The Yang Slinger: LXXI

Sports Illustrated is staffed with some of the best writers and editors in America. So why are a bunch of corporate douchebags doing their all to fuck it up?

When I write these posts, they usually come fairly easy to my fingertips.

I plop down.

I dig through some notes.

I begin to type.

But as I sit here today, at my messy desk inside my messy house on a little street in Southern California, I find myself at a loss. That’s what happens when one mixes love with anger with bewilderment. You do as I’m doing at this moment—you sit and you stare.

So let me take a deep breath …

… and start with this: I love Sports Illustrated.

I loved Sports Illustrated as a child growing up in Mahopac, N.Y. I loved Sports Illustrated as a young newspaper writer in Nashville. I loved Sports Illustrated from 1996-thru-early 2003, when I wrote for the magazine. I love Sports Illustrated now. The magazine’s editor, Steve Cannella, is not only a former colleague on the baseball beat, but a close friend whose integrity, kindness and decency know no bounds. Jon Wertheim, the executive editor, is both journalistic sibling and (unofficially) responsible for the existence of my two children (I met my wife at the wedding of Jon and Ellie). At the same time people shit on SI for kicks and giggles (and this hardly made a defense easy), the publication still pumps out some of the planet’s best work. Need proof? Read Wertheim. Read Greg Bishop. Read Stephanie Apstein. Read Tom Verducci. On. And on. And on.

Is Sports Illustrated what it was back in the day? Back when Frank Deford and Dan Jenkins, Gary Smith and Michael Farber, Rick Reilly and Steve Rushin were traveling the globe and bringing forth epic 5,000-word pieces? No. But what publication is what it was back in the day? What magazine or newspaper can say—with all honesty and sincerity—that the work it produces in 2023 equals that of its, oh, 1993 output?

Answer: None can.

Nary a one.

That said …

In case you missed the news (and if you’re alive, you likely did not), earlier this week it was reported that the Sports Illustrated website, SI.com, had posted several stories not merely generated by phony AI writers, buy topped by phony AI bylines accompanied by equally phony AI biographies.

Like, for example, ol’ Drew …

Making matters worse, when Maggie Harrison of Futurism reached out to The Arena Group—sad-sack owners of the SI brand—nobody responded. Journalistic integrity? What journalistic integrity? Instead, the articles were simply yanked down ASAP.

Hello, Drew Ortiz—man of the wild.

Goodbye, Dre Ortiz—man of the wild.

Later, the Arena Group provided this statement, taking full responsibility conveniently blaming someone else …

The backlash—eh, it was not good. Bruce Arthur of the Toronto Star wrote this brilliant piece, and Reilly—my ol’ pal and colleague—offered this gem in the Washington Post. The Twitter, eh, Xitter universe went bonkers, ridiculing Sports Illustrated as one might, oh, a flabby, pear-shaped Roy Jones getting his ass kicked in a money-grab exhibition fight. It was pathetic.

And before I dive into this, I want to reiterate something: The journalists who run and write for SI are All-Stars. They’re people who bring their all to the job; who believe in storytelling, in writing, in reporting. They are tremendous talents who would have belonged at the magazine during any of its golden eras. I mean that, without a second’s hesitation.

This is not on them.

This is on a bunch of corporate douchebags who don’t seem to give a shit about quality.

Who appear to just want to make a buck on the dead carcass of a brand name they almost certainly never think about.

Who don’t seem to mind watching the best sports magazine of all time burn to the ground.

So, eh … fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

In many ways, everything you’re seeing now began during my final years at Sports Illustrated. At the time, the magazine was still the place to work in sports media. Our offices, located on the 18th floor of Manhattan’s Time Life Building, were majestic odes to the power of the pen. The senior writers were journalism studs. Here, this is the roster from one of my years with the pub …

It’s big name (Bamberger!) after big name (King!) after big name (Maisel!) after big name (Wolff!) after big name (Zimmerman!)

And yet, if I’m being honest, the cracks were starting to show. The Sports Illustrated website, www.cnnsportsillustrated.com (yes, that was the URL) launched in 1997, and—from jump—it was a painful mess that (dear God) ran all of the magazine’s content, sans paywall.¹ When ESPN The Magazine kicked off a year later, the higher-ups at SI definitely panicked. I’m not sure I’ve ever written about this, but I actually attended a bunch of secret meetings where we discussed the idea of a new “cool” Sports Illustrated side magazine (There was a prototype named, “SI-X.” Somewhere in a box I have a photocopy of the cover—me in a La Salle football uniform. Don’t ask.) to battle ESPN The Magazine. It was a sad, pathetic, reactionary model launched by a bunch of out-of-touch Princeton-educated white men who never seemed 100-percent certain whether it was “hip-hip” or “hip-hop” music.

