Balls Deep by Drew Magary will not be appearing this week. In its place, we bring you this very special presentation.
(puts on Friar's Club jacket)
(lights Philly blunt)
Oh, hello. And welcome, one and all, to the All-Star Blogebrity Roast Of William F. Leitch. We're here today to pay tribute to Will Leitch: editor of this fair site. Daulerio and I love Leitch so much, we've decided to have Gawker disable his login account for the next few hours, so he can't get in. (Don't bother trying to fight it, Will. Nibbles The Fearsome employs a nearly unbreakable e-ballgag.)
While Leitch hyperventilates into a paper bag for the rest of the afternoon, AJ and I, Drew Magary, will be your Roastmasters, bringing you tributes from various luminaries in the sports blogoverse: bloggers, reporters, some choice Deadspin commenters, surprise guests, etc. We've got nearly as many roasters here today as Leitch has ex-fiancees.
Many of today's roasters were hesitant to rip on Will after all he's done for them. "He's too polite to roast!" they said. And this is true. Will is so polite, he apologizes to himself while masturbating. But after pointing out many of Leitch's deficient qualities, and after threatening them with a tire iron, most of them relented. Except for Jamie Mottram. He's a pussy.
So kick back, settle in, and prepare for a long day of heartfelt tributes and Leitch-centered dick jokery. We're wallowing in Deadspin self-reverence today and we don't give a flying fuck. But first, of course, let's all have a cocktail.
As you know, Will's leaving us after tomorrow to become a contributing editor at New York magazine, at last realizing his childhood dream of complete and utter marginalization. I know I'm gonna miss him. I'll miss his good-natured Midwestern demeanor. I'll miss his incredibly poor syntax. I'll miss his crippling stutter. I'll miss his fondness for Woody Allen films, Barbaro message board pranksters, and anyone else who tells the same fucking joke over and over again. I'll miss his transparent desire to have Rick Ankiel tear apart his asshole with a fungo bat.
I'll also miss his profoundly shoddy journalistic technique. How'd that Grimsley affadavit turn out, Leitch? I haven't seen reporting that shitty since Tunison worked at the Post.
I'll miss his Cardinals homerism. No, no wait. No, I won't miss that at all. Jesus fucking Christ, no one cares about that team or its retard fans. Oh, look! They clap for the opposing team! What a bunch of fucking yokels. Enjoy swimming laps in your basement, you Missouri rednecks.
Most of all, I'll miss the chance to make fun of Will for videos such as this one.
JESUS CHRIST! How many sofas from Jennifer Convertibles had to die to make that jacket? You look like a fucking Hefty bag. You're uglier than a Weintraub essay. You're fatter than Chandler's ankles. I wouldn't fuck you with Nick Denton's vagina. KSK reader futuremrsankiel said you look like a British au pair.
I can't even begin to understand the hair. You look like John Lennon's bloated corpse. I didn't even know you could grow bangs on the side of your fucking head. You must think the Bang Bus is some sort of mobile cosmotology unit. If Albom's got something fucked up with his ears, yours must look like Marge Schott's two vaginas. I haven't seen a conversation that awkward since Sussman's last IM chat with a girl.
Amazing how far you've come since this interview, Leitch. You lost weight, cut your hair, went on a book tour, and presumably lost your virginity to a hooker in the East Village. You've come a long way. You still have MILES to go. But still. Let's bring out our first roaster to pay tribute to you: Will's girlfriend, the lovely Alexa Stevenson.
(NOTE: Some of these tributes are lengthy. If you're the kind of commenter who likes to bitch about the length of posts, kindly go die in a boating accident. Or go read a fucking blank wall. No pesky words there for you, shithead!)
Will loves writing for Deadspin so much; it's really going to be hard for him to give it up. Especially because it gives him the luxury of avoiding his least favorite thing: people. Working from home as a blogger has given Will the ability to avoid every possible human interaction. When he runs out of his beloved Nestle low fat chocolate milk he could go to the store, but he just logs on to Fresh Direct and they bring it on over for him. Better yet, they leave it outside, so he can crawl out of the apartment after the deliveryman has left. Honestly, I think it's fine if he isn't a fan of interaction, but I do think it's time we elevated our relationship to a step beyond instant messenger. But you know, he loved Paris! Our hotel room reminded me so much of his own room and there was free WiFi!
I'd also like to mention — do what you want with it — how Will prepared for the Costas show: he ate nothing but raisins for an entire week. I've attached a photo. I think this did him well, yes?
Stay tuned. More roasters on the way, including some VERY special guests. All day long, we encourage you to add your own Leitch jokes and tributes in the comments.