Mark Planamente
NormDeath of a Blogger...
September 20th 2009 21:29
It is a painful reminder of your own mortality when you wake up and realise you aren't the young man you once were. When you can no longer kick a Sherrin/Steeden/FIFA-approved -ball around with your children due to the lack of useable cartilage around your knee joints, testament to a lengthy amateur career and a cheap health care plan that doesn't include physio or alternative treatments.
Similarly, but more tenuously, the same feelings manifest themselves when you wake up one day and check your hotmail account, only to find an incredibly impersonal email stating your Orble blog has become dormant.
But like Vesuvius in AD 79, SportingMind has quashed rumours of dormancy. This post suggests a return to the good old days, when posts flew thick and fast and apathy was at an all time low.
I would love someone to take over the reigns at SportingMind - but it would have to be the right person. It could not just be anyone. Not some 16-year-old kid with lofty ambitions to be an AFL writer for the Herald Sun; not some clownish amateur who would undoubtedly pepper the interwebs with personal pronouns and vomit-inducing grammatical errors.
SportingMind is not quite ready to hand over the baton - yet. The time will come, sure, it always does. But I, like all great sportsmen on the cusp of retirement, "will know when the time comes".
They always do.
Similarly, but more tenuously, the same feelings manifest themselves when you wake up one day and check your hotmail account, only to find an incredibly impersonal email stating your Orble blog has become dormant.
But like Vesuvius in AD 79, SportingMind has quashed rumours of dormancy. This post suggests a return to the good old days, when posts flew thick and fast and apathy was at an all time low.
I would love someone to take over the reigns at SportingMind - but it would have to be the right person. It could not just be anyone. Not some 16-year-old kid with lofty ambitions to be an AFL writer for the Herald Sun; not some clownish amateur who would undoubtedly pepper the interwebs with personal pronouns and vomit-inducing grammatical errors.
SportingMind is not quite ready to hand over the baton - yet. The time will come, sure, it always does. But I, like all great sportsmen on the cusp of retirement, "will know when the time comes".
They always do.
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Comment by Mr Nice Guy
Pop Culturist
Pop Rock Factory
As much as we long to relive our halycon days - some of us never quite know when to call it quits - we just fade away gracefully to enjoy the gentlemanly pursuit and mateship of lawn bowls.
Comment by damian
Urban Telegraph
Sports and All
The Squirter McGee Diaries
Did you walk or were you pushed?
I may have to put my hand up to pick up the soap... i mean, the baton