Weekly Grab Bag Becomes a Thing, Bellows a Mighty Victory Screech

Firstest and Foremostest:

Like most other faux-important persons/liars in this world, I'm very busy during the week. Thus, "Weekly Grab Bag" is my concerted effort to put out at least one piece per week, every Sunday if this all goes according to plan (it won't).

TITLE BREAKDOWN: 'Weekly' derives from the Old English 'wice' [which is generally associated with a change or alteration of some antiquated time measurement, like lunar cycles] and the Old English suffix 'lic' [meaning "having qualities of]. 'Grab Bag' means grab bag. A hypothetical bag whence we might grab topics of discussion. Not sure why I have to explain this to you, you're an Internet-using adult, go figure it out.

WHAT'S THE POINT, VENTURA?

Pictured: me blogging, Internet-style.

Only this: I won't be able to cover things in-depth and with what some would consider "proper vocational training" like the pros at, say, mgoblog or Maize n Brew - both of whom provide excellent analysis, information, and reporting, as well as some stylistic influence for yours truly.
So, I'll do things like cover the general goings-on from the past week, or do a thinkpiece (read: stinkpiece) about some issue, or rant about a sports thing/stuff that concerns or entertains me, or something completely non-sports related because sports seriously aren't everything, you guys, or, y'know, anything encompassed by that all-encompassing Grab Bag phrase.

And away...we......GO

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Dr. Sportslove, Or How I Learned to Stop Being a Trixie Blarston on the Internet and Love Myself

Foreword:

A little about myself: I am 22 years old, soon to be 23. From roughly 6th grade to about halfway through 9th grade, I generally kept my hair in a style commonly known as 'afro.' It was glorious and hellacious and questionable and tasteful all at once, perfectly befitting the typhoon of prepubescent chagrin known as Middle School. I have been using the internet consistently since roughly the age of 9, which is a bizarre thing to consider. I'm good at reading, writing, and mowing lawns, and I'm as a rule bad at almost* all sports.

For this hindmost reason, I enjoy watching others be good at sports: football, basketball, World's Strongest Man, wrestling (AKA competitive Horsin' Around), Miss America, competitive eating (isn't all eating competitive, at a primal level?), and, of course, Rollerblading. You're lying and simultaneously spitting on your dead ancestors with gingivitis-y saliva if you don't miss rollerblading. I digress.

*-I say "almost" because my backhand in tennis will drive a 6.7cm diameter hole directly through your hopes and dreams, leaving you a crippled mass to question why you ever agreed to this tennis match, idiot

Prologue

My point, and the point of this particular piece, is this: there comes a separation between those performing an act of athletic/competitive prowess and those spectating said act. Once upon a pre-Internet dream, this separation was very pronounced and understood. "Those people can do a fantastic thing with their minds and bodies, and, though they might sometimes fail at it, I respect them for it nonetheless. Hey, let's go churn butter or whatever people used to do for fun," people used to say, probably.

Now, though, through Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, et al, the Keyboard Kings have risen, immediate offspring of the Couch Coaches of yore, first of their name. People increasingly feel it is their duty - nay, their Gawrd-given right - to cut down, chew up, and spit on Warriors of Sport(s). "Hey, that man didn't do the thing I wanted him to do! The universe is centered on my own will and happiness, and for this person to fail at an arbitrary recreational event is inexcusable on a level comparable to genocide. I will let him know directly, post-haste!" they say, as flecks of chicken wing launch from their wobbly visages, coating the computer screens and keyboards upon which their fat fingers attempt to type hastily written nuggets of unwarranted vitriol and contempt.

Don't get me wrong. Insofar as interaction with professional athletes is concerned, I wouldn't presume to tell grown adults that they shouldn't/can't interact with other grown adults on the beautifully haunting Internet fairy monster. I disagree wholly with the idea, but hey, whatever loafs your meat, pal. This, by the way, does not apply to sports administrators, against whom I am personally guilty of rallying:

.@DaveBrandonAD do less.
— MichiganFerGodSakes (@FergodsakesUofM) December 13, 2013

When the matter concerns high school and college athletes, however...well, friend, it appears that we have an issue. So, without further ado, I present to you

The FerGodSakes Fan Guide to Interacting with High School Recruits and College Athletes

Chapter 1

The less you do, the more you do.

Simple as that, you guys. I don't think I should have to explain why you shouldn't be mean online to a 17-year old kid who's trying to make monumental life decisions about both his academic and athletic future while simultaneously dealing with a cornucopia of possible issues - a social life, family turmoil, emotional instability, and everything else that is part of the basic package you get when you order 'Being a Teenager in America.'

After the jump, however, is Chapter 2

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