In 2002, Bill Colson—the managing editor and a man I very much admire—was sorta forced out and replaced by Terry McDonell, the charming, kind, funny former Us Weekly editor … who knew jarringly little about sports. There’s a famous meeting (attended by many, confirmed by many) when someone brought up Major League Baseball’s 56-game hitting streak, and Terry knew not the accomplishment belonged to Joe DiMaggio. Which would be no big deal were it, say, my mother. But Terry was (cough) the editor of the world’s biggest sports magazine. And, to me, the moment screamed something both uncomfortable and true: Sports Illustrated was becoming less of a sports product, more of a … hmm. I dunno. More of a chip. A thing.

During my time at Sports Illustrated, we were gobbled up by AOL. Which seemed strange (I remember asking, “Wait—we’re buying AOL, right?” No). Then our profit sharing was replaced by AOL stock options (Here’s the 2023 value of those shares). Then the travel budget began to be slashed. Then there were layoffs. And more layoffs. The office library (a mecca of all things sports history) was destroyed. At one point Sports Illustrated announced that it would be debuting (drumroll) … The Vault—an organized online database of every piece to ever appear on the pages of the magazine. So The Vault arrived. And it sucked. Unusable, unmanageable. Awful. Laughably bad. What could have been a living, breathing go-to spot turned into an empty basement with a few mouse droppings and a dog-earned Wayne Krenchicki baseball card.

Sports Illustrated never fully adjusted to the modern world. Writers (myself included when I was on staff) resisted the web. We didn’t wanna contribute to it. We were print people, dammit. There was a clumsy television network—CNNSI—that offered nothing to society (unless you wanted to hear me explain Barry Bonds as piped-in background music played). There was a mortifying streaming outfit—SI TV—that gave viewers the rare and cherished opportunity to pay for movies (Rocky V, The Bad News Bears remake) nobody aspired to watch. When all the other sports websites wisely began offering its followers fantasy leagues (with bountiful advertising budgets attached), SI resisted. Why? I still have no idea.

In a way, few things explain SI’s troubles better than the Swimsuit Issue. For decades, our very own titty rag’s advertising revenue paid for a good chunk of the other 51 weeks of the year. But then—with the Internet—men across the United States discovered (gasp) free porn. And instead of waiting until February to jerk off to 87-pound Czechoslovakian 19-year olds, guys could break out the Aquaphor, Google “thong,” “cat lady” and “nude” and go at it. Before long, the issue just felt sad. A relic of a bygone era.

But here’s the thing.

The important thing.

When it came to writing, Sports Illustrated continued to kick ass. And that’s what gave me hope and pride. Verducci is an all-time great. So was the late Grant Wahl, who owned soccer. So is Wertheim. So were pen wizards like Chris Ballard, Alexander Wolff, Howard Beck, Apstein, Chris Herring, Jenny Vrentas. Throughout the decades, Sports Illustrated was a spot (and still is a spot) for tremendous journalism. And if you don’t believe me, check out Bishop’s recent piece on Eagles’ quarterback Jalen Hurts—which is as good as anything you’ll read this week.

For the second third time, I love Sports Illustrated.

There is a man who walks the earth, and his name is Jamie Salter.

And if you have never visited Jamie Salter’s Instagram feed, take a moment and do so right now.

Really, go ahead. I’ll be here.

…

…

…

Welcome back. Please, stop vomiting.

Jamie is the guy. And by “the guy”—I mean the guy who needs people to know he has famous friends/partners like Shaq. And Dr. J. And David Beckham. This is not a unique phenomenon in modern social media. Find me a wealthy white man in his 40s, 50s and 60s, I’ll find you a photo of his arm wrapped around a large Black guy who used to dunk.

Along with being the guy, Salter owns a company called Authentic Brands. According to its website, Authentic Brands’ mission “is to evolve, transform and reimagine global brands through innovative business models, powerful storytelling, compelling content and immersive experiences.” But, really, the New York Times better explained the Authentic Brand big gun when, in a 2020 profile, Sapna Maheshwari and Vanessa Friedman wrote, “Mr. Salter is the founder and chief executive of the Authentic Brands Group, a company known for buying the intellectual property of famous brands at discount prices and then striking licensing deals with other companies that want to stick those well-known names on their products.”

