Of all the gigs in college sports, there’s probably few as unpleasant as “urine test supervisor.” It’s exactly what it sounds like. You watch - intently, even - grown men take leaks into cups. You can’t really make it fun for anyone involved; one misplaced remark to lighten the mood and you’re looking at some stained trousers. Or worse.
And yet, it’s a wholly necessary task all the same, as football players have been trying to figure out ways to beat the system for decades. Of course, this discussion necessarily begins with Onterrio Smith and the Whizzinator. In fact, I almost wrote “hey remember the whizzinator that was awesome” and made that the entire post. But as admitted (and obvious) steroid user Tony Mandarich (you know, the world-famous photographer) points out, there are ways to rig your own little urine system with common items from Wal-Mart, and they’re weird as hell:
“In the pet area I see this rubber doggy squeaker toy. I get that, then I go to another area and get a small hose, and in the medical area I get some flesh-colored tape. I’m like the Unabomber getting supplies. Back home I rip the squeakers out of the toy, tape the hose into one end and experiment by filling the thing with water. At the Rose Bowl I taped the toy to my back, ran the hose between my butt cheeks, taped the end to my penis, and covered the hose tip with bubble gum. I had gotten some clean urine from somebody else. The tester stood behind me, couldn’t see anything, and when I removed the gum everything worked fine.”
That all seems perfectly normal and at no point should Mandarich have pondered what his life had come to. No, sir. Now if you’ll excuse us, our brain has exploded inside our skull and is leaking out our nose.
For what it’s worth, Rob Lunn, the former Connecticut lineman behind THOUGHTS FROM A FAT WHITE GUY and Redskins TE Chris Cooley report that these days, the supervisor actually watches the urination take place. Lunn hates it, but Cooley thinks it can go farther (yes, it’s exactly what you’re afraid of):
Lunn: I’m not wearing a Pizzicato (how could I pull that off all practice?), so the entire looking at my twig and berries is totally unnecessary.
I dislike the d*ck watcher as much as anyone, but I feel like I can play devils advocate for the story. […] I think sports may have to come to the conclusion that the only solution will be to expand the job duties of the piss watcher and allow him to go ahead and hold it for you. Now that makes a good blog! Yep, it would be awfully weird, but with technology advancing in the drug and penis industries, it may be our next and only option. So Rob, while your penis will be free of foreign eyes, mine may be on the brink of strange hands.
That cannot, cannot, cannot end well.