The Nostradamus of jock juice wears black.
Not the mournful black befitting the title of his first book, Death in the Locker Room: Steroids & Sports, or of his second, Death in the Locker Room: Steroids, Cocaine & Sports, or of his third in the series, Death in the Locker Room II: Drugs & Sports. No, these days 51-year-old Dr. Bob Goldman dresses himself in a black more appropriate for a post-modern shindig of entrepreneurial futurists who, over toxin-free cocktails, might debate the freezing of Ted Williams' head without condescension. As he stands on this July afternoon at the dais of the 14th Annual International Congress on Anti-Aging Medicine in Chicago, he dons a black-and-white checkered tie, a patterned shirt and a pin-striped black suit. It's a mind-melting mélange of zigs and zags anchored in place, barely, by black hightops shiny enough to pass for dress shoes. It's an ensemble no wife would let her husband leave home in.
But Doctor Bob is not married, except to his work. And what a happy marriage it has become.