Put differently—when companies are struggling, Jamie Salter swoops in and milks them for everything they’re worth. That’s actually what happened with Sports Illustrated back in 2019, when Authentic Brands bought SI from Meredith Corporation for a paltry $110 million.

Now, technically, Authentic Brands wasn’t buying the magazine, per se. It was—according to Deadline.com—buying “the rights to market and license Sports Illustrated, its swimsuit edition, kids’ edition, ‘Sportsperson of the Year’ and SI TV, along with the magazine’s photo archive.” Which is why, in 2023, you have such schlocky things as SI Resorts, SI Sportsbook, SI Tix, SI Athletic Clothing (partnered with (glub) JC Penny), SI Condoms, SI Needle Exchange Centers, SI Acne Patches and SI Whore Houses.²

To Salter (aka: “The man making millions off dead people”) and Authentic Brands, Sports Illustrated’s greatness seems to matter a whopping 0 percent. Instead, what’s important is the name’s earning potential—what money can be made off of the legacy of a dying horse. And, I suppose, that would be fine had Authentic Brands at least devoted itself to keeping the editorial product at a high level. I mean, one would think the financial value of Sports Illustrated is directly connected to the quality of Sports Illustrated.

But, instead, shortly after Authentic Brands purchased Sports Illustrated, it sold the editorial arm to something called Maven, whose CEO—Ross Levinsohn—was best known for his days at the Los Angeles Times, where he was placed on unpaid leave after—according to the newspaper—reports of two sexual harassment lawsuits, 'frat house' behavior and iffy decision making from more than two dozen former colleagues and associates (in his defense, the harassment claims were investigated and no wrongdoing was found). When the Maven folks took over SI, they said all the right things about history, about quality, about high-level journalism standing as the backbone of a functioning society.

And then, in a blink, they fucked it all up.

First, they laid off a shitload of employees …

And not in a particularly smooth manner. According to a piece from The Ringer’s Bryan Curtis, in Oct. 2019, “two ‘transition’ meetings were called at SI. Staffers realized that one meeting was for employees who would keep their jobs; the other meeting contained a trap door to hell for those who would be let go.”

The Maven did everything possible to dilute Sports Illustrated’s greatest strength—its editorial oomph. Not all that long ago, being an SI writer carried a royal swag that opened doors and had athletes anxiously await your arrival. Now, the Maven began to contract (on the super cheap) dozens upon dozens upon dozens of regional “contributing writers” to “cover” teams and cities, a la The Athletic model. Only, unlike The Athletic, the SI efforts were low rent and embarrassing. As Curtis noted in his piece, one of Sports Illustrated’s “staff writers” was a 17-year-old high school student who “covered” the Cincinnati Bengals for no money. Adam Maya, SI’s “USC beat writer,” was first to report the firing of head coach Clay Helton—who (cough) was not fired. The ensuing WHY I WAS WRONG ABOUT THE CLAY HELTON STORY article was even sadder than the initial mistake, because it was an unqualified and out-of-his-depth young man trying to justify his boneheadedness (Advice to you kids out there: When you fuck up, just admit it).

In 2023, the Maven no longer exists, in that it changed its name (or, in corporate speak, “rebranded”) to The Arena Group and (two years ago) put forth this dispiriting message …

Truth be told, it all blows. You have Sports Illustrated—the greatest sports platform (in my biased opinion) of all time. And it’s now basically overlorded by two entities: A guy (Jamie Salter) who wants to get rich, post IGs with Shaq and affix the SI logo to as many shit logs as possible; and a guy (Levinsohn) who has shown himself to be uniquely adept at reducing an editorial behemoth to an outside-the-Stone Balloon vomit puddle.

And here’s what irks me most: While the fake AI byline reporter thing was, on the one hand, sort of overblown (aka: Sports Illustrated isn’t being overtaken by bots), it speaks to something grander—to indifference. When I texted Salter about my concerns over SI’s demise, he pushed me off on a publicist (who then pushed me off on another publicist), before we had this quick exchange …

And when I hit up Levinsohn, I got this …

Ultimately, I’m left with a sinking feeling in my stomach that neither man—and neither company—particularly cares about Sports Illustrated. About Steve Cannella. About Tom Verducci and Greg Bishop and Jon Wertheim and a slew of outstanding writers and editors who believe the brand is worth fighting for. Is worth defending.

To Corporate America, Sports Illustrated is mere chip.

