Since I watched hockey as a kid, it was always this way. Industrial-size hampers, home to growing mounds of moist practice jerseys, sit on each side of the cramped chamber in its Syosset, New York, training facility. Players tear off equipment at wooden cubbies bearing their names and numbers, laughing about how Mel Gibson got ribbed at the Golden Globes. A collage on the walls above them shows newspaper headlines and media coverage of famous victories, ringing the small dressing room like a halo. The media circus surrounding professional sports is fed in part by this particularly odd sort of press access. Team dressing rooms are typically open to journalists before or after practices and games.
By James C. Goodale
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Jessica Tom am, Dec 11, This is what my friend Justin told me in high school. Of course, he is right. Which of course brings us to the most heavily nude area of Yale University — the locker rooms. He had been around. One room, several shower heads.
I’m afraid my girlfriend will find out.
We talked to the experts — and the locker-room nudists themselves. It's not as cut-and-dry as you'd think. Daniel became desensitized to nudity when he joined the Marines at I just lost the shame we build around our bodies when I realized that nobody cared and a body is just a body. Those old naked guys in the public locker room may be a dying breed. And because the shift is happening, more people are expecting to have many of these options available to them when they join a club. So where did this generational divide come from, and is it really as stark as it seems?
All of my male media brethren went cruising into this sacred place, and then, there was only me—the lone female reporter covering a USC football game—waiting outside. Me, the girl who has no fear, was nervous. Fear of the unknown tends to do that to you. Cripes, maybe I should just wait til they all get dressed before talking to them? In I went into the world of major testosterone, stinky athletic shoes, and wrinkled jerseys, and out I came a different person. The players were roaming around in towels or standing by their lockers speaking into digital recorders—no one was smacking towels on butts, no one was making soap jokes.
