DIDJA HEAR? Deadspin emo honcho Will Leitch left at the end of this past week (actually, I'm not so sure - he's sent more links to me this weekend than Daulerio has. YOU NEED TO LET GO, BUDDY!). A few of the roasts submitted got left on the cutting room floor for whatever reason and since these folks went to the effort to send-up his worship, I was coerced felt the need to post them before Will passes Tim Russert in the number of recent tributes. Anyway, here are the roasts from Dan Shanoff, 289, Matt Pitzer, Arkansas Fred and Greg Wyshynski.

DAN SHANOFF

11 Honest Things You Could Never Say To Will While He Was Deadspin

Editor, Because You Really Needed Those God Damn Link-Backs:

1. Rick Ankiel is a motherfucking cheater.

2. Um, I actually think it's pronounced "MUH-toon."

3. A journalism degree from Illinois? Feh.

4. Taaaaallllkkkkk sssslllloooowwwwerrr.

5. "Royal we?" Really? (No: REALLY?)

6. You know, those cigarettes will kill you.

7. Is it true Mattoon boys practice on Lender's bagels?

8. Stop hogging all the great freelance gigs. Asshole.

9. Oh, just admit it: You want to be on Around the Horn.

10. Eh: Your Daily Closer blog was better than this Deadspin thing.

11. We were rooting for Bissinger.

11. You are admirably talented and an even better person. All best.

MATT JOHNSON (289)

If it wasn't for Will and Deadspin I wouldn't be where I am today. Which I'll have you know is not my mom's basement. My parents let me work from the living room couch.

It's true, in a world with Deadspin I'd probably still have my old job and I would have never hooked up with Ufford (He's just as angry in bed as in his writing, but like a good Marine he turns into a big teddy bear when it comes time to cuddle.) during the birth of With Leather (abortion advocates commonly refer to this as "The Reason") and gotten an invitation to the inner circle of Blogfrica. It's just like Entourage only way more gay. That show ROCKS! You haven't lived until you've seen Big Daddy Drew and Orson Swindle get into a pizza fight, spreading sauce all over each other and then disappearing into the backroom for an hour-long "talk."

I had the pleasure of meeting Will at last year's Chicago Pants Party. I'm just glad Michael David Smith was present to keep the place from going into excitement overload. Throughout the day I couldn't get over how easy going and down to Earth Will was. Here's the editor of one of the biggest sports blogs out there and he's just one of the guys. Well except for when there's karaoke, then he's a fucking rock star. Fortunately he has a pretty good voice. I wish I could say the same about Sussman but that man, who did not touch a drop of alcohol, sounded like how Amy Winehouse looks.

So thank you Will. Without you I'm not doing what I'm doing right now. You let me put your face on t-shirt, the sole reason I was able to pay rent the first month after I lost my job. (Seriously, buy a t-shirt. I'd like to get a couch of my own someday.) You asked about using my artwork in your book and actually came through on the deal unlike some people I know. Being on page 289 was a great little touch.

Best of luck at your new job and make sure to give Deadspin its proper goodbye.

MATT PITZER

I haven't worked directly with Will or lived in close proximity to him for several years so a lot of our recent correspondence has been limited to him asking me to do free work for him or begging me to buy his books. (Which, as a sucker, I have.)

The last time I saw Will was this spring in St. Louis and Will had managed to get himself into a room at the Ritz-Carlton. Now, I've known Will for a few years. And as a testament to how far he has come in that time, let's just say that he has not always been a Ritz-Carlton person. In fact, Ritz-Carltons usually lock the doors when they see the likes of the Will I used to know approaching.

Heck, I think they change the sheets — and towels — at a place like that. Most rooms do not smell as bad as Will's apartments. And they generally are nice enough that you feel like you shouldn't grind your cigarette butts into the floor.

As I say, not a Leitch-type place at all.

