You know you’re legitimately, indisputably, without a doubt old when one of two things happens: (1) you honestly forget your own birthday or (2) you count your birthday not from the date of your actual live birth, but rather from the date of your most recent cosmetic surgery. I am two for two on this account.
Nevertheless, trust me that this fine blog is only 8 months old, as counted from our January re-design launch. As the new kid on the blogger block, we’ve spent the last year learning the whippersnapper speak, the LMAO, the ROFL, etc etc. Using this eternal lexicon of knowledge as a starting point, we reached three major points: (1) the world’s most adorable-future greatest ever player, Junito, retired from the game and toddled towards that great hurling sunset over yonder. (2) the Puffington Host failed in turning my site into a profitable content mill. And (3) we penned and published our first ever eBook.
Not a bad year. But still, I feel the sense of the world spinning by as my feet stay glued to the same spot. Most of my “blogger class” have gone onto great places – Brooks is at Yahoo, Brian is at Grantland, Richard is at TheScore, Tom is doing ePublishing, and Fredo latched onto the promising Classical. You hereby must check out all of their cool stuff. The Village Voice article on the Classical is illuminating, even if the lineup is still more “Adolph Rupp all white starting five” than Dr. J fantabulous funky fros.
But as for crickety old me, the next year promises to be full of….blogging. Yes, that’s right. Blogging. Le bloge. Bloggery. Bloggerization. Bloggerized. Despite my forlorn sentiment, I am doubling down on eccentric and amusing six-to-eight paragraph posts. At this point, I know who I am and I will be true to who I am. Even if I occasionally forget who I am.
Thus, you can count on two things: (1) a serious run at some very prestigious end of the year online sports-writing awards, and (2) a late March hostile bid by a multinational corporation to take over the site which ultimately fails. I will also reliably be unreliable. Speaking of which – it’s break time.
For the next two weeks, the family and I will be playing along the playas of Nicaragua. The tablet computer, the kindle, the cellphone, the internet, none of these things exist in Nicaragua. And if a person other than me purports to be from Nicaragua and claims otherwise, they are playing you for the fool. Don’t be fooled. And don’t let these mischievous miscreants cast doubt on our sacred bond of trust, a bond built on years of credible cyber-hauntings by dead Hungarian footballers.
I trust that many expected a life-affirming epic poem in iambic pentameter on the fantastically entertaining supercopa matches. Well, Real Madrid is no longer in Barcelona’s rear view mirror – they are as close to neck-and-neck as anyone. And Mourinho deserves credit for having gotten his players’ ears. And that of a Barcelona assistant.
On that positive note, hasta luego. No posts for at least ten days. Maybe eleven. Maybe twelve. To witness the re-awakening, I suggest subscribing via RSS or following me on twitter. In the meantime, if you want to read my stuff, I did a guest post at the excellent Equaliser on World Cup 94. I also had a podcastic time with the folks at Unprofessional Foul.
And, of course, the eBook is still (!) available on the Nook and Kindle. And for those of you who use Chrome or Safari, Amazon now has a pretty cool Browser-based CloudReader. It’s similar to the ePub Catalog for Firefox, but solely intended to screw Steve Jobs. Do you really need a better incentive than that?
No related posts.
So the rest of your blogger class were Merceneries? Thanks for staying true, you’re like The Almunia to their Nasri
Zito,
I appreciate the compliment, but am not so sure about calling the other folks mercenaries. It’s not like they went to Manchester City, exactly, although if the Clasical kickstarter campaign maintains its momentum, they just may have enough spare change to purchase an EPL club or two.