A Love Letter To The DeadspinnersS

We say this in all seriousness, and mean it about as much as we could possibly mean anything: The main goal of this site was to give people something entertaining to distract themselves from their desk jobs. We feel like we somewhat succeeded in this role; it's terrifying to contemplate how many lawyers' billable hours have been spent roaming around the comments. Until we started Deadspin, our entire lives were spent trapped behind a desk, writing stories like this. We were desperate for distraction too.

But of all the joyous byproducts of this site, our favorite might have been the community that developed. Commenters take a lot of hits from the Bissingers of the world, but that's the fault of those that do not understand, not of those who actually take part. Heading out to the Deadspin Pants Parties, and all the book tour events were ridiculously fun, every time. Not because we were meeting "fans," or going around saying, "OK, so are YOU Disgruntled Goat?" But because everyone was just like us; fans — male and female, short and tall, white and black, Cubs fans and normal people — who were nice people, eager to meeting new friends, open-hearted and ecstatic to see like-minded people, open, smart, intellectually curious. Oh, and willing to drink. A lot.

We've made friends through Deadspin, people we would have never met otherwise. And we're not the only ones; we've even seen the blossoming of a few Deadspin Relationships, which is kind of crazy but still pretty awesome. Of all the Deadspin-inspired or created events we've attended, we've yet to meet a single unlikable person. That's quite a ratio.

When the comments section opened a few months after the site began, we were nervous. We were afraid we'd put together a subtle, delicate post, and the first response would be, "Fuck the Yankees! Cock!" That's not what happened at all. We watched, in awe, as an ever-expanding group of hilarious people tried to top each other — we have never written anything as funny as any number of particularly well-constructed comedy pyramids — and, then, through DUAN (which was invented during the 2006 World Series) and regular daily discussions, became actual associates and chums. It was glorious to watch, and we were honored to see it happen. Not only are there Deadspin Facebook groups, there are even secret ones, for only the most devoted commenters, that require invites. It's not difficult to join the circle, but you have to mean it. And then: Come on in. The water's great. We've seen people going through hard times who have come here to talk them through, we've seen people in need of advice, and, yes, we've even found out the best place to get a damned good burrito. But most of all: We've laughed. That was always the point.

We would have never imagined that would happen, and we wonder if it will be the lasting legacy of Deadspin, long after the new editor(s?) take over, long into the future. The comments section, contrary to what the Bissingers and Costas(es?) try to tell you, is warm, welcoming, quick and freakishly funny. And yeah: Sometimes it does feel like a little bit of a family. And we suspect it always will. At least we hope so.

We will miss it. Tremendously. So please, those planning the next Pants Parties, please remember to invite the guy who used to edit the site. We hope you'll still have us.

And thank you.