The Nowhere-Near Complete List of my Conflicts of Interest and Dumb Things I Have Done
Journalists are required to disclose conflicts of interest. I'm just getting around to it. This might take awhile.,
Updated: 9/11/19, 9:52 am ET
I am attempting to compile a list of all the things I should have disclosed, documented or avoided entirely during my career. This project will never end because I am me. Just last night, I probably did two things that were conflicts of interest. And that’s one night.
In 2013, a PR exec that did some work for Spike TV flew me to Chicago to “check out the Glory product.” It was fun, but it was kickboxing, so only partially fun. I wasn’t there to provide media coverage, but I did have a whole bunch of tequila with Miguel Torres after the fights ended (I think), which means I likely tweeted some stuff about the fights. I guess that counts as coverage. That's why they make tweet deleting software.
A PR exec from Fox Sports used to take us out in Vegas the night before events. We’d get totally loaded on tequila, and by we I mean me. I still hate Fox News, so I think I was able to stay fair and balanced here.
I have like 14 pairs of Reebok shoes in my closet. No shit. They wanted me to promote their product years ago, and I didn't say yes but I didn't exactly say no, either. They just started showing up every few months with the latest Crossfit shoe release in my size, and it continues to this day. No fight kits though. Thank goodness for small mercies.
I have two pairs of Under Armor shoes sent to me by Dwayne Johnson. I want The Rock to send me more stuff and I won’t apologize for it.
In 2017, I worked for FloSports, a job I loved, but which was the finest example of conflicts of interest you’ll ever find.
In 2011, I swam in an indoor fountain in a Ruth's Chris in Anaheim. I was dressed like Where’s Waldo, only fatter, and way more drunk.
I’ve let managers read stories before publication. I even let them demand changes. Not anytime in the last 7-8 years, though, which may explain why managers don’t call me anymore.
I went to a strip club in Anaheim with a couple of notable UFC employees. They bought me a dance from a mom who smelled like cigarettes and spoiled milk and I spent the time focusing on not vomiting. I left immediately. It was my first strip club. It was also my last strip club.