If you think that Reggie Bush’s life kicks ass, you’re probably right.

From the moment Little Superstar donned his Saints cap on draft day 2006, for all intents and purposes, he has shat gold. He has said all the right things, he has shown flashes of brilliance on the field, he has given the Saints the kind of “rub” nationwide that no past Saint ever could. Reggie is Joe Namath. Hulk Hogan.

Reggie is Hollywood. Joe Horn wasn’t Hollywood, he was just playing the role. He wanted to be, but he never was. Reggie is the real deal. Reggie is Hollywood.

But while I’m sure it’s just lovely to be a young superstar jet-setter, complete with all the glamorous trappings of show business… the A-list social calendar, the legions of sycophants, all the supermodels, socialites and starlets you can fuck… it’s also a minefield. One big all-encompassing crazy-ass minefield, where the slightest, most otherwise-harmless transgression can start the dominoes falling.

This is where Reggie finds himself as he goes into his second season. Faced with the questions: “Just how Hollywood are you planning to be, son? Can you produce enough to justify it? Can you keep your cool in the face of the haters, the jealousy and the searing heat of the national spotlight?”

So far, he’s golden on all accounts. Kinda. But you can already see that he might be starting to wobble a little bit on the tightrope.

Early this offseason, we got word that Reggie might have gotten himself banned from the Playboy Mansion. Damn, talk about getting tossed out of Eden. Since then, there have been plenty of denials, and who knows, it may never have been true in the first place. But even if it wasn’t true, it just goes to show that there are haters out there who aren’t above leaking bullshit to embarrass Reggie. And the public is all-too-eager to eat up bullshit of any type, but especially the kind that embarrasses a celebrity.

Big deal? Nah, of course not. But it’s the kind of thing that you’re inevitably going to take some shit over if it happens to you. It’s the kind of thing that the big 320-pound gravy-soaked guys in the locker room who make about 5% of what you do might not to be so eager to let you live down.

I have no idea what kind of sense of humor Reggie has, but I know what kind I have. I can laugh off almost anything once or twice, even when the crack is at my expense. But after a handful of times, I’m gonna start wondering if you’re just playing, or if you’re trying to make some kind of point. If you’re trying to say something without really saying it. And I might not be so quick to laugh with you, I might start to think you’re an asshole.

In the locker room, it’s little things like this that can slide downhill real quick like.

Later, we read in The Gospel According To Kenny that Reggie may be making it known behind the scenes that he’s not 100% content being Dulymus’ sidekick on the field. That Reggie’s sky might not be big enough for both Thunder and Lightning.

At the risk of sending Kenny flying into a fit of rage, I feel compelled to point out once again that this may or may not be true, the fact that it was engraved into a stone tablet and handed down from the mountaintop notwithstanding. I don’t doubt for a second that that’s what Kenny heard. But it’s still hearsay. Sorry Kenny. No, really. I’m sorry. Shit, I said I was sorry!

That being said, would it surprise you? Unless you’re a bigger dope than I am, of course it wouldn’t.

But Reggie’s damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t in this situation. He has to live up to his hype, which is more bloated than Rosie O’Donnell after several hours at her local Golden Corral.

And casual fans, the kind you find at A-list Hollywood parties and hosting Sportscenter, haven’t hipped themselves to the goodness of a two-back system yet. In their eyes, sharing time in the backfield means that you aren’t as big a badass as you ought to be. That’s the easy conclusion, and you know how the masses love the easy conclusions. And as Reggie is no doubt aware, perception is ten tenths of reality. You can’t be The GOAT if you’re perceived as a part-timer.

But on the other hand, Dulymus is a god among Saints fans. And with good reason. You don’t tug on Superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind, you don’t pull off the mask of the old Lone Ranger and you do not fuck with Dulymus. Again, perception.

People don’t care that Reggie has, comparatively, a very short time to make his mark. That he believes he has it in him to be the GOAT, and that he can’t do that if he’s sharing time, even for just a few years. People don’t give a shit whether or not Reggie reaches his personal goals. In fact, most of them resent a player for even having them to begin with. It makes you a bad guy. And, given what Reggie himself has said about how good Dulymus has been to him, it also makes him a backstabbing phony, and a selfish, whiny, giant wad of dick.

Then we got word that Reggie had the audacity to skip a portion of the Saints’ voluntary (wink wink) “offseason team activities” to, by most accounts, get his groove on SoCal style. God only knows he can’t be blamed for that. Except that he has.

It would be one thing if he were blamed for posing shirtless for black & white “art/fashion” shots that no doubt have… uh… “served their purpose” for many a male grad student at Duke.

(By the way, just how long do you think it took for Biff the photog to get those ripples in the fabric of the pants juuuuuuust the way they needed to be so that the interplay of light and shadow resulted in a big flashing neon “CHECK OUT REGGIE’S DICK!!!!!” I’m sure Biff’s answer would be “Not nearly long enough, honey.” Just sayin’.

By the way (part 2) what’s up with the underinflated ball? I’d have thought that over the last four years or so, ESPN had inflated Reggie’s balls quite sufficiently. Apparently not.)

But that’s not why Reggie took heat for missing a portion of the voluntary workouts. No, instead it was the kind of righteous blue collar grandstanding we’ve all come to expect from sports fans. Let alone internet sports fans. Let alone internet Saints fans.

Reggie’s not allowed to decline participation in a voluntary big-huge-drag in favor of supermodel-fucking. He’s supposed to embrace the opportunity to lift weights with 320-pound gravy-soaked dudes and smile about it. For the team. Because, when you take a look at that picture, you clearly see a guy who’s gonna be looking like Fred Berry after a couple of weeks of unsupervised big, big fun. Right?

Bullshit. It’s not about the team, what it’s really about is US. The Almighty, Infintely-Righteous FANS. Reggie makes far too much money to not do exactly what we want him to do at all times. Right?

Right.

Sigh.

But, bullshit though that part of it might be (and is,) it can be a very real, very dangerous issue as it relates to the people whose perceptions really matter: his teammates and coaches.

I’d be willing to wager that there has never been an NFL locker room that didn’t have its share of jealousy. Haters. That kind of thing is magnified when the locker room also features a Hollywood guy who’s out fucking supermodels while everybody else is running sprints.

Further complicating matters is a head coach who has the makings of a full-time redass.

So far, all indications are that Reggie and Coach Payton are getting along famously. Good. It’s in everyone’s best interest that they do. And if ever they don’t, they better damn well act like they do.

But Coach Payton is not Pete Carroll. Carroll is a Hollywood kind of dude (or at least a Hollywood-hanger-on kind of dude.) Coach Payton? Not so much.

A few years ago, Ricky Williams said that New Orleans doesn’t know how to deal with a superstar. He was right. But he was also stoned, and nobody paid much attention. But he was right nonetheless.

Now, a decade later, Ricky’s hypothesis is really being put to the test. From all directions.

If Reggie’s game continues to go where we all suspect it’s going, everything will be fine. Until and unless Reggie decides that he’s too big for this town. Or unless Ricky is as right now as he was then.

If not, then who gives a shit?

But until then, everyone involved would be wise to watch his step. Show business is a bitch.