When Athletes Are Left to Their Own Digital-Dating Devices

In the age of digital dating, athletes work in ways that make average lonely hearts look like amateurs: city arrivals broadcast on Twitter, covert Tinder profiles, steamy Snapchats … and, of course, nondisclosure agreements.

- Sam Alipour

​THE SINGLE MAN with the sexy job is stuck. For starters, he is fairly thick, just large enough to have not seen his Adam’s apple since never, and to have not enjoyed a ton of success with women on looks alone. When he catches their eye, it’s his social status or bank balance they see—because he is, in fact, an NFL lineman.

Tonight he’s in San Francisco for Super Bowl 50, not for the actual game, which kicks off tomorrow, but to kindle a legit romance, which, to him, is the Big Game. His field of play: the Maxim party, the wackiest Super-soiree any of the regulars can remember. From the stage, Lil Wayne and his joint command a dance floor of hundreds. Up above dangles an aerialist. Down below is, inexplicably, a kangaroo. And all around are runway models, Instagram models and fresh faces bused in from across the Bay Area. When they’re not milking the open bar, they’re arm-tackling stars like Marshawn Lynch.

Now imagine how a guy who is often mistaken for an NFL star’s bodyguard would find a match in this crowd. In years past, it was a long shot. But at the moment, the lineman is dancing with a pretty lady, who’s very much into him. The kicker: She knew she was into him before she knew how he earned a living. How did that happen?

“Tinder—it’s the best invention ever,” he says with a hearty laugh, as if he can’t believe his good fortune.