But here he was, Mr. Book Tour/I Have a Successful Job guy. With a credit card. He was a long way from the guy who used to wear cat piss and was addicted to Dexatrim.

I take a lot of credit for his success. Without me, he would not have missed out on many nights of soul-searching, sorrow-wallowing alcohol consumption that formed the basis for so much of his work. He certainly would not have his dashing sense of style and ability to relate to the fairer sex. And I doubt that his tremendous work ethic and wittiness ever would have surfaced either. I'm still working on that sense of smell.

Good luck and welcome back to the dinosaur age of print media. You've made something out of nothing (literally!) for yourself and the sports world was momentarily richer for it. I will never read Deadspin again.

ARKANSAS FRED

Whether it’s a cringe inducing Woody Allen impression on a low budget cable game show or an introductory handshake that lasts about ten seconds too long, Will has a knack for making people uncomfortable. He’s blessed with a silver tongue, and a just a hint of an accent that tips you off he’s from a pretty backwards part of the country. When you first meet him, it feels as if you’ve been friends since childhood, and this thought will depress you to no end. To watch him conduct a book reading in front of rows and rows of empty chairs is like watching art; shitty art that talks too fast. It’s impossible to detail all of Will’s irritating qualities in just a paragraph, mostly because I’ve only met him once and spent the majority of our conversation wanting to punch him in the windpipe so he’d shut up. However, he showed all of us by landing a gig at one of the most prestigious magazine in the world for people who like comics that make no sense.

What?

New York Magazine?

Oh. Ew.

GREG WYSHYNSKI

Will has seen about as much of the NHL as Hurley from “Lost” has seen of his own cock. I was eager to meet the man in person when he came to DC for his book tour, as were the hundred or so other losers crammed into the second floor of a corporate bookstore, scaring the living shit out of lonely nerds as they sailed through hipster cool on their way to the Manga porn section.

But Leitch was late. Like, really late. I was standing in the back of the crowd looking at an empty podium when this floppy haired fucker in a suit jacket from the Sears’ rack rushed past me lisping something about being “sorry.” When it became apparent that this was the man behind the most popular sports blog on the Internet — a wretched hive of scum and villainy that could humble any public figure with its exceptional wit and sinister intellect — my first thought was, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. HIM?!” My second thought was about how someone could run Deadspin and still have time to be the guy who holds the flower in promotional photos for Jack White’s side project?

Of course, the night progressed and I found Will to be good people, an exceptional conversationalist (thanks booze!) and the most down-to-earth sports media titan to ever use the royal “we.” To say I owe Will my career would be an insult to my muse, Jay Mariotti; so I’ll simply say that he showed me which keg to tap, and reminded me to always write my name on the red plastic cup.

Ricky Gervais once said, “Fame and success without respect is nothing.” Much respect for all you’ve done, Will.

Except for that Costas thing. The last time I saw a prison rape that bloody on HBO, Vern Schillinger burned a swastika into Beecher’s ass.

We’ve given Leitch plenty of skewering here today. But, as you can tell, we kid because we love. Leitch, you have not only helped revolutionize the way sports are covered in this day and age, you also helped redefine what it means to be a sports fan. Three years ago, being a sports fan meant you had to be a know-it-all, armchair coaching dipshit. You’ve helped destroy all that self-seriousness. You’ve helped make sports fun again. I cannot think of a better legacy to leave. And to accomplish it all while being just about the nicest person around is a minor miracle. I think I speak for us all when I say, from the bottom of my heart: Thank you. Thank you very, very much.

So here’s to you, Will Leitch. May your new career bring you much newfound wealth and prosperity. We’ll miss you terribly after tomorrow, especially once Denton manages to ruin this site for good. Adios, good friend. Don’t be a stranger.

And now I ask that you all join me in raising your glass, whatever may be in it, and saying with me:

CHEERS, YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARD.

Daulerio: And, honestly, you all must come back tomorrow. Mr. Leitch also his share of surprise posts — ones that will bring his editorship at Deadspin to its logical, fitting conclusion...

