- The Washington Times - Wednesday, February 7, 2001

Carol Grow puts her panties on one nicely shaped leg at a time.
As a reporter with the XFL, Grow packs a light suitcase: pen, notepad and panties.
She becomes the second reporter in America to be defined by the quality of her panties. Marv Albert was the first.
"I don't think there's ever enough sex," XFL founder Vince McMahon says.
The XFL can say that again.
"Quarterback Ryan Clement knows how to score," a cheerleader with the Las Vegas Outlaws says.
The double entendre is intended to pique the imagination of restless male viewers.
The XFL cheerleaders wear hot pants and pushup bras and know how to have a good time. They are the XFL's ubiquitous eye candy. They have nice hair, nice curves and nice smiles.
The XFL is where testosterone and estrogen collide. Are you ready for some footsies?
Sports traditionalists are put off by McMahon's creation, perhaps because of his day job with the World Wrestling Federation.
The WWF is a carefully scripted parody that celebrates steel cages, flying chairs and ear-splitting threats. Its loose form of competition is incidental to the raw spectacle. Seeing is not necessarily believing.
McMahon has checked America's pretenses at the XFL door. Sports and sex go together like mom and apple pie, and McMahon is impolite enough to make it an essential element of his marketing strategy.
Heavy breathing is permitted, if not encouraged. The XFL aspires to be the sports equivalent of Viagra. X stands for x-sultry.
The XFL champions real men in cleats as well. That is the other bookend to the sex.
The XFL's quarterbacks might as well have a bull's-eye on their jerseys. A late hit, especially from the blind side, is in the spirit of the game.
They don't toss a coin to determine which team kicks and which one receives in the XFL. They place two players next to each other and then let them charge after the ball.
Hasson Shamsid-Deen, a member of the Orlando Rage, earned a separated left shoulder from the tug-of-war and a place in football history as the first player to be knocked out of a game before the game was under way.
The quality of football is minor league, if quality ever was the issue. The best players are under contract with the NFL. The second-best batch is under contract to the NCAA.
The NFL is not obligated to blush around the XFL, if poor taste is one of the principal attractions. The NFL is a natural when it comes to poor taste. The NFL has spent the last week trying to forget Ray Lewis.
The XFL is attempting to appeal to the frothing segment of the football audience, the young, male adult who burps in the presence of others. The XFL is not trying to reach NOW's disciples, although Patricia Ireland is permitted to watch. She even might learn something.
Jesse Ventura, the governor of Minnesota, is one of the XFL's talking heads. Jerry Springer would have worked, too.
No word on whether Dennis Rodman plans to be a tight end in his next professional life. He fits the XFL image.
Mark Chmura, who used to be a tight end with the Packers, also is free to apply to the XFL following his acquittal of sexual assault. His tear ducts opened up after a jury decided he did not force his children's baby sitter to have sex with him.
The particulars not in dispute were hard enough to stomach. Chmura and his teen accuser were at a party, they were drunk and they ended up in a bathroom together.
The XFL is bold enough to stick a camera and microphone in the bathroom. It has cameras and microphones nearly everywhere else.
To the XFL player just knocked woozy comes the journalistic staple: How does it feel?
McMahon is predisposed to declare victory after the first volley.
"I thought that there was the right complement of sexuality and the right complement of confrontation and the right complement of real good, hard-hitting football," he says.
McMahon makes a better carnival barker than cheerleader, and nothing against the XFL's cheerleaders.

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