Its Public Enemy? Its Basquiat?

It’s a well-told story: On January 11th 1992, Nirvana Nevermind replaced Michael Jackson’s Dangerous as the number one album on the Billboard 200. In the previous year, that top spot had been held by the likes of Vanilla Ice, Michael Bolton, Paula Abdul and Van Halen. Kurt Cobain stomped that mess, albeit temporarily, with his cut jeans, dingy flannel and lady’s deodorant.

Men’s figure skating is in need of a similar figure. I love the sport, the athleticism, the artistry. But it’s been stuck in a stale sequined glamrocked routine for as long as I’ve known it. That same rote footwork, musty jazz hands, predictably unpredictable Vera Wang trimmed decadent on-ice outfits.

Maybe it’ll never break out of its mold; it’s a sport driven by tradition and elderly judges. There’s margins in playing it safe. But times should evolve. I’m waiting for a Brooklyn skater in high tops and a hoodie to throw down triple axels to DJ Logic. Less Vera Wang, more DIY Dapper Dan.

Alpine skiing has its Bode Miller. Snowboarding has its Shaun White (a guy so counter counter culture he’s made loving your country and respecting your parents cool again.) I love me some Evan Lysacek. But what’s next?

We are men! And so we value our tires more than our wives. We will put up with the pain of listening to their opinions so long as we can still drive our Dodge Chargers.

We will reveal them naked in the shower after finally developing the confidence to use soap to clean ourselves.

Yes, we are men. We will steal our wives’ beer and hijack their bookclubs with harassing sex jokes that make light of our illiteracy. We will pray they do not catch us cheating on them with our milkaholic baby mistresses.

We’ll take off our skirts! Which is to say, we’ll no longer attempt to spend time with our wives without ready access to a handheld television named after their periods.

We are men! We will rock blocking shots on guys with dreadlocks.

(That last one isn’t misogynistic, just amazing.)