Shouldn’t the Erin Andrews’ saga — from being violated by a peeping pervert to becoming a national celebrity on “Dancing With The Stars” — be a consummate feel-good story, especially for those of us here in her home town?
And, yet, it doesn’t feel that way. Probably has everything to do with the way she has exploited her peephole violation: By being part of an erotic, bed-prop samba with her dancing partner, with whom she may or may not be having an ongoing relationship. Wink. Wink. Inquiring tabloids want to know.
We don’t.
We liked her better when she was doing her job as an ESPN sideline reporter: Being frat-boy eye candy and asking football coaches what changes they would make in the second half.