NOTE: Scooch down the page if you’re looking for the Gooch story.
Among the tidbits, writer Joash Brunet uncovered:
1. Bortles doesn’t like wearing suits.
2. His given name is “Robby.”
3. He recently purchased a 2,500-square-foot home on the ocean for $1.5 million. And his mom is helping him decorate.
4. He admits to liking Taylor Swift … but not listening to her music.
Bortles also says in the article he “couldn’t care less about becoming what is considered a celebrity.” But if does happen, he says he’s going to be “the best representative of this football team … representing this whole town in the right way.”
Which is interesting given the brief interaction I had with him earlier this year. Bortles and his cronies—Austin Pasztor and Zane Beadles (thanks to @fullywrecked for helping me with the names)—showed up at the Fancy Pants Party at The Players Championship (aka the TPC). If you know me at all, I am not going to let a D-lister or even J-lister out of my sight without a selfie or an opportunity to eavesdrop and get some good scoop.
So I took my selfie with Bortles and crew and asked him, “What the deal with the Gooch hat?” What I meant was what kind of company Gooch is. Some kind of knock-off Gucci or something?
He looked at me—in all seriousness—and said, “Gooch is that space between your balls and your asshole.”
FUN FACT: “Gooch” is a synonym for “taint.”
I said, “I know that. But what’s Gooch?” and pointed at his hat.
Once again, he replied, “It’s the space between your balls and your asshole.”
Since I could see this was going nowhere, I decided to ask him if he ever saw Diff’rent Strokes, realizing as the words came out of my mouth the show was canceled for years before he was even born. Naturally, he said no but then asked, “Is it anything like Dazed and Confused?” (WTF?)
For some reason, I felt the need to give him and his ginormous friends the basic plot structure of the Diff’rent Strokes and told them about the bully who terrorized poor Arnold by stealing his lunch money was named The Gooch.
They chuckled. But not nearly as much as I did.
Who’s the gooch now, Specktator?