It makes me wish, more than anything, that I was back with Drew Ortiz.

On his parents’ farm.

The Quaz Five with … Tim Hayes

Tim Hayes is a sports writer for the Bristol Herald Courier. You can follow him on Xitter here.

1. Tim, you're a Bristol Herald Courier sports writer. Why should we still believe in newspapers in a digital age?: Folks should still care about newspapers because despite all the issues and changes in the industry, quality work is still being done by a lot of different people in a lot of different places. It’s where you can still find in-depth information on games, athletes, coaches that captures them more than just 45 seconds worth of highlights or the 30-second soundbite that might appear on the local news broadcast. While more people probably watch the latter and might even prefer it, I think there is a hunger and audience for the former.

2. You arrived at the newspaper more than two decades ago. Serious question—how have you lasted this long?: That’s a question I ask myself quite often. My high school football coach knew this was a path I wanted to pursue and put a good word in for me with Robert Anderson, the venerable and popular sports writer at the Bristol Herald Courier. One day he asked me if I wanted to come in to the office and help answer phones. I still had a few months remaining of high school when I started working here, a part-timer taking calls, typing up agate, compiling the roundup and Briefs and covering the events nobody else wanted to do. Funny story: On a June day in 2000 I got my diploma and my high school baseball team won a state title on a Saturday. On Sunday, I was doing the Scoreboard page in the office. I was making minimum wage and I loved every minute of it. I believe it was only supposed to be an internship for a few months, but I ended up sticking around, moved to a full-time position shortly thereafter and here I am 23 year later. I’m fortunate. There have been many people I’ve known who were much more talented that have been let go. A great writer and even nicer guy – Craig Worrell at the Galax Gazette – was just let go a couple of weeks ago in a corporate job cut and every time you hear that it’s a gut-punch and a reminder that with the current state of the industry that the bell will toll for all of us sooner or later. Until that happens, you just have to keep working and cranking out content that readers want.

3. You recently had a piece that led with, "Rye Cove High School quarterback Landon Lane has thrown for more than 1,000 yards and rushed for upwards of 1,000 yards this season, statistical proof of his first-rate, dual-threat ability." As a preps guy, how much do you have to care about the games, the players? Does it matter?: I think you have to care because as a preps reporter it is your job to care and if you don’t I think you are doing it a disservice and not giving your best effort. I would dare say Virginia has some of the best prep writers you’ll find anywhere and guys like Ben Cates in Lynchburg, Matt Case in Roanoke, Larry Rubama at The Virginian-Pilot & Daily Press and Cody Elliott in Harrisonburg are must-read wordsmiths. You have to make the casual reader care and those guys do that. That Rye Cove piece that you referenced; the team didn’t have enough players to finish the season two years ago and played in the regional finals this past week. Their fans had filled the bleachers two hours before kickoff. Those types of stories resonate with people because everybody loves an underdog story. Now caring shouldn’t be equated to being a homer as you still have to be fair and I try to treat all 29 high schools that we cover the same and cover them extensively when they make playoff runs or have players with intriguing stories. As the old saying goes that every prep writer has said at one time or another: I get paid the same no matter who wins. I think it also helps when you live in an area like this that loves prep sports coverage and that is our primary focus and really always has been. Bristol is two hours away from the nearest Power 5 school, three hours from the nearest major professional sports franchise (The city does host two NASCAR races a year), so high school sports is huge and even moreso in the surrounding smaller towns. It might not be Texas, California, Florida or Georgia, but the play is pretty good for the size of the schools. This is an area that produced the first 1,000-yard rusher in NFL history (Beattie Feathers), the first pitcher to win a World Series game (Deacon Phillippe is from Rural Retreat) and Evan Carter from Elizabethton, Tennessee, was a star for the Rangers in the postseason as they won it all. Thomas Jones, Billy Wagner, Jason Witten, Heath Miller, Steve Spurrier, Mac McClung, Ravens punter Jordan Stout, the list goes on and on as players from this Southwest Virginia/Northeast Tennessee region. For an area that probably some of your readers don’t know exist or just pass on the interstate, it has produced some major talent who were once prep stars at small schools.

4. Do high school kids still care about what appears in a newspaper? Like, back when I was coming up it meant everything. How about now?: A morning ritual for me was always reading the newspaper while waiting on the school bus and I remember being excited just to see my name in agate type on the Scoreboard page under wrestling results, even if I had got pinned in 12 seconds the night before. Now I realize kids aren’t rushing to the paper box every morning or stopping at a gas station on the way to school to pick up a copy like they were 25-30 years ago, but I still do think they enjoy seeing their name in print (or digital). You still see it when a story is posted on Twitter or Facebook. A lot of times the comments, likes or shares are from the athletes themselves. At least that’s the case here.

