SportsCracklePop just had an excellent month.
Our numbers were way up in May. I don’t know if it was our best month ever, but it was really good.
That makes me happy. I work very hard on the vast majority of my posts. I try to offer our readers a little humor, a little guidance, and a big piece of myself. The interviews I do with authors and experts offer up some insight that I don’t think are available on many other sites. The SCP book club project that I’m currently working on is designed to spark conversation about this week’s New York Times Bestseller and maybe provide its readers with some different perspective as they immerse themselves in the 750 pages of ESPN minutia. And of course, there are these SI reviews, which are meant to be one side of the ongoing conversation we’ve all been having since I began writing them nearly a year and half ago.
But, here’s the thing: No one gives a shit.
Remember those numbers I was talking about? My posts barely make a dent. The vast majority of our May readership spike can be attributed to a picture King Ing posted of some soccer player’s girlfriend. In fact, of the top 10 most viewed SportsCracklePop pages last month, I was responsible for a grand total of zero. I barely make a blip in the top 100. I’m still getting blown out by a post about David Wright maybe dating a woman named Molly Beers, who I’ve never heard of. And King Ing posted that THREE YEARS AGO.
Still, I soldier on. I have to believe there’s a place for me on the internet. I have to believe someone is out there. But, just in case I’m wrong, here’s a link to those naked Blake Lively pictures. If winning prose and erudite conversation won’t win you over, titties and vag should do the trick.
Let’s say you have a co-worker. Let’s say you’re not a huge fan of him. You think he does a bad job at the office and is generally unpleasant to be around. You wouldn’t lose an ounce of sleep if he were to vanish from your workplace forever. Then, you find out he has a really shitty home life. All of a sudden, your feelings about him are softened a bit. You still don’t want to work right next to him, but you wish him no ill will and hope that he’s able to work out his problems at home.
This is how I felt after reading Michael Farber’s touching and thankfully light on puns account of his own struggle with cancer and the significance of his livestrong bracelet. I don’t love him as an SI writer, but now I feel a little guilty about being so critical of his writing style. Ironically, my feelings about Farber seem to very similar to his feelings about Lance Armstrong, who he appreciates but doesn’t seem to necessarily like.
The Fall Of Jim Tressel by George Dohrmann
Wow, Jim Tressel sounds like a total piece of shit. I think this quote from a former colleague, about how Tressel would make sure top recruits got special treatment at his summer football camps, sums it up perfectly:
“In the morning he would read the Bible with another coach. Then, in the afternoon, he would go out and cheat kids who had probably saved up money from mowing lawns to buy those raffle tickets. That’s Jim Tressel.”
Dohrmann is a great investigative journalist. He’s not a great writer though. This article is about a page and half longer than it should be.
The Old Man and The Heat by Lee Jenkins
Did you see that comeback the Mavs pulled off in game 2? Me neither. I can blame it on the fact that it happened very late on a Thursday night. But the truth is, I got caught up in the national spelling bee and didn’t want to switch back over to the basketball game. As far as this article goes, Jason Kidd is old. I already knew that.
Sparks Are Gonna Fly by Andrew Lawrence
How surprised are you to find out that I actually ready this article? I’m shocked too. But, if I’m flipping through channels and I see an LA Sparks game on, I stop. That’s how good Candace Parker is. She actually makes me interested.
Sight To Behold by L. Jon Wertheim
Luis Salazar makes me feel guilty for the life I’m living. About an hour ago, I had a legit hissy fit in my kitchen because I spilled some coffee. Yelling, cursing, the whole nine yards. Meanwhile, this guy gets his face blown up and his eye falls out, and he’s thrilled. I am lacking as a person.
Deep In The Heart Of The City by Leigh Montville
You know what, Boston? Fuck you. Hub fans were such huge hockey fans in the early 70’s. But what about the 60 years before that, when the Bruins and Rangers routinely battled it out for 5th place in a 6 team league? I bet you weren’t so into it then. And what about the 40 years since then? I lived in Boston for 4 years. I never heard a single conversation about the Bruins on the street the entire time. The Red Sox won. Can’t we stop fetishisizing these people yet?
Point After by Phil Taylor
I agree with everything Phil Taylor says in this column.