How The Deadspin Editorship Ruins Your Personal Life, But Saves Your Team

It wasn't long after Brad Lidge struck out Eric Hinske with a dirtball slider on Wednesday night that the posts started popping up about the eerie connection between being Deadspin's lead editor and the World Series champion. Fans of the Texas Rangers, Chicago Cubs, Kansas City Royals, lobbied for one of their own to be the next editor of Deadspin so another city's championship drought could mercifully end. Believe me — the connection between this job and the Phillies winning the World Series has not gone unnoticed. In fact, the groundwork for the Phillies championship was laid back in July when I, like former editor/floppy-haired hero, Will Leitch, did in 2006, had pending nuptials fall apart. That happened soon after I took over the top spot here. The job transition was tough enough, but manageable. The other thing...well, that's as awkward, disorienting and life-altering as everyone who's been through that unfortunate circumstance says it is. "The Curse of Deadspin", I called it. Leitch, who was supposed to be a groomsman, offered consolation this way : "Well, now the Phillies will win the World Series."So that happened. After a month of being consumed with this team's every move and the rest of life being postponed until the Phillies ended their magical run, it's over. The parade has ended, most of the cars on Broad Street are back upright, and it's no longer okay to wear red to the office every day. Victorino is hawking ugly World Championship T-shirts on QVC and "We Are The Champions" is no longer fun to sing over and over again in a crowded bar. It's a return to terrible normalcy. But it happened. I'm thankful that I got to see every home World Series game in person, then take Septa back to my half-empty Walnut street apartment to watch the roiling lunacy build throughout the weekend to its inevitable riotous end. I'm glad I got that Game 5 Part II strike out-drama, standing there with my Dad in the upper deck terrace, watching him go through the set of emotions that all fathers do when a moment like that happens right before their eyes. I'm thankful for all the congratulatory text messages and emails, the lack of sleep, replete with the requisite early morning man-tackling sessions with some of the new friends I've made in Philadelphia since I returned home. I'm thankful that I ran into an old Little League pal, Danny Wasser, in the deli parking lot on Broad and Lombard the morning of the parade and hung out with him and his buddies the whole entire day. (Thanks for the Coors Light. Oh, and tell your brother Ed I'll try to work a "Roadhouse" reference into this post somehow. How's this? ) Thanks to Dan Levy for beating "Why Can't Us?" into the ground and for all of the other Philly sports sites for doing a great job chronicling this craziness. And thanks to Rick and Dash for picking up my slack for the past month, during my admittedly delirious, hungover state for a good portion of this post-season. You've done God's work, gentlemen. And thanks to you, faithful readers, for having to suffer through my unabashed homerism through all of this. Especially Mets fans. That must have sucked. I'm well aware that this victory won't alter the national perception of this city's sports fans. If anything it solidified some of its reputation as a place filled with boorish and deplorable human beings. But that's okay, though, because for once, there's something to smile about for the rest of our lives. Or at least until the Eagles get knocked out of the playoffs again. Philadelphians, say it out loud, just one more time. Now, let's get back to work...