One of the thrills of writing for a newspaper is covering what we in the business call “hard news,” by which I do not mean front-page type stories of great significance. I am always asking myself: As a columnist, how can I use my tiny amount of journalistic street cred to possibly see people naked?

An advertisement in the Oct. 1 issue of The Daily Illini sought models for Playboy’s upcoming “Girls of the Big Ten” issue, so I called the number in the ad and spoke with Eden, a casting director. She was quick to invite me to an Urbana hotel to see how the process works.

I then asked her if I could come watch the actual photo shoot, with what I assure you were the purest of journalistic intentions. This is the kind of sacrifice we journalists sometimes have to make in pursuit of journalistic-related journalism.

“This isn’t a spectator sport,” she said.

Eden told me one of the main things she looks for in applicants is diversity, as evidenced by the “Girls of the SEC” issue she showed me. That diverse bunch included blondes with D-cups, brunettes with D-cup and – for true variety – blondes with D-cups who have COMPLETELY DIFFERENT HAIRCUTS than the other blondes with D-cups.

She fawned over the girls she cast for that issue, pointing out one who is a top notch soccer player, one who races lawn mowers, one who is not wearing any clothes, etc. I found it difficult to concentrate on what she was telling me because I was so distracted by all the fascinating articles.

I spent some time talking with Candace and Crystal, best friends and seniors who came in to see if they have “the right stuff,” as measured by gallons of bra capacity. (I am using pseudonyms because the women’s real names, Kitty Love and Bunny Jo Pornington, sound too made up.)

Neither told her parents she was auditioning to pose nude. Candace actually said that, if her photo is published, her father will never find out because he is “too nerdy” to read the magazine. I’m not certain she has a grasp on Playboy’s core readership.

The girls were bubbly and excited, if a little nervous. A few months ago they both got breast implants, which were not obvious at all, unless you have better eyesight than Louis Braille. The result was not one but two of the absolutely smokingly hot types of girl I sometimes pray to be stranded alone with on a desert island (and not just because, for buoyancy-related reasons, we would almost certainly make it back to shore).

Eventually I worked up the nerve to ask them whether they are into the overweight, Jewish humor columnist type and they said (I swear I am not making this up): “No.”

They took turns going to an adjoining hotel room and letting David (the photographer) snap topless shots of them. I asked Eden if I could see one of these casting shoots, which I again emphasize was strictly in the name of journalism. I am just trying to make Edward R. Murrow proud here.

“What did I tell you yesterday?” Eden asked.

“It’s not a spectator sport,” I mumbled. Damn. She’s good.

During a break in the casting call, I asked David how long he worked for Playboy before the magic of seeing a never-ending parade of naked coeds wore off. He looked at me as though I had private parts dangling from my forehead.

“Uh, DID it wear off?” I prodded.

“No,” he said, then took a deep breath and continued softly: “Nooooooooo.”

Eden said that usually about 70 students from each of the 11 Big Ten schools show up to each casting session, and that of them only four or five usually are asked to shoot spreads for Playboy. From there, maybe two will make the magazine. This means that over the next few months there will be 68 super hot females on campus in need of consolation – consolation that might be provided by desperate males and alcohol, not that I am suggesting anything. I have to go find my lucky bar shirt.

Finally, a private, personal message for Candace and Crystal, whether or not they make the magazine: Call me! I can change.