The sports nonfiction fix continues. This week I get to read about drugs, strip clubs, orgies on chartered planes, massive egos, Charles Haley’s enormous penis and, oh yes, football.

Here’s an anecdote about my brush with the famed Jeff Pearlman.

I had a couple of chance interactions with Pearlman when I was a lowly intern at SI. My desk was right next to one of the office printers (that’s got to be one of the worst places to sit in an office, only ranking behind a cubicle across from the bathrooms). Everyone had to stand by my desk to pick up their printouts. Most people would say a quick hello or strike a contrived conversation before leaving.

Pearlman was by far the most entertaining. He’d walk up to get his printouts, see me and simply say, “You’re fired.” Every time he came by the printer.

I took it well, an eager 20-year-old intern willing to take abuse from one of SI’s top reporters. Honored, in fact.

But I do get the last laugh. I borrowed his book from the library. Like he needs the extra royalties anyway.