Tuesday, July 25, 2017

If Sloth Is a Deadly Sin, Then Color Me Condemned: First Post of 2017, New Logo, Twitter, and All That Sort of Shit

Happy, uh, New Year wishes to you, jags and jagettes; my utterly insincere apologies for their being about seven months belated: I was busy mowing the lawn -- or whatever -- while also disrupting visitors and natives alike, both at home and abroad, as I threatened the TV screen in a number of different places, in a number of different languages whose curse words were taught to me in that very moment, all of which was clearly effective in helping the Penguins to secure yet another Stanley Cup championship. 

After which, my spirit animal Olli Maatta and I were sure to rejoice, reveling in a such a way that one of us was the featured star in an explosion of tongue-in-cheek media that included an aerial shot of being passed out face down on his own couch, whereas the other of us was greeted with violent, rather intrusive pokes of a broomstick and alerted that this couch was, in fact, somebody else's and the police had been called. Their forewarning is greatly appreciated.

That all said, we have no time to waste -- beyond a mere seven months of the year, evidently -- so let's get right to the hottest stuff.

MODERNIZATION ONGOING: THINK I'M NOW CAUGHT UP TO SOMEWHERE AROUND THE YEAR 2009


Let's resolve one matter immediately: I do whatever the hell I want, hence my lengthy absence from delivering the powerful, occasionally poor-syntax-wielding (case in point) news and insight you so desperately desire. My return seemed perfectly ripe, however, to adopt some critical adjustments to the contemporary presentation of modern media, the fruits of which have brandished the blog a new title photo and now a direct connection to Chuck K's bottomless well of coverage and ideas. 

That's right, Sports Unfiltered and its associated ramblings can now be accessed on Twitter, granting easy access to something entertaining while a physician rattles off some inane drivel about the need to "quit drinking" and "liver failure," or a judge admonishes you -- yet again -- for setting the Cleveland Browns team bus on fire. So, to get in on it all, follow @Chuck_K_Sports, lest I not share my cooler full of tall boys next time I see you at the tailgate.

Between the two, I feel confident that my platform of revelations, tirades, and tangents has been sufficiently thrust into the last decade of technology, which should cover me, if Moore's Law holds any weight, until about ten minutes from now.

The greater question, one that burns undoubtedly within you, is what compelled me to such a productive return, particularly when there's no mullet-stricken douche ladle to incite my absolute visceral fury. That, my folks, would be the glorious world of semi-professional, work-as-you-wish sports writing.

Hoping to fuel my wing night run of last week, I turned the vile world of commissioned blog posts in the thought I could churn out enough material to snag about $10 and, with that, a pleasant dozen fried chicken parts paired with a couple domestics. 

To this end, I turned to The Sportster, an open contributor-based sports commentary site, as a potential means. As if there were even the slightest expectation otherwise, I replied to their general inquiry in the same fashion as you would expect on my own site. Now, fairly, I should have anticipated conflict between its philosophy and what I do: it's poor enough to demean any endeavor with a name that combines its area of content (sports) and _ster, like a dad pathetically attempting to aid his own child in titling his or her first website or page ("Well, champ, what if we called it, 'Dogster'?" "Um, see dad, that name sucks"). On top of that, the first page also boasted some of the most painful 'articles' one could manage.

Yeah, you read it right: this post was "featured."
Wings are wings, though, and they shan't be missed, so I moved onward, optimistic that I would still be able to add content that may actually be interesting to read to this godforsaken 'publication' and then cash in with some saucy wings with above-medium spice (the flavor varying, of course, by chosen provider). As if there were even the slightest expectation to the contrary, I replied to the general inquiries just as I would write anything on the blog here. 

Two questions seemed best to differentiate myself. First, paraphrased, what kind of elements will you bring to our site despite its shit name (OK, heavily paraphrased)?

Answer: to the effect of, "...by writing articles people will actually find interesting, in contrast to the myriad of the asinine, cringe-worthy Buzzfeed replicas that currently reside on your homepage."

Then, I was asked to come up with three entries I would propose, were I to be accepted.

Answer:

(1) Alex Ovechkin Interfered with the U.S. Election, and I Have Proof -- Or Maybe I Don't, But You'll Have to Read On to Find Out

(2) Stop Treating Pro Athletes Like Seraphs: They Can Drink, Smoke Weed, and Solicit Hookers, Too

(3) -- to feed into the cliche -- 10 Pro Athletes Who Probably Strike Their Partner, But Hopefully Won't Sue for Libel

The result?

Oh, for fuck sake.




Well, so much for wings then.

But from the tragic wing night unfulfilled, a more vital cause emerged. Namely, that the world shouldn't have to go on, forced to rely on the drivel of some horseshit sports content mill and those of a similar construct in order to get the commentary it needs. Dammit, we deserve better. 

For that reason, after seven months of apathy, I do return, and I'll crack a beer to the mission of authentic, impassioned writing for the like-minded reader. 

All right, with that all in mind, I'm off to get some wings. Be back shortly, ideally prior to another seven months.









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