Saturday morning. Early. Too early. I'm in the cramped EXPN.com trailer, which smells like booze and coffee breath. My surly, middle-aged editor, now bleary-eyed from a late night of research and re-writing, rolls up next to me, muttering something about not writing my "sponsors" into my stories.
"Snowboarder X," he barks.
"Huh," I reply, my head still mired in a Patron mist.
"Women's Snowboarder X," he says. "You're on it today."
Of course, I have no idea what ...
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