Bill Simmons:

Young Will,

Here's when I knew you had the sports blogosphere by the balls: When you gave a soccer column to an editor at Harper Collins, then that same editor signed you to a book deal ... and nobody made a big deal about it or brought up the blatant conflict of interest. That was amazing.

But it wasn't the only memorable thing about your Deadspin reign. You saved A.J. Daulerio from a career in amateur porn. You made Dan Shanoff, a heterosexual male with a wife and kids, actually go gay for you in print. You directed 500 of your minions over to ESPN.com's brand-new Conversation boards so they could make jokes about Harold Reynolds banging my wife. (Note: I didn't think this was funny at the time ... now, I have to admit, it was kind of funny.) You were described by Buzz Bissinger as "Jimmy Olsen on Percocets," an analogy that gets more amusing every day. You even turned Chris Berman into the Casanova of the 21st century.

And then there's this: Every time I got an e-mail from you for three straight years, I thought to myself, "Holy shit, I hope I didn't do something stupid" or "Holy shit, I am fucked." Then I'd read the e-mail and it was always something harmless like, "Sir, just a heads up, we're posting a photo-shopped picture of you deep-throating Tom Brady." So you should be proud. You put the fear of God in me on a daily basis. You also used the word "we" all the time in your posts, only you were always talking about yourself. What literary device was this? The fourth person? The fifth person? We always wondered why you did that. And by we, I mean me.

Only one thing truly bugged me about the Leitch Era on Deadspin: Any time you did a post about me, you always managed to pick the worst possible photo and enlarge it as big as you possibly could. For years and years, I wondered why you kept doing this to someone you allegedly liked. Were you jealous of my handsome looks and winsome demeanor? Was it your subtle way of bringing me down a notch? There had to be a reason. Searching for answers recently, I went on Google Images and found the following pictures of you. And then it all made sense.

Picture No. 1: This looks like June '93 cover of Molested Altar Boy Monthly.

Picture No. 2: "Wow, you caught me right as I was typing! I wasn't expecting you to snap this picture at all!"

Picture No. 3: What the fuck is happening here? It's like the cover of a bad Ryan Adams CD or something. I just picture the Harper Collins PR team showing David Hirshey this photo and him saying, "Oh, yes, it's brilliant, it's just brilliant!" right before sipping from a drink with a tiny umbrella in it.

Picture No. 4: I gotta be honest... I can't begin to figure out what's happening here. Does your digital camera not have a "delete" button on it?

Picture No. 5: Can't make fun of this one when it's been such useful porn for Shanoff.

Picture No. 6: If a picture can say a thousand words, then this one says eighteen: "I'm out of jail, I didn't mean to kill her, and I hope we can all move on."

Picture No. 7: Whoops, that's a picture of the girl who played Jo in "Facts Of Life." My bad.

Picture No. 8: Never has one photo summed up the title of a book better.

Picture No. 9 This photo ranks up there with the wacky Gooden/Strawberry/Tyson photo and every other weird photo of people who don't quite belong together. I'm trying to seem happy and might be drunk; you look like you're hoping the picture gets taken as quickly as possible before you're arrested. Actually, you look like that in every photo.

Anyway, I finally understand why you posted so many unflattering pictures of me ... you were trying to divert everyone's attention from your bizarre body of work on Google Images! I'm onto you, Leitch! Once you get acclimated at New York Magazine, I hope they teach you how to pose for pictures like you're not posing for a celebrity mug shot, a hostage photo or a soft rock album cover.

Best of luck with your new gig, God speed and may you as always refer to me as "sir."

One of the most flattering compliments I've received in these, the blog days of my youth, has been from William F. Leitch regarding my live blogs, notably the Super Bowl XLII one. It's made me want to do more, but unfortunately all there is to lively blog these days is baseball, which can get rather redundant. To boot, he's leaving us for greener pastures, particularly one with ink and barcodes and inserts that if you just drop in the mailbox without filling it out the pasture still has to pay for the postage.

