I am absoultely worn out. Yet, here I am. It’s close enough to 3:30 in the morning, and I cannot even get close to sleep. My mind, as usual, is just flying around.
The fact that I watched the confrontation between Buzz Bissinger and Will Leitch again probably isn’t helping me. I already vented a significant helping of bile over this issue at Chez Coma, and in emails to various people, but it still infuriates me. Not just for the ignorance of what Bissinger said (and the way he said it), but because I don’t think being in the press box makes you in any way, shape, or form more qualified to comment on a game than watching it on a nice HDTV with close-ups, replays, and generally superior presentation. Not that I have a nice HDTV, but I know that the TV camera can get a hell of a lot closer than I could to any professional sporting event.
Anyway, I don’t want to get into that yet again. That happened weeks ago, and in the Internet world, that may as well be something from 20 years ago. No sense beating Eight Belles.
In new business, I don’t think Buzz Bissinger has eyebrows. Seriously. It’s creepy. He’s got a bit of a post-horse Christopher Reeve thing going on and it’s really giving me the willies. That’s probably why I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see Buzz Bissinger with a stack of deadspin posts, reading to me angrily about Rich Garces’ magnificent tits.
In the words of Old Timey Homestar Runner, “That monster’s gonna give me nightmares!”