How do I get attention? Tell me who I have to kill.

By Agatha Moonfry
Staff Writer

When I was seven years old, I was privileged enough to have an “incident” named after me at Zigmund Elementary School back home. In an attempt to avenge the fruit snacks that had been stolen from me by one Marcy Bollingbeck – now deceased – I took it upon myself to cut off her pet hamster’s tail after show and tell on Valentine’s Day. I then neatly packaged the artifact into a square envelope and presented it to her when the time came to exchange valentines. To be fair, I also included a card asking her to “Be Mine,” but that was mostly bullshit.

The Agatha Incident was talked about for years as perhaps the most grotesque thing those bitches that called themselves teachers had ever seen. Even as I hit middle school, the Agatha Incident hung around my neck like a gold chain – until I started screwing one of the biology instructors. It was called a “scandal,” of course, and Mr. Hughes was fired immediately, but it didn’t have the same ring as “AgathaGate.” Still, despite my insistence on the matter, “AgathaGate” never made its way into the community vernacular. God, Hughes had great breath.

Dammit, what does a girl have to do to get a Gate?

A field goal by Phil Dawson happens to bounce funny, leading people to ask whether or not officials improperly used instant replay, and suddenly we’re hearing about Dawson-Gate, at least according to Sports Illustrated. Bill Belichick starts using his audio/visual capabilities to gain an edge, and he gets rewarded with SpyGate. Hell, the Green Bay Packers make some friendly wagers in the locker room, and I bet any money (if that pun isn’t intended, then I’m not the three-time champion in the Second Life “So You Think You Can Strip” competition) they’ll get a Gate before the season is over. I want a fucking Gate.

The problem is that people want sports controversies to be bigger and badder than they really are. Richard Nixon does one silly thing wrong (trust G. Gordon Liddy to do a woman’s work) and the name of a Washington hotel is suddenly associated with all things scandal. But not just any scandal gets the Gate tag -- you have to really be notorious to get the Gate. LewinskiGate gets the nod, but not Senator Craig in a bathroom stall, for example. Clinton had a higher profile, and his titillating misdeeds are thus given that sacred distinction.

So while I have done my best to equate the evil deeds of history’s finest infidels, all Phil Dawson does is get a strange bounce, and he gets a Gate. If Gate abuse continues in this manner, the exciting luster of the Gate moniker could be irreparably diminished, and all my naughty struggles will be in vain. Don’t let it happen, America.