Today, you know Whicker as the author of the "2 girls 1 cup" of sports columns. Back then, as now, he was writing for The Orange County Register, and back then, as now, he was using sports to convey a sense of the long and traumatizing captivity of a newly liberated hostage:

How long was it? When Anderson was captured, Wally Joyner was in Triple-A. Michael Jordan was finishing his rookie year. Ted Tollner and USC were Rose Bowl champs. Doug Flutie was the reigning Heisman Trophy winner. Jennifer Capriati was 9. And Cal State Fullerton was coming off an 11-1 football season.

Wow! That long?

On the other hand, Jack Morris had pitched his team to the most recent World Series victory, and the Clippers were missing the playoffs. So it was only yesterday.

Congratulations, Terry. You've left the subterranean Lebanese dungeon!

The column comes to us via Whicker's interview with Poynter's Mallary Jean Tenore. She writes:

Whicker said he didn't get any feedback on the Anderson column, which was published long before the paper started posting stories online. (He e-mailed the passage to me.) He doubts this week's column would have gotten as much attention were it not for the "speed and the enormity of the Internet."

"I'm a little saddened by the tone of some of the responses because I think it says a lot about what's out there in computer-land," Whicker said. "I've had some e-mailers say, 'Why don't you write about 9/11 while you're at it?' Another person said, 'Why don't you write about the Holocaust next?' I think that's a really obscene thing to say."

Whicker added, "I don't think I'll be writing about kidnapping victims anytime soon." Aww, no more sports-and-captivity columns? Now that's deprivation.

Whicker on Jaycee Dugard column: 'I Wasn't Insensitive' about Kidnapping [Poynter]

So I'm thinking about how to end this column, all of the possibilities and subject areas that could be covered and how to make these last few weeks memorable: Should I steal Stuart Scott's eyeball? Should I break into Robert Weintraub's house and leave a knife on his bed? Should I borrow a red swimsuit and giant sunglasses to pose on a rooftop in Manhattan with the editor of n +1? No, I don't need the self-indulgent histrionics — nor the yeast infection. But, to commemorate this historic passing, there should some sort of tribute.

Well, here's something: Starting today, each week, I'll share some of my favorite emails I've received in response to some of my work on Deadspin.

Our first entry:

SUBJECT: Are you kidding me?
From:
If anyone looks gay it's you. That picture of you looks extremely feminine! Pedro has been my best friend for over thirty years. He is happily married with three great kids. In over 22 years of reporting he has won numerous awards and is one of the most respected reporters among the players. I guess any idiot can write a column these days on the internet!

Armando Hernandez

From: AJ Daulerio
Pedro who? What are you talking about?

From: miamiarh@xxx.net
Pedro Gomez, ESPN

What else to expect over the next five weeks? I don't know. Most of the time there needs to be something relevant or newsy in the world of sports for these things to actually work. However, these are unique, evolutionary times, and apparently some writers need to pump up the page view count to continue to work here or else they're marched up to a sacrificial altar, painted blue and shown their still-beating hearts before their inevitable beheading.

But, I assure you, that is not the reason for this column ending. Deadspin, HQ Gawker managers and floppy-haired hero Will Leitch have always treated me extremely well. I highly doubt there will ever be another employer who would let me expense illegal drugs during Super Bowl week, especially since my accounts were frozen by the IRS due to unpaid 2005 taxes. (Long story.)

But I refuse to be nicknamed "Almost." So, over the next few weeks I will do my best to ensure maximum visibility for this here page. Or not. Shall we play a game?

So this week, I'm breaking out the scat mat, washing off my gag-finge, and placing odds on the first sports-related person to be featured in a 2girls1cup-style video. (Not safe for work unless you work at an S&M dungeon or a poop factory. But 99 percent of you probably know that already.)

Fuck it all and fuckin' no regrets

Deanna Favre: EVEN

There's always been something sexy about her. Maybe it's the eyes. Maybe it's the half-smile. Maybe it's the half-tit. But Deanna looks like she has a secret life that doesn't involve following her husband around everywhere he goes to make sure he stays off the pills and shoo away the pesky ghost of his dead father. No, in certain chat rooms she's known as "Queen Feces," "Big D the Runny Doodie Lover," and "Senorita Plop Plop." Now, we know the reason why she never fully smiles is not because she's always sad, or remarkably tough — it's because she's got shit in her teeth.

Anna Rawson: 1/4

This long-legged Aussie sensation has decided to hang up her high heels and hit the links professionally, but she'll never be able to shake that whole "yeah, I'm much too good looking to play this dikey game" kind of air about her. Unless, of course, she's not a flawless nightingale who just happens to blessed with a perfect swing. No, no, no...this little angel is also a highly trained "evacuation specialist." You give her one cup of coffee, some raisin bread and she can explode on command. Imagine dropping a brick on a pastry bag full of chocolate pudding. That's Rawson's sphincter.

Amanda Cichinni: 1/5

This West Virginia soccer player became internet spank goddess based on sheer rumpty-ness alone. Her face is kind of mousey and she dresses like Heather Graham's character in "License to Drive," but for the love of Kige, she's got a chassis. But look at this girl's photo spread? You're telling me she never ate a turd kebab?

Jayson Stark: 2/1

The rumor circulating about Stark for a long time was that he and a few other longtime baseball writers would kick off the winter meetings in style. They'd drive up to Stark's cabin in the Poconos with a gallon of Phillies Graham Slam ice cream and pair of plastic wrap underwear. Each would sit around a card table wearing only the undies, eating big scoops of ice cream sprinkled with laxatives. The first one to blow through their skiv's has to drink the leftover mess as everyone else chants "Hot stove! Hot stove! Hot stove!" It's fun for the whole family.