Dreams come true

As a young reader of Sports Illustrated in the 1980s, I would entertain all sorts of athletic dreams: making the winning touchdown catch or hitting a Moses Malone-style turnaround jumper. The week the Swimsuit Issue arrived, I would have a different sort of aspiration: to be on one of those shoots one day. Even if I was just the guy holding a towel for Elle Macpherson

Well, I never made the touchdown pass or the big basket. But this past summer, after exercising the "every dog has his day" clause in my contract with the universe, I received an assignment to go to the Bahamas and spend a week on a Swimsuit shoot with eight former cover models -- the very ladies you see all lined up on the front of this year's issue.

I have to say, it wasn't bad, even though Heidi Klum wasn't there. She might have been, if she hadn't been pregnant.

Still, it was a good week, as weeks in my life go. My favorite story: One night I was headed over to Macpherson's house for dinner, in a golf cart being driven by Rachel Hunter, and I was sitting in the backseat talking to Carolyn Murphy

That's the entire story -- one sentence, all setup, no climax. But even with its narrative deficiencies, it still may be the greatest story I'll ever tell.

Another favorite is from my first night on the island. I showed up early for dinner at the hotel dining room and was directed to a table on an outdoor balcony that had been reserved for Sports Illustrated. The next to arrive were Rebecca Romijn and her traveling companion, Steve. This gentleman was wearing a wife-beater. After we sat down together a waiter came by to inform Steve that the restaurant required sleeves. He went to his room to change.

So I was left alone at this dinner table with Ms. Romijn. I took a moment to appreciate the massive machinery required to bring me to the point where I was sitting at a dinner table in the Bahamas with a swimsuit model/movie actress who is even more gorgeous in person than she is on film. It started with my decision in 1991 to attend journalism school and included many, many stops in between, ending with the dining room's demand for a couple inches of shirtsleeve.

And so, with all those gears clicked into place, with the perfect alignment of the stars, what happened? "So, where are you from?" " Berkeley." "Cool." "How about you?" "The suburbs of Philadelphia." "Great."

In short, we had the most banal, stilted conversation imaginable. It's possible one of us may have been a bit star-struck. Five minutes later Steve was back with a proper T-shirt.

The most memorable moment of the week came on my last day on the island. At that point I was thinking that I was tired of it all, proving that anything can become boring. As Bob Dylan once wrote, "This is what salvation must be like after a while." That morning, though, was devoted to a solo photo shoot with Macpherson