With an incumbent yet to be named to the site, I figured the best tribute to our outcumbent editor would be to (1) coin the word "outcumbent," and (2) live blog a typical Will Leitch day as he runs this here dread pirate ship of sports journalogging. Sure, my live blogs are meant for entertainment. But this one serves a bigger purpose. Hopefully once I whoever becomes lead editor will use this live blog as a rubric for future sports blogging success.

It wasn't difficult to figure out how to spy on the guy without him knowing, given that I snuck a hidden camera into his apartment over a year ago. So let's get right down to it:

6:55 a.m. — The radio alarm clock goes off. It's playing "I Got You Babe."

6:58 a.m. — He looks at the calendar. Every fourth day is circled in black and says "SHOWER." Today is one of those days.

7:04 a.m. — Well, he's finally showering, but... well, he's pumping something rather furiously. Can't quite make it out through the ESPN-logo shower curtain, but I'm guess he's using that face soap with the hand pump and the soap got all crusty and it's hard to get out.

7:39 a.m. — He's just kind of, well, looking at his computer, occasionally laughing.

8:04 a.m. — Still on his computer.

8:59 a.m. — Still on his computer.

9:38 a.m. — Still ... yep.

10:02 a.m. — All right, he stopped to take a piss. Funny, I didn't see him drink that much coffee, so I don't underst... oh, looks like he's trying to get more face soap! Wow, this time it's taking even longer to apply the soap to his hands!

10:03 a.m. — Damn, that boy really vocal about enjoying his soap. Must be that kind with the crushed up rocks in it.

10:07 a.m. — He's back to work. What a lucky guy. Being able to work from home, write about sports, and .. what looks to be DVRed episodes of America's Next Top Model.

11:19 a.m. — All right, this was unexpected. For the last 15 minutes he's been standing in front of a full-length mirror, completely nude and holding a whip, saying "Oui" to himself. Occasionally he'll say "Aye," then flog himself in the back. Could it be he's trying to condition himself to use French affirmations and deter from British retorts?

12:21 p.m. — And now it's lunchtime. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Good call! But, hmm .. there don't appear to be any onions in the soup. Then why's he crying?

1:13 p.m. — And he's back at it. You know, it would have been a little more entertaining had he positioned his computer screen to face toward the camera. Because now, I'm just wondering if he's just slacking off. How would one slack off at that job? Operate accounting software, and in case Denton drops by, he hits the Boss Button and a Cardinals blog screenshot pops up?

2:37 p.m. — Wow, he keeps hand soap under his desk, too? This guy needs to not only cut back on the stuff, but find a better brand with a more efficient dispenser.

4:19 p.m. — Alright, it's been three hours straight. The guy doesn't quit! I think it's been two hours straight he's sat there — occasionally laughing, sometimes sobbing uncontrollably, but always pecking away — and that's a testament to what he's done the three years of work he's done on the site. Which brings us to another:

Fun Fallible Fact about: WILL LEITCH'S AMPHETAMINE STASH!: If you lined up all the pills end to end, you could create a straight line from his coffee table to the thermostat!

5:00 p.m. — An egg timer just sounded. Looks like Will was mid-sentence when he leapt out of the chair, vaulted over the couch, sat down, and started watching Around The Horn.

5:29 p.m. — As soon as the show ended, his cell phone went off. (This was the first time it rang all day, by the way.) He's talking with his bookie. It looks like he just lost $600 because he bet on Tim Cowlishaw.

6:11 p.m. — And he's done. Laptop's off. I really don't know how the fellow does it day in and day out. He answers damn never every e-mail you send him, he's always polite (even if sometimes it's not warranted) and he's spawned a healthy, almost too healthy to the point where we might call it tumorous, community of sports fans. He's inspired dozens of lawyers and tech support representatives to moonlight as sports bloggers, and few others can say that.

But most of all, I sincerely have to thank you, Will, for founding this website and giving me the opportunity to sillily peck away at the keyboard once or twice a month and write about sports on the weekends (for money!), because without that I'd probably just be sitting in my apartment, fervently practicing my yet-to-be-published sockpuppet opera, I Only Have Googly Eyes For You. Never before have I had more fun writing. It will always be comforting to know that, up until this live blog, I could have gotten a glowing letter of recommendation from you for future career opportunities.