There was this guy, right. Generally a stand-up dude. One of those bleeding-heart liberal types. Would gladly give you the business about driving a gas-slurping SUV or living in guard-gated suburbia. Not like he couldn’t afford life on the outskirts, but he fancied himself an urban survivalist/revivalist. He, and others like him, came here years ago with their Midwestern sensibilities, ready to make this town into a town. In fact, this guy—who’s within putting distance of six feet, has a wide head, hair thick as a broomstick’s and the physique of a quarter-miler who hasn’t raced in years—his favorite phrase was “This f--kin’ town.” Said in a derogatory manner, as in I can’t believe this f--kin’ town. Or the people in this f--kin’ town. Or I’ve got to get out of this f--kin’ town. He bitched and moaned but never left. Maddening as this place can be, it provided fodder for his greatest professional accomplishments; he wasn’t going anywhere. For all his faults, and there were many—manic self-doubt, questionable people skills, allegiance to a football team whose quarterback had a fondness for painkillers and periodically fights an addiction to throwing interceptions—the guy was trustworthy. Until he wasn’t. See, he works in the media. In the disappointing aftermath of the NBA All-Star Weekend in February, he called up a friend and asked his opinions about the discontent over the violence, rude customers and thrifty gamblers. Got his friend to say some pretty harsh stuff, promising it was off the record. “You could use it as background,” the friend said. No need to seal the deal in blood. Bleeding-heart liberal guy would honor the wish. Wrong-O! Instead, this guy published his friend’s comments along with his friend’s name, leaving his intentions on after-hours’ voicemail: “[blah, blah, blah] cool ... [blah, blah, blah] ... thanks ... [blah, blah, blah] Oh, and I’m going to use your quotes.” Ain’t this a bitch. Even bitchier: Dude thinks pulling the okey-doke on his friend was okay. It wasn’t. Old wounds heal, but it’s harder to re-establish broken trust. The moral of this story: With friends like these, who needs to make sex tapes?