Holy shit, are these guys gay. Apparently, this photo was taken just before the oil bath. Anyway, here’s a round of roast tributes to Leitch from everyone at KSK, a site that never would have existed without this one. I can think of no more damning indictment of Will Leitch. Let’s go.

MATT UFFORD

Hey, thanks for having me. Sorry I’m late. I had trouble finding someone to fill in for me at work. You have no idea how hard it is to find a ninth-grader to write different variations of the same three jokes on your blog. One who isn’t union, anyway.

I’d like to thank Drew for inviting me. What an honor. As the only alumnus of the prestigious Phillips Exeter Academy in the sports blogosphere, Drew is a tremendous disappointment to Phillips Exeter Academy. I can’t imagine his embarassment at class reunions. Why, all of Drew’s racism is merely of the published word! He doesn’t even have the employment status to refuse minorities’ job applications! How marvelously bohemian!

Oh, and good to see the Deadspin commenters could make it. I heard traffic from the inside of your rotting giraffe carcass was a real bitch. No, no – you guys are great. I can’t wait to read all three variations of the same joke later in this thread. Heck, I got my start as a Deadspin commenter, and I could never keep up with all of you now. As Will leaves, I see the humorous side of the site in your hands, and it makes me feel… What’s the opposite of shame? Less shame? Yeah, that’s it.

As for Will, I could never publicly malign someone who has offered me such support and friendship over the last couple years. Well, at least not on his own Website. However, I have agreed to read this message from some friends of mine. It reads as such:

Mr. Leitch, We applaud you on your restraint during the recent incident on HBO when Buzz Bissinger so cruelly disparaged you and your work. Your noble silence let the world know that you are dedicated to keeping your pride intact. Way to sit there and take it! Sincerely, Native Americans and German Jews

UNSILENT MAJORITY

[swills vodka]

Aw shit, that's good.

Hey everybody, it's great to be here! This is my first roast, and I gotta say I'm having a hell of a time. The open bar has bottle service, and the Belvedere is flowing like Big Brown's piss. Plus they've got me sitting next to Jeffrey Ross, and that asshole taught me something about good roast jokes. He's actually entertaining, unlike this midwestern corn shucking motherfucker over here. Will Leitch, the Mad Gasser of Mattoon, Illinois.

I like Will, because he's a nice guy and he's probably the biggest gentile I'll ever know. If But you know what? Fuck Jesus. And hell, fuck Illinois too. As far I can tell from its representatives in the blogosphere all it takes to get into that school is a 1200 on the SAT, a decent essay, and the haircut of a pederast. Oh, and speaking of Illinois, fuck Chief Illiniwek's rotting corpse. But most of all, fuck you Will, and you're genteel Mattoon upbringing. Home of the antithesis of Judaism itself, the world's worst bagel. I wouldn't fuck a fresh baked Lender's abomination with Nick Denton's dick.

So does this New York website need a weekend editor, or what?

security enters stage left]

Oh come on Nick, it was a fucking joke!

[/vodka]

MICHAEL “CHRISTMAS APE” TUNISON

[Offices of New York Magazine]

Editor-in-Chief Adam Moss: What do we have for the September issue? C'mon, let's hear it.

Culture Editor Jared Hohlt: Cover of the Jonas Brothers. Breakout headline: Are They The New Strokes?

Articles Editor Laura Kern: Secondary feature: The Strokes: The old Jonas Brothers?

Photography Director Jody Quon: Pictorial of gay Republicans!

Design Editor Chris Dixon: Pictorial of gay clergy members!

Senior Editor Jesse Oxfeld: Pictorial of gay clergy members married to gay Hillary supporters who plan on voting for McCain.

Moss: Any chance they could be Ron Paul supporters?

News Editor Carl Swanson: [Inhales sharply] Oooh, maybe.

All: Tendentious!

