We're roasting our former editor A.J. Daulerio, who has moved across the room to edit Gawker, a gay-interest website for heterosexual women. If you have an A.J. story to share, or if you would like to participate in some other way, please email firstname.lastname@example.org. Lightly sourced slander is welcome. Our guest now is Scott Van Pelt, SportsCenter anchor and radio host.
The first time I can recall A.J. Daulerio put my name in his mouf was a clever little post in which he labeled me one of the odds-on favorites at ESPN to be a "power bottom."
Or was it an "aggressive top"?
Who can remember? (Though that seems an important distinction—it would change the dynamic entirely, one would have to imagine.)
Wait, a Google search reveals I was not ONE of the favorites; I was THE favorite.
I knew of A.J. before as the sleuth on the loose at the Super Bowl in Miami. I had sent Will Leitch an email informing him of my concern that the little weasel with the mustache would meet his end if he continued with that tack. Daulerio naturally used those emails in a later post on Deadspin. Hey, if I know anything, it's that sometimes private messages you leave for a person wind up on Deadspin. What are you gonna do, right?
Back to the post that had me 1-1 as the World Wide Leader's Jeff Stryker—that was 2006. I am not certain when or how or why we arrived where we are now, but we did. I'm not suggesting we're the best of friends or that any type of détente took place. None of that was necessary. I have always understood what the cost of doing business in our business is. But over time, as was the case with other blogs (sorry, A.J.—"websites"; he's so touchy about the "b" word), I think we came to understand that there was far more that made us similar than made us different. I always kinda liked Philly guys anyway. Yeah, they could be brash and rough around the edges but they were also real and, more often than not, straight up. That's what I have always found him to be. At least with me.
So with a mutual appreciation and, I think, some common ground and respect, we finally met up last year in NYC over a long overdue beer.
Or eight beers.
And multiple venues.
Stories were told, career advice given (more him to me than vice versa), some choice tunes played on the jukebox thanks to some foreign tourists, as I recall, and it got late early.
One of us puked. One of us hosted a big time media shindig in the a.m.
Could have been the same guy who did both? Who can remember?
Even if I could, I'd never tell.
Deadspin isn't the only outfit with a Gold Club, and membership always has its privileges.