Snarkastic

We Are One Legion

So I really got into Deadspin back in the fall, getting my blurb on with a bunch of comedy-minded folk for the Hugh Johnson Project. (If you have the energy, by all means go back and read every single one of those. They's gold.) But soon it was playoff season, and I was beset on all sides by waves of hatred for all that's good and right in the world (Peyton). So I retreated for a while, hung out in the threads and watched the irrational tide of venom against Indy swell.

And then something strange happened. When this game was done and the Colts were Miami-bound and I was celebrating among Massholes of the first order...no punches were thrown, no flame wars ignited. Just birthday wishes. Lots of them. Oh, and the greatest comment of all time:

I think the mutual karma of our birthdays (my 24th was the 20th) pulled the Colts over the edge. I don't mean to be arrogant or anything, but you're welcome, Indianapolis. I shall live the next two weeks in drunken glee. I love you, strange woman who I have never met. I will love you all through my drunken slumber.

And after the Super Bowl I got this message from an avowed Vol-hater: "Congrats, Holly. You were hardcore when nobody else believed."

So I began staying Up! All Night with these guys, having Sports Night quote-offs and Nintendo arguments, parsing sonnets praising Sega Genesis, and applying the Mandelbrot set to poems. Then someone got the bright idea to get us all together in one place.

Meet DeadOn. TV, movies, music, and more from the minds of a hive of smartass sports fans. And not to brag, but on our first full day of posting we were the top-ranked WordPress site on the internets. I'll have four pieces up each week, starting on Tuesday, when I write my first (and possibly last) Studio 60 review. I'll also be handling Grey's Anatomy, tag-teaming VMars, and penning a weekly Lost haiku (because, really, seventeen syllables of coherence from each episode is about the most anyone can reasonably expect). I was slated to take on Battlestar as well, but that's the one show I really just lose myself in week after week (um, except for last ep; what the hell?), and I'd rather not have to watch it with a critical eye.

But if I'm not dashing off 3,000-word epic poems to Aaron Sorkin, doesn't that mean you're stuck listening to me talk about nothing but football? Well, no, but only because the sports-related writing's moving too. For my next trick...eight of the Glorious Ladies of Deadspin combine to form a trash-talking, ass-smacking robot of unsurpassed gorgeousness and intelligence. (Joan, if you think you're not about to become my J-Bug, you are mistaken.)

I've saved the most...interesting (perfectly-preserved-dead-bird-on-sidewalk interesting) bit of news for last. We all know that next week, Studio 60 gets a midseason replacement. We all know that it's an hourlong drama called The Black Donnellys. We know that Paul Haggis is the responsible party. And we know exactly how I feel about him. You can guess what happens next.

Correct. I am overjoyed to announce that I have been given a very large megaphone with which to broadcast my utter contempt and revulsion for the man who brought us Crash. Please take the week to surround your computers with flame-retardant materials. This will not be pretty.

This is all happening so fast (I love saying that) that it's hard to tell what's going to happen to this site, but hopefully once my life's a little more neatly sorted, this can go back to being our playground, and we can get back to flinging hyperbole, bragging about how I've seen more movies than Jesse (which I totally have; Netflix says so, and that's science), and writing songs about eating people's skin, which is, after all, what we do best.

Posted by Nastinchka at February 17, 2007 08:49 AM