Hohlt: And, uhh...uhh... profile of random wealthy Manhattanite?

Moss: Okay. Not bad. Any way we can work in the war?

Swanson: No.

Oxfeld: No.

Hohlt: No.

Dixon: Yes.

No. I mean, no.

Moss: Don't know if I'm sold on that. Could use something else.

[Door flies open]

Will Leitch: Ya betta, that is to say, youcouldmaybeifyouweresoinclined ask - not in the invasive way we're put off by because really who needs to be that preemptory? - someone ... ask them something that sort of drives at what we feel is in the milieu and not what the cognoscenti thinks is the milieu and man do you guys like Kurt Cobain?

Moss: Everyone, this is Will, coming to us from the sports blog Deadspin. Some of you may be familiar with his reviews of The Office for the Vulture blog. He's joining the magazine as an at-large editor. Any ideas for the upcoming issue, Will.

Leitch: See, there's this Woody Allen movie coming out this summer - did we ever tell you we're really a movie guy? Sports, though we sure liked them a bunch, were never our on true burning passion. We're almost like Kornheiser in that way. He even said that in a podcast, but I don't expect you to listen to those. Who really has the time to listen to all these podcasts? Every once in a while someone e-mails us to tell us something Bill Simmons said in his and we wonder about these people.

[Meeting ends, editors file out]

Leitch: So, anyway, the movie - but I suppose in his case they always take on the lofty title of film but that's kind of silly isn't it? - is called Vicky Cristina Barcelona and the big fuss is that it has a threesome - tres outre, but no, really, we don't use Gallicisms in Mattoon - with Scarlett Johannsen, Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem. I was thinking, in one of those flights of whimsy to which I'm sometimes given, what if andthisisonlyanif, I could rewrite that scene, featuring Woody with, uh, get this: Rick Ankiel and the reanimated corpse of Kurt Cobain. I think it would speak to our, uh, my, uh, your place in the universe while humanizing the human condition. So whaddaya think?

Fellas?

MONDAY MORNING PUNTER

I'm glad to be here at the latest Blogfrica Circle Jerk. Seriously, if we spent any more time discussing ourselves, we'd get a cease-and-desist from Mark Cuban.

But seriously, I'm very happy to be part of the festivities today, and I'm sure Rick Chandler will be happy to roast Will two weeks from now.

I think Will's already had quite a career, but he'd be running the New York Times by now if he was Jewish.

Even without Deadspin, Will's quite an accomplished writer. Not only did he pen God Save The Fan, but he's also written Catch, Life As A Loser, and Come As You Are.There should be a lot of interest in his fourth novel, Having A Small Penis Is Okay.

Good to see Dan Shanoff here today, or as I like to call him, Michael David Smith on HGH.

Spencer Hall is with us today. I don't want to say that Spencer's a fag but he's about a wrist muscle away from being a Caucasian George Takei. I heard his favorite foods are Caesar salad and Cream of White Guy Soup.

Will once said that Tony Dungy wasn't very black, which was a little insensitive. But at least Will never used the N-word to describe Dungy. Besides, it's not like he could find a second source on that.

Ever notice how we've never seen Will's emo bangs and Daulerio's mustache at the same time?

Will really has been unlucky with love, but it's not like he has much to work with. If his dick was any smaller, the bacteria in his pants would be stealing its lunch money.

But yeah, he broke up with his fiancée right before that Win Ben Stein's Money. He had another serious relationship fall through a couple years ago. That's terrible, Will. You couldn't nail down a piece of pussy if you had Bob Vila's dick.

Just kidding, Will. Thanks for everything, and good luck at Metrosexual Weekly.

Great job, Will. Done Mattoon proud. Done Illinoise proud. Gonna head butt a coke machine for you.

BICEP CURLS!!!! (headbutts coke machine.)

