The Brain Leak
(Week of 6/23/08 - 6/29/08)
An abbreviated version of The Leak hits the deck this week. But fear not, begrudgingly loyal readers (who are yet to leave a comment), a stripped-down edition can still achieve the same psychoanalytic results as those garnered by the lengthy, self-indulging diatribes I am used to posting. Just think of it as the senseless yet oddly stimulating content you have come to love but without the fluff.
Happy Trails, Mr. Leitch
The editor of the universe’s most notable forum for uncensored and unmitigated sports speak has officially retired his reins.
Deadspin founder and editor Will Leitch completed his last shift at the world famous sports blog Friday, and now embarks on his next challenging venture as a contributing editor at New York Magazine. Leitch announced earlier this month that he would be relinquishing his duties as Deadspin’s front man to further pursue opportunities at the magazine he has been sporadically writing for since 2004–and a nation worth of devoted followers spanning the blogosphere began wallowing in chagrin.
The 33-year-old University of Illinois grad has been the face (or voice) behind Deadspin since its launch in 2005, when as an uninterested financial writer for Morgan Stanley, Leitch understandably relented to the calling of Gawker Media. The online media giant, which also owns Gizmodo and Lifehacker – among others – was looking for a bright, aspiring writer to spearhead its new gambling site, Oddjack, and caught wind of Leitch’s work on The Black Table, a blog he had started with three friends years earlier. Admittedly opposed to gambling on sports, however, Leitch decided to pass on the offer and instead pandered Gawker to produce a sports site, an idea the company initially and vehemently rejected.
Leitch has stated in several interviews that the turning point came when he “gave them (Gawker) enough alcohol to the point they finally gave in.”
Since that time, Deadspin has achieved unimaginable success in its infantile lifespan. With Leitch as its unofficial leader, a ferocious army of new media revolutionaries has taken the net by storm and, in the process, managed to piss off even the most esteemed of media who feel unsubstantiated journalism is not only irresponsible but a threat to the craft. And the two forces collided in an appalling display of one-sidedness for all to see.
I can only begin to imagine the magnitude of the cathartic coma that must have stricken Gawker owner Nick Denton that fateful night back in April, when his golden boy was verbally raped on Costas Now by the bully that is Pulitzer-Prize winning author Buzz Bissinger.
I would be willing to bet, though, somewhere in the crevice of his subconscious, Denton was rooting for the underdog, just like the rest of us. After all, besides the thrill you get from rooting for the ‘little guy,’ why wouldn’t you want to see your prized piece get the chance to trump the big dog in defiance of everything that is condescending and snooty in the form of a big nationally-televised ‘fuck you.’ But regrettably, Bissinger’s apparent extensive preparation and premeditated script-o-hate was too much for his junior opponent.
I don’t hesitate to willingly admit that I am not the biggest Deadspin fan. In fact, I will go as far as to say that I haven’t visited the site more than ten times since it surfaced, making me part of the grossly uniformed minority. And it seems that if you have a blog and you don’t consistently give Mr. Leitch some support, you are somehow nibbling at the hand that feeds you. In my defense, I am not necessarily that familiar with any one number of the millions of blogs out there. I have a hard enough time counting all the shitty ones, let alone digging through the countless layers of rough to find the occasional diamond.
So, then, why do I devote an entire segment to the departure of William Leitch?
The answer is simple: April 29, 2008, was a landmark date for bloggers everywhere. Leitch was devoted to the idea of getting obliterated in front of the whole country for the sake of defending his beliefs. There was a cold-day-in-hell’s chance that Bissinger was going to give any thought to the idea of letting up his choke hold during that debate, especially after he established it by initially backing Leitch into a corner with a “I think you’re full of shit” how-do-you-do. And, yet, the young lad from Mattoon, Il., formerly of The Black Table, Sporting News and The Daily Illini, would not waver.
Leitch agreed to go on Costas’ show knowing he was going to sit there and be Bissinger’s punching bag, and that seemed to be quite alright with him. In doing so, he instantly created a presence and a voice among mainstream media for all of us out there; those who know we can write and do so with the fervor and imagination that we hope one day lands us those credentials that Mr. Bissinger so readily berates us for lacking.
From one Cards fan to another, good luck Will.
Writer’s Block Devotion
I am well aware that the last thing you want to read is how horrible of a time I am having this week coming up with fresh content. That’s part of the reason why I decided to cover my own ass by promising a shortened version in the intro. The creative juices just aren’t flowing like they have been. Thus, in the spirit of me not making my problems your problems, I have decided to effectively disguise my puzzling brain lapse with an excitingly new segment, the success of which is predicated upon information I’m sure you will find more useless than usual.
