Image courtesy of Sam’s Hofbrau
When someone points to Mark Davis and tells you that he’s a multimillionaire, no words are spoken—just a mild, “I can’t tell if he’s messing with me. What’s the safest move here? Incredulous laugh or hearty? Incredulous” look of mistrust.
He’s the Carson Daly of NFL owners. You don’t know why or how, but he’s there. And last week, “there” was Sam’s Hofbrau—an “adult cabaret” located in Los Angeles. Or as one Google review put it: “The White castle of strip clubs.”
Is it unusual for owners to lean a little on the creepy side? Hardly. They’re just usually more discrete about it.
But Mark Davis? Man of the peephole.
If you’re a Kansas City Chiefs fan, you’re conflicted about Davis. On one hand, he looks like the love child of 1980s Jon Gruden and a happy mole rat; on the other, as long as he’s the overseer of the Oakland Raiders, they’re going to remain the Oakland Raiders—a running joke brought to you by 50 Shades of Meh.
For most owners, snapping Instagrams in front of a strip club like it’s the Grand Canyon would be equally buzz-worthy and embarrassing. The only way Clark Hunt finds himself in that situation is if someone spikes his drink, and two people prop him up like Bernie Lomax.
For Davis, it’s Thirsty Thursday.
This is, after all, the same guy who deliberated over coaching decisions at Hooters.
He puts his white jeans on one leg at a time, rocks a Lloyd Christmas haircut and probably has an Uncle Rico back tattoo. And yet, in some weird, twisted way, I think I’m starting to like him.