Meet Lenny Dykstra: Racist, Sexist, and Still Thinking He’s a Jock; Doc-Kennedy

( I am working feverishly trying to get my brackets together, so I do not, at present, have time to expound on what I’m about to report. Also Friday morning I’ll be taping on Dave Zirin’s Edge of Sports Radio Show on Sirius Satellite (usually I guest at the beginning of each month to talk about the previous month’s most pertinent sports news stories). It airs this weekend, but it is probably better to check his Edge of Sports website and access the show through the archives. But believe me, by Monday you’ll have full writings on the following subjects (and T3, I will email you about the NFLPA, gimme a minute).

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Lenny Dykstra, he of nickname fame (“Nails”), chew fame, ‘roid fame, greenie fame, crassness fame, and on and on, has reached a low that puts him in the league of the infamous to be vilified.

Dykstra is the owner-editor-publisher of  a magazine called, The Player’s Club. apparently it is “must” reading for professional athletes, particularly those in the NBA. Gentlemen’s Quarterly, or GQ, recently published a story by a photographer who took a job with Dykstra and his mag.

Now, I know Lenny D. was a jock with a jock’s mentality and a jock’s hubris, BUT. There is a limit to all that juvenile-ness; a time limit and an age limit.

Sure, you need your ego to remain healthy to continue to succeed after your playing days. BUT. When you’re in the midst of a career in sports you live in a world full of outsized egos. However, in real life, that piece of us that is the ego needs to be pushed toward integration with the rest of the personality.

From the article, it is obvious Lenny D. has yet to grow up.

But worse, the writer of the article, reveals that Dykstra is a straight racist. On page six of the piece, resides this passage:

Lenny’s all-time favorite workplace prank is saying something outrageous just to see how those around him react. Sometimes the jokes are on himself. During one of my first visits to the office, Lenny—a known steroids user, according to the Mitchell Report, though he’s repeatedly denied it—blurts out to me and two other employees that “back in the old days, we’d rub some HGH [human growth hormone] on our elbows and knees.” No one knows whether he’s joking or not. Other times, Lenny’s attempts at humor can be downright offensive. At one meeting, Lenny goes off on how a particular layout looks “faggy”—despite the presence of a gay page designer in the room. (Later, Lenny says to me: “Did you see the look on that fag’s face?”) On another occasion, I field a call from Lenny about potential cover subjects while I’m at home; Lenny’s on speaker when he proudly states, for both my wife and me, that “nobody can call me a racist—I put three darkies and a bitch on my first four covers.”

The first four Players Club covers featured Derek Jeter, Chris Paul, Tiger Woods, and Danica Patrick.

“What was that, Lenny?” I ask.

“I said I put three spearchuckers on the cover!” he replies.

Excuse me (oh yeah, emphasis in the quote – mine)?!

Darkies?! Bitch?! Spearchuckers?!

Are you fucking serious, Lenny?!

I immediately wondered how Coughlin could continue to work at Dykstra’s mag for another minute. I received my answer quickly:

By the end of August, the September issue is almost out the door, and it’s looking good. Lenny sends me a congratulatory e-mail: “GREAT JOB KEVIN…YOU BROUGHT IN A BIG WINNER. WAY TO GO!” He’s not really an emotional guy, so the gesture is touching. Pulling together my first issue has been chaotic and a hell of a lot of work, but it’s damned rewarding to behold the near finished product, to see the photos I’d selected of cover subject Brett Favre. Do I buy into The Players Club? It suddenly feels like the best decision of my life….

That feeling lasts exactly three days. At about 3:30 p.m. on the Saturday before Labor Day, I receive a call from Lenny. Speaking in a voice even more slurred than usual, he says: “Hey, bro, a guy from this jet company is going to call you in a few minutes and ask for your credit card.”

“What the hell for, Lenny?”

“He’s not going to charge your card, bro. It’s just an authorization on it so I can reserve a private jet to get me to Atlanta, where I’m going to pick up half a million dollars in cash.”

This is pretty much the precise moment when things begin to go wrong—when I should’ve realized that no matter how enthralled I was with the idea of working for Nails and his high-rolling magazine, I should’ve simply said no….

Oh really Coughlin. The overt racism and sexism didn’t bother you, but when it came to your money, you suddenly had problems.

How incredibly, indelibly white of you Kevin Coughlin. NY Post photographer, eh? NY Post? Perfect spot for ya Kevin.

This will be dealt with.

(The Atlanta Hawks have removed the magazine from their locker room and according to Arthur Triche, Hawks’ Vice President of Public Relations, and the first African-American PR director in the NBA, no Hawks player will grant the mag an interview. Triche is also speaking with Billy Hunter of the NBAPA and the new Executive Director of the NFLPA regarding Dykstra and his magazine… thank you, Arthur).

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Real short here: I saw the Doc Rivers-Bill Kennedy deal during the Boston-Chicago game Tuesday night. I have some thoughts I want to relay on that, too. So, that will be another Monday commentary.