Craig’s Blue-Light Specials
Always ready to do whatever possible to contribute to the happy disposition of my fellow NSR writers, a majority of which I assume live in or around the greater Chicago area, I sought and found a blistering hot offer for an unprecedented amount of contiguous seats in the lawn at Ravinia for the Donna Summers show Aug. 30.
I know what you’re thinking: But Ryan, the show isn’t for another two months. How did you manage to find such an unrealistic deal so far in advance? And secondly, what sort of outrageous price tag should I suspect will accompany such prime real estate at what is sure to be a life-changing performance? Well, I am a man of the people. And lucky for you, Mr. Posting ID 737374880 at good ‘ol Craigslist is presumably bracing for quite the hit, judging by this price of $80 for a pair or your first-born for all four, or six, I can’t tell. The owner of this post evidently likes to play mind games, claiming to own a specified amount of tix, only to up the ante one sentence later. Regardless, this is a steal that can’t be passed up. And in the end, if you decide at the last second to forgo the concert for some reason, you can always ignore those silly scalping repercussions and turn the transaction for a healthy profit by selling them to a group of middle-aged pre-menopausal Summers super-fans.
Not to upstage the great Donna Summers, but the musical legend is merely the appetizer of this three-pronged feast. The main course comes in the form of warm Old Style and some sweaty, obese Milwaukee man pressing his gut so firmly against the back of your neck that your head eventually gets swallowed up by his cavernous belly-button. Sound fun?
Temporarily suppress your regret for another June Swoon carryover by venturing on a well-deserved, mid-summer road trip with your cronies to Miller Park, where the suddenly lively Brew Crew may or may not be awaiting the opportunity to improve its NL Central pecking order by toppling Chicago. Either way, by the time July 28th rolls around, I’m sure playoff positioning and the Jim Edmonds fascination will be nothing more than distant memory, and the subsequent recall of Felix Pie will leave Cubs fans with little to yearn for but the swallowing of another bitter pill. Of course, such surrealism comes with a hefty monetary exchange. A Monday evening worth of baseball, extensive beer choices and salty tears will run you a cool $750 for four infield Diamond Box seats at Miller. This particular salesman promises an authentic experience, with the seats providing an unimpeded vantage point from the fifth row, along side the dugout on the first-base side.
Depending on what happens between now and then, these tickets could symbolize either money braggingly well spent or the largest display of extortion to which a delusional Cubs fan has ever lay victim.
The Leak’s advice: Take the sure bet, ditch the drive 90 miles north and pay $100 for six separate bleachers passes to catch the first-place Cards in action at Wrigley Aug. 9. Have a heart—this poor fella is having to skip the game to stand in at a buddy’s wedding dressed in a tuxedo that easily cost more than the price of your whole day.
After a summer filled with exasperation in Wrigleyville and exhaustion from watching Donna Summers flub around the stage, you’re gonna need some therapeutic remedying. And I think I found just the person to help you achieve this. For a doable rate of just $30 per hour, this kindred spirit will sit patiently by and listen while you release deluges of repression, frustration or downright drunken emotion. Confidentiality is assured; no worries about the low price leading to your picture being plastered on a nearby billboard the same day. The only catch is that this particular person is available only between the hours of 6 and 9 p.m., so you’ll have to grind out those tears in the bathroom stall at work to help you through the day.
Prostitution of a different sort
There comes a time in every writer/blogger/sycophant’s life when he comes across something so unbelievable and outrageous that the only thing left to do is surrender to the insanity—and thereby expose the perpetrator(s) for the crime.
This little nugget comes to us by way of Palm Beach Gardens, Fla., where a 42-year-old woman is trying to kill two birds with the proverbial singular stone. Deven Trabosh, a licensed real estate agent, is attempting to overcome the stress of a stubborn and sluggish housing market by sweetening the deal for her 2,000 square-foot home located in a gated community in South Florida.
But the last thing on Trabosh’s mind is reducing her asking price.
The mother of two tells The Associated Press that she has posted ads on a number of sites, including eBay and Craigslist, soliciting not only her residence but her companionship in a package deal she hopes will fetch a suitor willing to satisfy both her financial and emotional desires. And Trabosh is quick to silence her critics who speculate she is pulling a gimmick designed to swindle some poor, horny schmo into purchasing her home.
“I’m struggling…I don’t want to lose my house and I want to find somebody,” she laments. “So I came up with this dream plan because I’ve always dreamt about being a fairytale princess.”
