The Whiskey Journal

As American swimmer Ryan Lochte climbed off the podium after his gold medal performance in the 400m IM he reached in his pocket and pulled out a surprise for the cameras. In his mouth he slid a $25,000 custom American flag “grill.” The grill, an ornamental mouthpiece popular in American hip hop of the mid-2000s, was more than a privileged white kid’s attempt at looking cool.

It was a signal, a call-to-arms: the Douchebag athlete has arrived.

All the hallmarks of ‘Baggery are there. Lochte’s sneaker collection. His love of outdated rap music. His abs. His willingness to discuss his sex life despite no one giving a fucking shit.

Last year in an interview with ESPN The Magazine Lochte said, “My last Olympics (in Beijing), I had a girlfriend — big mistake. Now I’m single, so London should be really good. I’m excited.” His own mother has told the Olympic press that her son only has one night stands.

Dr. Stephen Ayers, Professor of Sport and Cultural Studies at Princeton University has been keeping a close eye on Lochte. “It’s highly unusual for a Fucktwat like him to be so bold and open about his status, especially at a high-profile event like the Olympics,” says Ayers.

Ayers agrees that Lochte’s success could be a watershed moment for the Douchebag athlete cause. “Baseball and lacrosse are not Olympic sports. If Douchebags are going to be visible on an international stage, it’s going to have to happen at the pool.”

But don’t let all the hype fool you - Lochte isn’t merely a figurehead adopted by Douchebags out of convenience. He is a bona fide Douchebag. One look at his twitter account will reveal the 27 year-old Floridian referring to his fans as “Lochte Nation” and repeatedly misfiring attempts to launch his catchphrase using the hashtag #JEAH. Broseph’s web store offers wayfarer sunglasses with “REEZY” on the lenses. He made a workout DVD called Lochte Hard-Core (sic). The guy is a Douchebag’s Douchebag.

As the swimming events draw to a close in London, Lochte is poised to enter the record books as perhaps the preeminent Douchebag athlete, barring any weird sex injury involving the Romanian female gymnastic team - which would doubtlessly cement him as a Douchebag hero anyway.

So good luck, Ryan. But we know that luck is just like your chest hair: you don’t need it.

By Cole Moser

Follow him at @kolmozr