Not often someone gets better and better like this. Makes mistakes, but that's correctable. Posts nude pics of Santonio Holmes. That's a five star blue-chip baby batter blunderbuss if I've ever seen it. Not appropriate, but it wins. Gotta win. Gotta compete. I see improvement all over the place. We should go waterskiing some day. Maybe make love on a boat like rich people do. We'll barefoot a little.

FLEXING FOR CAMERA IN MY BENTLEY GOLF CART!!! (Blows twenty point fourth quarter lead on the road.)

Gotta text some recruits. Gotta sleep three hours and then text some more recruits. Gotta slip into Juice Williams' bedroom at three in the morning, shoot him with a taser in his bed to teach him that being a college quarterback means being prepared for anything. Will, that's what I'm telling you: there's lessons everywhere, and a good way to find one is to taser the fucking shit out of someone when they least expect it.

Things are happening. We're winning games. You're joining a magazine I've never heard of. Both are things that happened. I like it when things happen. Means things are happening, which is better than when things aren't happening.

SHOVING FRESH HOT COFFEE GROUNDS IN RECTUM TO BE SOOOOOOOOO ENERGETIC!!! (Hang cleans an offensive line recruit.)

Likin' it, Will. Not gonna read the magazine because reading is for people with time and the gays and Matt Ufford. That ain't the Zooker. Back door, front door, whatever. It's like recruiting. I just want in as many times as I can get within the rules. I'll just give you this to remember me by:

POINTING AND LOOKING CONFIDENTLY SHIRTLESS AT WILL!!!! (Pisses entire cup of coffee, adds powdered creamer, drinks.)

Now go be the third rate Gay Talese we know you can be. Let Daulerio get Deadspin "better and better." That means "run it into the fucking ground." I see improvement already. Likin' it.

Signed,

X

(translation: Ron Zook)

We continue today's roasting festivities with this utterly brilliant video from the one and only JE SKEETS, who today was granted a rare work release from his Yahoo! prison.

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.

DAVID HIRSHEY

Will Leitch has had the pleasure of editing me for two years, which may be the longest relationship he's had in his life. I wish I could tell you it was a joy to edit him but he was the most high-maintenance, prima-donnish, whiny bitch I've ever come across in my long and glorious publishing career and that includes Shannon Doherty, Jenna Jameson, and Skip Bayless.

That whole aw-shucks-I'm-just-a-simple-country-girl-from-Mattoon pose is total bullshit. The guy wakes up (at about noon in his mother's basement) and thinks, "Whose life can I ruin today? Do I have any more pictures of Daulerio jerking off Matt Leinart that I took the night before? Can I crawl up Albert Pujols' ass any deeper?"

But by far the biggest dick move I've ever seen the guy make was backstage before Bob Costas' HBO show. You all saw what happened on the air but I'm here to tell you what went down (and on whom) before the cameras started rolling. There we were in the Green Room and Leitch walks up to Bissinger— he comes up to his waist , barely— and says "Oh Mr. Bissinger, sir, I'm such a fan. Is there anything I can do before the show to take the edge off?"

He then proceeded to mime the thing he was talking about with his mouth so skillfully that I can only assume it wasn't the first time he had done it. That day.

Needless to say, Bissinger looked at him quizzically and said "Son, you don't have to do that. You're a talented blogger and I'm about to go out there and tell the world you're your generation's W.C. Heinz."

Leitch snapped back at him. "Fuck you, Buzz. You want the blowjob or not? This is what I do every day for Ankiel and this is what I'm offering you. Take it or leave it. Now or never."

Knowing I was Leitch's editor, Bissinger turned to me and said " Your author has some issues." Just as I was about to respond, Leitch uppercuts Bissinger—in the balls—and the PA tells them that they're on in ten seconds.

I don't have to tell you what happened after that but let's just say you might have appeared a little testy on camera yourself if some closeted little blogger from Mattoon took a swing at your swingers.

Suffice it to say, this method of ingratiating himself to his elders must be how he got his new lame gigs at New York and Sporting News. If only he were better at this particular activity maybe he wouldn't have to slum it in the MSM. Either way, it sucks that he's leaving Deadspin.