Dream plan, indeed. Thanks to her ingenious bit of synergy, Trabosh claims she may have found the perfect man—and gullible homebuyer—in the form of Claudio, a chiseled Italian wine connoisseur who could just as easily be an overweight parking lot attendant from Jersey. “I’m not selling myself. I’m selling love…to meet that true love,” added Trabosh, who has been divorced for eight years. “Of course, it’s gonna take more chemistry and connection. It’s not going to be instantaneous that I’m just going to be automatically for sale…it’s a package deal for true love.”
Sounds like a match only a viral society could conjure.
Voices In My Head
“It was a pretty involved, drawn-out process. But it was well worth it. I’m really excited about my chance to be the Masked Rider.”
–Texas Tech University senior Ashley Hartzog explains to ESPN.com’s Tim Griffin how she had to endure grueling physical tests and master excruciatingly difficult mental requirements in her quest to become the school’s next real-life mascot.
“InBev says they’re aware of the important role A-B has played in philanthropy and seems to be saying they have an interest in continuing that. We’ll see what happens when the rubber meets the road.”
–Suzanne Fontaine, senior manager of corporate partnerships for the St. Louis Children’s Hospital Foundation, speaks to the St. Louis Post-Dispatch in response to InBev Chairman Carlos Brito’s claim that his company would maintain the large-scale presence of Anheuser Busch’s charity work in the area should it buy America’s largest brewer. A-B has been giving to the hospital for over 30 years.
“We’re the worst team to win, ever!”
–Fresno State senior closer Brandon Burke shortly after him and his Bulldogs teammates completed an improbable run through the College World Series with a 6-1 victory over Georgia Thursday night. The Bulldogs, who finished their season with a record of 47-31, posted the worst-ever mark for a CWS champion and became the first no. 4 seed to ever qualify for the tournament.
“You don’t win by accident. You don’t lose by accident. There are reasons certain teams win all the time, and there’s a reason certain teams lose all the time.”
–New Tampa Bay Lightning head coach Barry Melrose after his hiring was made official Tuesday night. Melrose claimed he watched close to 90% of Tampa’s games in 2007, a season in which the Lightning crawled their way to the worst record in the league. Tampa Bay won the Cup in 2004.
“…I just don’t know where you are coming from, except that I think you are perpetuating the future, and I think the future in the hands of guys like you is really, really gonna dumb us down to a degree I don’t know we can recover from.”
–Friday Night Lights author Buzz Bissinger sums up his Apr. 29 argument with Will Leitch in domineering fashion.
Famous Last Words (in the form of a few parting shots)
Shaquille O’Neal: You might want to choose your words a little more carefully the next time you decide to act half your age. It’s possible you could actually sound intelligent. Your despicable display of immaturity and disrespect was entirely uncalled for. Furthermore, it may have been more of a disgrace to the art of rapping than it was to overall human decency.
Carlos Brito: I hope your powers of persuasion are as potent and convincing as that slick, black power suit you don, because the proud citizens of St. Louis are not going down without a fight. We are the first ones to push through your webs of lies, falseness and utter greed. The act was cute at first; promising ongoing philanthropy in the St. Louis area, launching a half-ass campaign aimed at assuring thousands of St. Louisans that they will keep their jobs, and attempting to trick the American people into thinking one of their last enduring brands is not in danger of becoming extinct. With each passing day, the mettle and fortitude of your opposition grows stronger. Before it’s all said and done, you will be begging for another meeting with our “Martha Stewart-ish ” democratic Senator, Claire McCaskill, for her femininely brutish demeanor is no match for the rage that will ultimately be waged by a desperate brigade of blue and white collars bent on defending the tradition of their beloved A-B.
Dubya and The Beav: What do the President of the United States, son of baseball great Roberto Clemente and a giant beaver have in common? They all love little league tee- ball, naturally. Either that or Georgie Boy and Roberto Jr. obtruded their way through the crowd that had gathered for “Tee Ball on the South Lawn” Monday (June 30) to snag the perfect photo opportunity with Dugout the Beaver, whereby they partially satisfied their respective furry fetishes, as this picture may or may not suggest. Hey, at least we all have proof that our main man is taking it easy during his final 200 days in the Oval. Save those nasty diplomatic, environmental and economic problems for the next guy, eh, Dubya?
Tags: Anheuser Busch, Barry Melrose, Buzz Bissinger, Carlos Brito, Chicago Cubs, College World Series, Costas Now, Craigslist, Deadspin, Deven Trabosh, Donna Summers, Fresno State Bulldogs, George Bush, Masked Rider, Milwaukee Brewers, New York Magazine, Shaquille O'Neal, St. Louis, St. Louis Cardinals, Tampa Bay Lightning, Texas Tech Red Raiders, Will Leitch
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