5. Best moment of your journalism run? Worst?: Those are hard to say, but I would say the thing I am proudest of is just getting better at the craft. I was Godawful when I started and I cringe going back and reading some of that stuff. I still don’t think I am that good and am always trying to get better. I think I once described a pitcher faring well on a chili afternoon (that one slipped by the editor and might be one of my worst moments) and that was pretty embarrassing. But I was lucky. I had some valuable mentors and colleagues like Robert Anderson, Allen Gregory, Michael Farkas, James “Bucky” Dent, Nate Hubbard and Jim Sacco who really helped me, took their time to help me, challenged me to get better and wanted me to get better. It was on-the-job training and helped me more than any journalism school would have and those guys were like the best professors you could find. I think that is one thing that is missing in the current state of newspapers is the chance for mentoring since staffs are so small and a lot of good folks have left the business. I still lean on to those guys I mentioned above for advice and ask them to critique my stories often. I’ve had several worst moments. A story I didn’t do. A story I could have done better. I think every journalist has those.

Bonus (rank in order favorite to least): Elton John, the Bronx Zoo, Bon Jovi, Anthony Davis, Richmond, candied yams, your haircut, "Love Actually": The Bronx Zoo (Larry McCall had a cup of coffee with that Yankees team and is even mentioned in the book a time or two. He was the pitching coach for the collegiate wood-bat team we have here and he had some great stories about those Yankee teams), Podcasts (“Two Writers Slinging Yang” is a must-listen and I’m not just saying that), Zay Flowers (Ravens have a shot this year to win it all I believe), my haircut (glad we can wear caps on the job), Anthony Rizzo, Bon Jovi, Richmond, Anthony Davis, Elton John, “Love Actually” (I believe on a date to see that. We’ve all danced to “Jump” by the Pointer Sisters like Hugh Grant does in that one scene, right?), candied yams.

A random old article worth revisiting …

We all know about the Butt Fumble. And we all know about Aaron Rodgers tearing his achilles. But one of the most preposterous injuries in New York Jets history took place on Nov. 4, 1990, when quarterback Ken O’Brien suffered a sprained right thumb via a low five from Emanuel McNeil, his teammate. Jim Corbett of the Standard-Star broke it down the next day …

The Madness of Tyler Kepner’s Grid …

So unless you’ve been living beneath a pebble beneath a rock beneath a big hunk of cheese, you’re aware of Immaculate Grid, the daily game that’s drawn thousands of nerdy sports fans (guilty!) to its ranks. And while the NBA grid, NFL grid, NHL grid and WNBA grid are all fun, this game is at its best when it comes to baseball—where the names are endless and the transactions ceaseless.

Over the past few weeks I’ve often discussed the grid with Tyler Kepner, the Athletic baseball writer. And now, for kicks, every week I’m gonna feature one of Tyler’s bonkers grid results. He’s the ultimate baseball geek (I say this with great affection), and his outputs blow my mind.

So …

Tyler observations:

Tigers row:

Mason was on the 1993 Phillies, probably the last baseball team I rooted for purely as a fan, and I interviewed him for my World Series book.

Kida I remember from covering a 1999 Mariners series at Tiger Stadium

Zumaya took me a long time — I was stuck on obvious guys like Trammell, Whitaker and Kaline and was about to go with Bill Freehan until I remembered that Zumaya came up and threw really hard, but got hurt and never resurfaced.

Orioles row:

The Mets traded Kinkade in the Melvin Mora deal when I was covering the team.

Gutierrez I remember from a Fleer card with Wade Boggs in the background; he was on the Red Sox then but I know he also played for Baltimore.

Schneider was one of three rookies on an Orioles future stars card in 1982. The others were Bob Bonner and some guy named Cal Ripken Jr.

Angels row:

I've actually been reading Joe Maddon's book, and he shares a lot of stories of Angels he coached with or managed in the 1980s. So I had just looked up Gerber the day before, and I was already familiar with Monteagudo (who coached with Maddon) from having him on a WhatifSports.com SIM team. I used Valera because I had just looked up Dick Schofield (another player Maddon managed in the minors) and wondered how he got from the Angels to the Mets -- he was traded for Valera.

This week’s college writer you should follow on Xitter …

Nidley Charles, Miami Dade College.