WHITNEY PASTOREK

Dearest Will: Welcome to the other side, sellout.

xo

w

Aileen Gallagher
My long, personal nightmare is over.
After three years of enduring the massive ego trip called "Will Leitch, editor of Deadspin," I won't have to feign interest in this incomprehensible website, its sycophantic readers, or its misaligned (but blinding) sun, William Franklin Leitch.
No more will I be forced to attend commenter events that exist only as an opportunity for poor, deluded readers to learn the hard way about Will's social limitations. (Until Will's career reaches its likely conclusion, in which case I'll meet you by the merch table at SpinCon. I hear it's at the Valley Forge Convention Center next year. Right near A.J.!)
I relish Will's future, filled with editors who gleefully cut the 250 throat-clearing words he insists on inserting in every post. His prose will be fished from a sea of indecipherable italics. His interviews will focus more on the As, not line after line of Qs, lest we forget how smart he is.
Welcome, Will. You're in my house now.

BRIAN POWELL

WHERE THE FUCK WAS SI'S HOT CLICKS FROM 2006-2007?!?! It's gives you about 10x the hits from Deadspin, it's easier to read, commenters don't pick apart your posts (and call you a "fucktard") and you don't have to deal with post after tiresome post about the fucking Cardinals!

Thank you for all that you've done for me, my site and every single asshole that just wanted to share an opinion on Sports. It's not easy to be the figurehead and scapegoat for ever single thing that a group does and like I said after the "Bissinger Incident" (and still feel today).....I've never been prouder to call myself a "Sports Blogger". If they can't take a joke....fuck 'em. Godspeed and good luck my overly caffeinated friend.

EAMONN BRENNAN

Like so many other of you internet creepshows, I've never met Will, and I've only interacted with him via legendary burrito threads and soccer live blogs. I bet you think that makes him your friend. Well guess what: it does. Feels good, right?

Anyway, Deadspin-era Will will leave many legacies, but the most important of those is not the rise of the intelligent fan, or the slow legitimization of sports blogs. No, the one thing I'll take away is how Deadspin made me functionally retarded. Thanks to Deadspin's "sheesh"- and "gosh"-littered 100-word skittishness, I discovered sports blogs, and then other blogs, and then Google Reader, and then Netvibes, and then Twitter, and with all this quick information my attention span is so shredded I can't make it halfway through an episode of Robot Chicken. While high.

So thanks a lot, Will. You really fucked me over here.

GOURMET SPUD

It's tough roasting a guy when:

1) You've never roasted anyone before,

2) You've never met him in person, and

3) He could take away your audience in a heartbeat,

But that didn't stop Al Roker from roasting Matt Lauer, so let's give it a whirl.

You had to have been paying attention, but long-time readers of Deadspin may have heard Will mention once or twice, in passing, that he is from a town called Mattoon, Illinois.

Not that Mattoon isn't a great place to grow up, if a bit segregated. Recent census results list it as 97% white, which makes it only slightly less white than the Deadspin commentariat. Will's signature black t-shirt isn't just a minimalist fashion statement. It's a subconcious manifestation of guilt.

If Mattoon has any sense, they will one day build a statue honouring Will. He is, after all, their most famous son. And as an added benefit, it would be a nice change of pace to see him being shit on while not on the set of Costas Now.

I would be remiss not to mention the Buzz Bissinger incident. Even my mom has seen that video, and she thinks Deadspin is a Jewish high holiday. That was Will's most awkward exchange with a Pulitzer Prize winner since he angrily wrote Toni Morrision to tell her she ruined Rocky V.

In absolute seriousness, anyone who writes a sports blog owes Will a massive debt of gratitude. Not just for opening so many doors, but for his tireless efforts to bring credibility to the blogosphere. Though laudable, these efforts were hardly surprising, as Leitch has always been a bit of an activist. In 2001, he successfully lobbied to have the movie "Jeepers Creepers" given an "R" rating. Not for excessive violence, but because he found the title offensive.

