Below the Mendoza Line

I looked at my calendar and saw "Rick Astleys vs. Iron Knob Explosions" and for a fleeting, beautiful second, I thought I was having a stroke. But no. It's just the WLB — a league that exists entirely inside a server rack, probably next to a discarded 2004 Dell Inspiron.

My editors called me on a Tuesday. I was doing something productive — re-ranking every Larry Bird regular season game from 1984 — and they said, "We need a follow-up on the WLB piece." I threw up in my mouth a little. Not metaphorically.

I had a plan. The plan was to watch actual basketball, write about actual basketball, and never again type the words "Iron Knob" in a professional context. The plan was good. The plan was just. The plan lasted eleven days.

I want to be clear about something before we begin: I did not choose this. Nobody called me and asked if I wanted to spend a Tuesday morning writing about a fake baseball league run on a server that was probably manufact...

I need everyone to stop what you're doing.Put down whatever you're eating. Close whatever tab you have open. I don't care if you're in the middle of a Zoom call, a funeral, or a colonoscopy. You need to hear what is happ...

There's a scene at the end of "The Godfather Part III" — the one nobody likes, which is how I feel about this column — where Michael Corleone slumps in a chair and whispers, "Just when I thought I was out, they pull ...

There's a moment in Goodfellas where Henry Hill admits he has to wait on line at the deli. He has to live the rest of his life like a schnook. He has to eat egg noodles and ketchup. That's me. That's where this column ha...

I had three weeks. Three.Three weeks where my editor didn't call. Three weeks where I didn't have to type the words "Knockemstiff" or "Huanca" or "Fugging" into a professional publication that pays me actual American dol...