So last week I was in Miami for the city’s book fair, which takes place at Miami Dade College. While waiting for an elevator with my mother, I picked up a copy of The Reporter, the Miami Dade student newspaper. This was an old issue—dated Oct. 17, 2023. And on the front page there was an article, THIS TEENAGER WANTS TO BUILD A ROLLER COASTER AT NORTH CAMPUS, penned by Charles, a biology major and writer for the paper.

And it was dazzlingly good.

Wrote Charles:

When Sean Matias was a kid, the idea of roller coasters frightened him. 

Their depths. Their monstrous heights. Their stomach-churning velocity.

Those details were nerve-racking for an eight year-old boy, who found serenity in Thomas the Tank Engine and other trains—simple man-made machinery that stays on the ground. 

Four years later, Matias’ terror turned into passion after a family trip to Busch Gardens Tampa Bay. 

The experience allowed him to see “the entire motion of the roller coaster, how it gains [and] loses speed through the track” and it “ignited” his passion.

Today, the 19-year-old, a sophomore in the Honors College at North Campus, hopes to share his fascination for roller coasters by building one on campus as part of a leadership service project.

One can follow Nidley Charles on Xitter here.

Bravo, kid.

Journalism musings for the week …

Musing 1: Because modern TV news is broken into 1,000 pieces, I shouldn’t surprised that Fox News’ Lucas Tomlinson reported on Joe Biden taking questions about his age “even here in Nantucket”—when the question was asked by (wait for it) Lucas Tomlinson.

Musing 2: Amazing piece from Politico’s Alex Sarkissian, Florida’s surgeon general and a complete fraud of a human. In UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA TURNS AGAINST JOE LADAPO, Sarkissian writes: “Some also bristled that Ladapo, in an email to the heads of the medical school, said he’d only visited the sprawling Gainesville campus twice in his first year on the job, showing a lack of familiarity with Florida’s flagship medical school. Ladapo declined to comment for this story, and UF Health officials would not answer questions about his time as a professor. A spokesperson for UF did not respond to specific questions about the story. The DeSantis administration did not respond to a request for comment. Ladapo’s two confirmations by the state Senate included committee hearings that allowed senators to ask him questions about his performance at both jobs. State Sen. Tina Polsky (D-Boca Raton) said she had asked Ladapo during last year’s confirmation about his performance at UF, and he did not give a clear response despite follow-up attempts. “You know he never taught a class per se, and it was just his typical word salad answers for everything,” Polsky said. “It’s really frustrating.”

Musing 3: This was written a bunch of years ago, but with Hall and Oates sadly in the news these days, take a gander at a wonderful article, MUSIC AND MAGIC BY THE SIDE OF A ROAD — HOW A YOUNG PHOTOGRAPHER CAPTURED DARYL HALL AND JOHN OATES’ ABANDONED LUNCHEONETTE. The writer, Chris Epting, captures an innocent time in the recording world when two young singer/songwriters walked into magic.

Musing 4: Thanks, Suzanne O’Malley and Barbara Lippert of the Hollywood Reporter, for reminding all of us in THE GOLDEN BACHELOR’S NOT-SO-GOLDEN PAST that love is bullshit and humanity sucks and even Gerry Turner—dear, sweet, widowed Gerry Turner—is a duplicitous motherfucker who’ll probably win the Golden Bachelor, marry some plastic princess and then stab her in the neck with the shanked-up stub of his walker.

Musing 5: ESPN’s Katie Barnes is a helluva writer, and ANGEL REESE SET TO RETURN, BUT BURNING QUESTIONS REMAIN FOR LSU is excellent. But I’m still sorta dumbfounded nobody has figured out why, exactly, Reese missed all those games.

Musing 6: What an absorbing story from The Athletic’s David Ubben, Bruce Feldman and Justin Williams. DEION SANDERS BELIEVES COLORADO WILL RISE IN 2024. OPPOSING COACHES PREDICT ‘HARD TIMES’ is a savvy, detailed breakdown of a shitfest that now exists in Boulder.

Musing 7: Rest in Paradise, Sandra Day O’Connor—a Supreme Court justice who harkens back to a time when politics didn’t rule every … single … moment … in … American … existence.

Musing 8: The new Two Writers Slinging Yang stars Rick Telander, the fantastic Chicago Sun-Times columnist.

Quote of the week …

1. I’m not sure the magazine ever recovered from this blunder.

2. Admittedly, the last four don’t exist. Yet.