In closing, thanks to Will for starting his own little revolution. A revolution of the pale, over-educated and sexless, but a revolution nonetheless. I'm speaking for myself when I say that the only reason my tiny little site has a tiny little readership is because of his (and KSK's) links, and I can never thank him enough for all the hours he has helped me kill at work. Best of luck at New York Magazine, Will, you will (pun intended) be missed.

Oh, and I wouldn't fuck Will Leitch with Robert Weintraub's dick.

BETHLEHEM SHOALS

We all know Will is as amicable and polite as they come. But how can someone be this nice? What's really going on here? Last time I saw Will in person, he was rocking the Obama tee, and anyone with the Internet knows that Barry is the Anti-Christ. . . is it possible that Will's whole m.o. is, in fact, totally sinister, a way of lulling us all into calm and submission before he seizes the five states of Zordar and brings about the Apocalypse? Would that make him Obama's running mate? '

Like for instance, one time, Will was in my home city of Seattle on some official Deadspin business. I couldn't make it to said official business, but I suggested we meet up for a drink that night. It turned out that my friend was having a birthday party at a totally really exotic non-Western karaoke spot that night–half the choices were 15-minute long Vietnamese medleys, and there was some well-connected older guys in suits who just sat in the balcony ordering food on a never-ending tab and smoking cigars all night (Leitch's real interest in showing up?). So anyway, Will was out with two of his oldest friends in the world, and yet refused to definitely say to me "no, I can't make it to your friend's stupid party."

The mere possibility of his appearance got around, and worked several male attendants into a frenzy, and they hung on every drunken update I got. Finally, communications broke down, and the party was never the same after that. Now, I'd always seen that as pure charity on Leitch's part. But looking back, how manipulative was that? He got a bunch of strangers on the edge of their booths, thinking they were this close. Then he let them down graciously, breaking their hearts while only strengthening his hold on them. I mean, is that Machiavellian or what? That's how you build an empire of the mind without lifting a finger. This is where interactive branding meets fascism.

So who is Will Leitch? Angel? Devil? Ingenue? The Phil Jackson of web publishing? If we truly knew, if the answer were simple, he wouldn't be where he is today. Congratulations, friend, foe, brother, and supernatural force.

DAN STEINBERG

Since most of my first-person stories of non-electronic interactions with Will involve him talking very passionately and very quickly and me not understanding anything he's saying, I guess I'll just say that one of my blogging dreams is that Will would one day be asked to create a brief yet critical review for Gizmodo, and would submit the following:

We wee on Wii, oui?

Wouldn't sound too terribly different from many Deadspin posts, near as I can tell.

/Waiting to see how many other of your contributors focus their remarks on the first-person plural.

/Yeah, seriously, that's all I've got.

DJ GALLO

I am probably not alone on this, but I always felt that you were writing specifically about ME and to ME. It must be because you are a great writer. Or, perhaps it was due to your gratuitous use of "we."

HENRY ABBOTT

Will Leitch is way too polite a guy to really roast.

I mean, I'm 33, and we both live in the New York area. Yet he calls me "sir!" Unless you're Buzz Bissinger, how can you possibly yell at a guy like that?

Plus, I couldn't possibly roast a guy who, after that January NPR interview with Scott Simon, comes already self-roasted. Listen at about the 3:40 mark. He was ambushed — and I don't buy for a second that he's racist — but if you diagram the sentence of Will's response, I think you'll find about fourteen digressions and thirteen ums, followed by the sound of a soul melting.

Stay tuned. More roasters on the way. All day long, we encourage you to add your own Leitch jokes and tributes in the comments.

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)

(pours scotch)

(lights Philly blunt)

(taps mike)

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.

Much better.

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!)

Alexa Stevenson:

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.