Scott Stinson is Terribly Wrong & The Neverending Story of Ines Sainz

I really hoped that the Ines Sainz saga would be a one-day story, what with the world ending and all, but I had momentarily forgotten how the media works.

If you've ever seen the O'Reilly Factor, you're familiar will Bill's tendency to decry something on television that's so overtly sexual and shocking that he has no choice but to show it 23 times in four minutes, all the while noting that material like this should never be broadcast when children are watching. And in case you forgot, the O'Reilly Factor is on at 8 PM. Then O'Reilly will discuss the material with the nearest scantily-clad Fox News fembot as he shows it another thirteen or fourteen times.

That's why I always giggle when Fox News personalities (because they sure as hell aren't journalists) moan about the "mainstream media." Fox News actually put on lab coats and invented this kind of reporting. Why is it, for example, that O'Reilly's "Culture Warriors" are always big-titted blondes? Did they used to look more like Pat Buchanan?

Not that I'm at all put off by it. I like a freakshow as much as the next guy and I like watching bikini chicks working a phallus-shaped Popsicle twice as much as the next guy. Because I'm so much more manly.

Here's the Sainz story in a nutshell. Some Mexican sexbomb from a TV station that no one has ever heard of dressed like a tart and was hit on by football players. Hardly a shocking revelation unless you've suffered severe head trauma recently. Maybe the most newsworthy thing about this story is how badly I want to make Ines Sainz my own Charlie McCarthy.

It should surprise no one that the Sainz story has been a media sensation all week. Every American media outlet that possibly could has whored her out, always making sure that she was appropriately dressed for the occasion. God bless them. They know where their bread is buttered and they're not shy about letting you know what the butter is or how it's churned.

The story hasn't escaped notice here in Canada, either. In today's National Post, somebody named Scott Stimson devotes an entire column to it. The column is noteworthy for just how chock full of wrong it is.

I admit that I am unfamiliar with the quality of Ines Sainz’s work as a sports journalist. She works for a Mexican television station, and my Spanish is limited to ordering beer while on vacation and, thanks to Dora the Explorer, counting fruit (Cinco limones!).

But even if she is the Edward R. Murrow of Mexican sports television, there’s a case to be made that her provocative dress and willingness to pose for bikini photos diminishes her credibility as a reporter. So I understand how she is an awkward standard bearer for women’s rights in the workplace — a role she has been thrust into this week after it was alleged that some coaches and players on the New York Jets had flirted and whistled and basically treated her like the proverbial sexy woman passing by a construction site.

But what is remarkable about the Sainz story is how it so quickly moved beyond her and into a discussion in the media about whether women should even be allowed into men’s locker rooms, and whether female reporters are just as responsible for the behaviour they might elicit from an athlete as the athlete himself. This seems like a debate that was settled decades ago: We expect the athletes to treat them professionally, regardless of what they wear. Don’t we?

Those three paragraphs are shocking for just how naive they are. It's almost as if Mr. Stimson hasn't been a male for very long, and he definitely hasn't been paying attention to life all that closely.

Professional athletes are hardly the standard by which men should be judged. These fellows make tens of millions of dollars for playing games that children play for free. That their maturity might be somewhat stunted by this should shock no one. If you put a woman - particularly one that's determined to show off the fact that she has the nicest ass in all of Christendom - in a room with a few dozen naked and steroid-baked men, shenanigans are something that should be expected. It's really too bad that they don't teach common sense in journalism school.

Moreover, I don't think Ines's slutty, slutty garb or bikini pictures diminish her credibility at all. More than anything, they're an honest representation of what journalism has become. Nobody ever wondered what Edward R. Murrow looked like in a thong, but they did pay attention to what he had to say. Since 97% of modern journalists have nothing interesting to say, they may as well look like Contessa Brerwer or Megyn Kelly.

Stimson went on to dissect the comments of Clinton Portis of the Washington Redskins and Jason Whitlock of Fox Sports and managed to draw exactly the wrong inference from them.

Mr. Whitlock later wrote that stuff is bound to happen when you put women in the company of men in locker rooms, so deal with it. (Those women and their silly desire to not be objectified.) It’s a blunt argument, but one that was repeated elsewhere, though more subtly.

Jemele Hill, a columnist for ESPN, argued that female reporters who dress in tight pants and cleavage-bearing tops are part of the problem.

“It isn’t fair, but female sports journalists have to adhere to unspoken rules that our male counterparts never have to consider,” she wrote. “Otherwise, the door is left open for comments such as the ones … Portis made.”

Linda Cohn, an ESPN anchor, wrote on Twitter that “If female reporters act professionally in lockerooms, most athletes will too. It’s that simple.”

Those arguments are veiled ways of saying, “You and your jeans that look like they were applied with a paint sprayer were asking for it.” Is that really the right message? Women are welcome to be sports journalists, but they must hold themselves to a different standard than men? Ms. Cohn wrote that women should wear “business attire” in locker rooms, and yet no athlete or coach would blink an eye when approached by a male reporter in baggy shorts and flip-flops.

I also doubt that Stimson's hypothetical male reporter would show up in a locker room with three pairs of socks stuffed down his shorts to ensure that the team is suitably impressed. This guy's chronic inability to get the point is nothing less than awesome.

I'm pretty sure that Ines Sainz knows that she isn't a Mexican Howard Cosell and never will be. But she does know that she has a tight little body and an uncanny ability to use it to make a man's balls boil. Her outfit would only be considered "professional" if she was the Grand Marshal in a blowjob parade which, by the way, she really should be.

Then Scott Stinson slips into incomprehensible gibberish;

People over the years have held black athletes to different standards than non-blacks, too; it’s that kind of logic that forced quarterbacks like Warren Moon to toil in the Canadian Football League for years before they were accepted in the NFL as capable of playing such a demanding position.

It’s the same thing with female reporters. They are reporters, full stop. When a credentialed reporter is working among athletes, the onus should be on the athletes to treat them professionally, period. To suggest otherwise is to invite an entirely subjective yardstick that allows athletes to determine who gets treated respectfully. And who gets leered at.

Huh? What exactly do black quarterbacks have to do with hot pieces of tail playing Jimmy Olsen?
If Ines was interviewing, say, Mitch McConnell, I'd agree with Stimson that the onus would be on the Senate minority leader to treat her professional. But athletes are overgrown children that can't be reasonably expected to know much of anything. They're overwhelmingly wealthy retards and often times felonious ones.

Stimson's hyper-liberal narrative would also be far more effective if it was actually Ms. Sainz who filed the complaint with the NFL. The problem with the media narrative is that she wasn't. It was other chick reporters, and probably ugly ones.



More importantly, Mr. Stimson and the Post fail to understand that this story has made Ines Sainz America's biggest star of this week. She's more than a little aware of the power of her el mejor culo and the fact that the entire world wants to give her history's most loving rimjob, which she has used to her professional advantage. Because she has a cute little accent and a fantastic body, she'll almost certainly end up with Neil Cavuto's job by the end of the month.

If people like Scott Stimson have any problem with this story - other than the fact that it's yet another example of trivial medial navel-gazing - that should be it.

Aye, carumba! I'd like to give her the rimjob of her life! It would be epic and, indeed, almost poetic.