When you are a kid growing up in the suburbs, there are experiences or occurances that do not necessarily scar you for life, but they are capable of   making such a large impression on you that it literally changes you forever.  For me, that one experience occurred in the Pacers' locker room.  I went in wanting autographs...I left in need of counseling. 

I happened to grow up with the son of one
of the Pacers coaches, and through that I
got to spend many a night down at Market
Square Arena.  After the games we would
wait around until my friend's dad was done
doing what coaches do and then he would
drive us home.  On one memorable night,
however, he asked us if we wanted to wait
for him in the trainer's room.  At the time it
sounded like a good idea; I had been in the
training room and knew it was connected
to the locker room.  I figured we might get to
talk to some of the players.  I figured wrong.

As we were sitting and talking to David Craig, in walked a stark-naked LaSalle Thompson.  Let me first explain to you that I have never been very comfortable with the nude male form, not even my own.  Therefore, seeing a 6'10" behemouth of a man butt-naked was a bit of a shock to my self-conscious teenaged system.  (Let's get this on the record right now: yes, Thompson's nickname is "Tank."  No, it's not because of his uncanny ability to funnel beers.  I can safely say--after witnessing what I
did--that it's because he has a gun turret
that resembles a Sherman M4.  I
apologize.  It simply needed to be said. 
Let us never mention it again.)  "Tank"
then proceeds to stand in front of a full
length mirror and do curls while he
watches his naked body.  That's right...
the man was lifting weights naked.  It
was Seinfeld's "bad naked" to the utmost
extreme (not that a man named "Tank"
possesses a "good naked").  Not to get
too graphic, but I truly think the guy could
have done 45-pound curls with his third
arm.  I almost went blind from starring at it. 
The only thing that pulled my attention
away from the nude 280-pound man was
the 7'4" uber-white mulleted Dutchman now on the exercise bike...naked.

That's right.  Less than five feet from me, Rik Smits was now pedaling a bike sans a biker helmet, a biker shirt,
and most noticably, a pair of biker
shorts.  He did have the courtesy
to put down a towel, but that
simple act did not reduce my
mental scaring.  If Tank's
aforementioned nude lifting can 
be construed as "bad naked," then
the "Dunkin' Dutchman's" act of
biking in the buff falls somewhere
between "I think I'm going to vomit"
and "Make it stop...for the love of
all things Holy, please, please,
Dear Lord, make it stop."  That is
not hyperbole, either.  It was
awful.  Simply awful.

To set the scene, I have a
Debo-of-a-man in front of
me lifting and admiring his
mini-Tank in the mirror.  I
have Holland's greatest son to my right trying to keep his own windmill from getting caught in the pedals.  And to make matters worse, Vern Fleming began getting treatment on his shoulder at the training table...
and yes, he too was naked.  Vern had one of the more
unusual male members that I had ever seen.  It must
have been ¾ of a foot long, but the diameter of it was
not that of a dime.  It kind of looked like a long noodle
(hence my hatred of pasta). 

That was it.  I had to get out of this nightmare.  I'll wait
outside, I thought.  As I am walking around the corner,
I run directly in to Dale Davis.  Now I am about 6'2"
and Dale is 6'11" (you do the math...and yes, it is
"long division").  I was not at a good height.  I think
his bird might have grazed my forehead.  Truthfully,
I'm not quite sure...I think I blacked out.  Understand,
we're talking about a guy that is rumored to tape his boss to his leg during the games to avoid blunt-force-trauma-related injuries.  (Is there a standard operating procedure that David Craig has established for that?  You'd have to use pre-tape, right?  How did Dale first initiate that conversation?  Uh, Mr. Craig...you know those bruises on my knees?  I think I know how it's happening.  You're not gonna like it.  You might want to put on some gloves.) 
In any event, I'm pretty sure it at
least grazed my noggin (to simulate
my experience, have a friend whack
you in the head with an 8-pound
Pepperidge Farm summer sausage). 
Not good times.  I'm currently taking
250 mg/day of "Repressitol" to forget
the event. 

To this day I have nightmares about
my night in the locker room.  Most of
them have to do with me being the
one that is naked and not being half
the man that the other naked men are in the locker room.  I would consider myself a very straight male who is comfortable with his sexuality; that notwithstanding, since that day I have always showered with a bathing suit on.  I even pull the trick where I take the suit off and put the boxers on with the towel around my waist, even when I am the only on in the room.  I do not think that I have spent more than 3 straight seconds naked since that night.  It takes a strong person to live through a night like that and not be put away in a straight jacket.  I would say that I am surviving.
My view of the Pacers will never be the same.
"Fire in the hole!!!"
After seeing all of Smits, I truly think he wears a size 29 shoe.
The Lady & the Tramp might be considered a porno in the Fleming household.
Tank Thompson's
'Gun Turret' and Other Reoccuring Nightmeres

By Shaun Souers
REGGIE: "Dale...you still taping your shit down to your leg???"
 

DALE:  "Yep."


REGGIE:  "You crazy, Dale...you crazy."