AM I OUTRAGED? Or offended, indignant, nauseous or otherwise mortified by Sports Illustrated's annual exhibition of flesh in the name of fashion?

Don't be silly.

But I am mildly disgusted. Not by the pictures--they are actually quite tasteful for pornography these days--but rather by the popularity of such a pitiful monument to the adolescent fantasy life of the American Male.

Much of the criticism leveled at SI's annual swimwear review focuses on the seemingly paradoxical juxtaposition the magazine's usual apple-pie and Chevrolet subject matter with a thinly disguised exhibition of T&A. Unfortunately, however, there is no paradox at all. Sports Illustrated is the propaganda organ of the permanent adolescence of American men: media heroes, big pictures and sports. The list wouldn't be complete without adolescent sexual fantasies.

Of course, I could be working with a completely unjustified assumption here--namely that the eight times normal sales of the annual swimsuit issue are purchased by men. After all, SI trumpets the issue's cover story as "our annual salute to swimsuits." If the magazine is simply providing a service to women--giving them adequate time to develop their beachwear wardrobe before the rush of spring shopping--then perhaps the issue's huge sales are due to widespread popularity among women.

Well, maybe.

And the guy in the trench coat buys Screw for its national political coverage.

So why should we blame Sports Illustrated for the nation's juvenile fantasies? We shouldn't. It's not the magazine's fault that some people get so excited when they see Elle McPhereson.

But SI is making a statement--and not about swimwear.

What's wrong with the swimsuit feature is obvious in its title: "Ornaments of Society." You see, the swimsuit photos were shot on the Society Islands of the South Pacific. The editor must have thought the double meaning cute, but it highlights what's wrong with pornography--even soft porn like the swimwear issue.

Pornography says women are objects--that they are to be admired as bodies, lusted after or used as sexual objects. Call it art and they are still objets d'art. Call it fashion and you're just fooling yourself.

When Sports Illustrated runs a feature on a star athelete, they celebrate her for her athletic prowess. There is nothing wrong with celebrating beauty as well, but, for some odd reason, I did not notice any male beauties--oops I mean people who just happened to be modeling swimsuits--in the issue.

WHY IS THAT I feel like I have to apologize for reading the latest issue of Sports Illustrated?

All right, so maybe I didn't read it.

But I will.