attendance. Like most decisions, I went with my first instinct, which in this case was “YES!”, and accepted the offer. I know what you’re thinking - Barstool Sports at a Playboy party? The common man hanging with the Bunnies? Suffolk Downs, Cityside, Club Dome, sure. Playboy Party at Felt, come on? Hey, some days the good Lord shines His light upon even the most mediocre of men.

My buddy Kev (posing as photographer) and I arrived at Felt around 7:15 pm. After receiving our laminated Playboy Golf “VIP Players” Special Access Media pass with white Bunny backdrop, we were escorted up the stairs into a room that I only describe as ridiculous. This was not real life. Within 10 seconds I realized I had absolutely no business being in this place. Not only were there 6 Playmates on stage, but the room was packed with about 100 models and hot “regular girls”, who for the most part, were indistinguishable from the models. It was like the bizarro world episode on Seinfeld when George was at the modeling party and the next day the place was a meat packing plant. (“I’m telling you, they were here!”)

After 45 minutes of just walking around and drinking, surprisingly for my first set of “interviews”, I went straight for the top. I passed on the regular girls and models and approached the 3 sexiest Playmates in the whole joint. It was like entering the code in “Punchout!” and skipping past Soda Popinski and Super Macho Man to get right to Tyson.

The first Bunny was Julie McCullough, Miss February 1986. Very cute blond, wearing a blue satin dress. You know her as Kirk Cameron’s girlfriend on “Growing Pains” and from cameos on “90210” and “The Golden Girls”. “Who are you with?” Julie asked. “Barstool Sports.” “Never heard of it.” Understandable. She gladly posed with us in a few pictures and actually was chatting with Kev for a bit. Next to Julie were 2 slightly younger, stunning blond bomb-shells: Stephanie Heinrich - Miss November 2001, who Kev fell in love with, and Tina Jordan - Miss March 2002. I knew her. She was on the Howard Stern Show on E! doing stretching exercises in the studio promoting her Playboy workout program. “Only you would know that” Kev said as he snapped more gratuitous shots of Steph’. Tremendous. I have an actual, non-cheesy line to use on a Playmate. Why not, right? So after a few pictures were taken with Tina and her fellow Bunnies, I conducted the following, Pulitzer Prize winning interview:

Me: “How you doin’?”
Tina Jordan, Miss March 2002: “Who are you with again?”
Me: “Barstool Sports.”
Tina: “Never heard of it.” (Again, understandable, she’s in the grotto all day.)
Me, after swallowing pride and what was left of my Red Stripe: “So, you playing in golf event tomorrow?”
Tina: “Um, no. I’m just caddying.”
Me: “That’s just as good.” (?!?!)
Tina: “Yeah.”
Me, smoothly: “So, how’s that workout program going?”
Tina, dejected, with the look of the losing coach in a Jim Grey interview: “We had to sell the company. Thanks for asking though.”
(I nearly followed with “Tina, you’re a class act for coming on with us, we appreciate it.”) It had to be embarrassing for Tina to answer that in front of her friends. Unbelievable, it took me 5 f’n seconds to act like an idiot in front of a Playmate. That was the worst line of the night until about an hour later when Kev shouted to one of the models, in the middle of the fire alarm blaring, “So, pretty annoying fire alarm, huh?” It was awful. She gave him the dreaded “trifecta rejecta” which is the eye roll + “what-ever” + awkward step-back.

The next order of business was to get the 3 reality TV interviews. Now I calculated an approximately 0.5% chance of ever being in a room with models, Playboy Bunnies and an all-access “VIP Players Pass” ever again, so as much as I like reality shows, these local dudes weren’t exactly at the top of my agenda.

The first was with “Boston Rob” from “Survivor” who noted that Amber was “doing good” and that he just hung out with Rupert at the Bellagio. (Rupert at the Bellagio? That’s like me being here.) The second was with Brian Worth from “Average Joe”, who was thrilled about throwing out the first pitch at Saturday’s Sox game to his favorite player, Tim Wakefield. He said NBC was working on a “future project” for him, and then voluntarily gave me his email address for an upcoming interview. Figures. In a room with scores of beautiful women, I get an email address from an average Joe, literally. His girlfriend was well “above average” by the way.

Our final Boston bred reality star was the surly “CT” from the “Real World”. Here’s an excerpt from our classic conversation:

Me: “How you doin’?”
CT, suspicious: “Who you with?”
Me: “Barstool Sports.”
CT, getting testy: “Never heard of it. What’s it about?”
Me: “Sports, gambling, chicks. Whatever. We actually had a list of the top 10 Real World characters and you were #4.”
CT, distraught, like Nixon in his final days: “I didn’t think I was that misbehaved.”
Me: “I think the whole ‘flowers incident’ was why you made the top 4.” (I wrote the article.)
CT, still very serious: “The only reason I went downstairs was because Ace is a pussy. That was bullshit.”
Me, agreeing, trying to end it: “Yeah, Ace is a pussy. You gonna start talking to these Playmates?”
CT gives single, determined nod and turns away.

I think I would’ve been disappointed if CT was any more cordial.

Back to the models. At this point for the usually shy me, approaching out-of-my-league girls for an interview and picture became as easy as asking a waiter for more bread and water. Kev and I agree that we’re wearing the VIP Players Passes (I love saying that) every time we go out. With about an hour left to go, I engaged in conversation with a tan, naturally beautiful, young brunette in a white half-shirt and short denim skirt. Euy. The top shelf Vodka was getting to me, it was getting late, and I actually convinced myself I had a bid:

Naturally beautiful model, complaining while the Playmates were getting interviewed by Fox 25: “Aren’t they so fake and plastic? Look at them. They have too much make-up on. They’re all Pam Anderson look-alikes.” (Like that’s a bad thing.)
Me, lying: “Yeah. Plastic. I hate that.”
Model: “I thought guys liked that??”
Me: “Yeah, sometimes. (?!) You know you really look great tonight. (She did) What’s your name?”
Model: “Thank you. It’s Tiffany. What’s your name? Who are you with again?”
Me, seeing Harold Reynolds on TV, realizing the magnitude of the moment, looked her straight in the eyes and went for the jugular: “Pete Manzo….ESPN.”
Model: “Never heard of it.”
AH!! But it didn’t matter. The tedious formality of the introductions was like trick or treating. I could’ve said “Jerry Stackhouse, CNN”, and she wouldn’t have known the difference. Models. Oh well, I had to try. After getting my picture taken with Matt Light’s new Super Bowl ring, the party ended 30 minutes later after the now-hammered Playmates gathered on stage and auctioned off a weekend trip to the Playboy mansion and a 4-some with the Bunnies (on the golf course) to two guys for $35,000 each. I started the biding at $50.

Around 1 am, the Playmates exited the bar, destined for Pravda in a white Rolls Royce. We could only wave good-bye like a 6 year old kid to his mommy leaving for work. Our improbable, unbelievable night had ended. And we had the pictures to prove it. On our way home to the North End, Kev and I stopped by the familiar confines of the Bell n’ Hand for a beer to cap the night. It was as if we returned from a 6 week trip to Europe. We were back home, watching SportsCenter at the end of the bar. Drinking beer with the common man.

To see pictures of the party click on this link;

Playboy Party Pictures