Written by Ian Gillen
Well, here they are, my final few hundred words in the Brackety-Ack. First and foremost, I want to thank my fans. The two of you have been with me since the beginning. You got me to where I am today, and I will miss sharing my ramblings with you.
During my time as your second favorite sports writer, we have spread the good word of Fitzmagic, maneuvered past the madness of March a few times, saw the rise and fall of an empire in Philadelphia, but now a goodbye fails me. At least I can say I went out a winner.
Tiger’s weekend at The Masters stands to remind everyone what hard work, perseverance, and consistent therapy can bring, which are all things I have tried to splice in to my writing over the years. Watching a victorious Tiger walk up to the 18th hole in his classic devil-red shirt brought a tear to each eye as I prepare to walk up my own version of the 18th hole.
Not only was I happy that a legend of golf had returned, but I was happy that he did it for me. My last days of sharing a job title with Stephen A. Smith were almost spent with the first-round of the NHL and NBA playoffs as the dominant headlines. Thankfully, Tiger saved us all from that world, just as I have hopefully saved you from any amount of Stephen A. Smith.
My retirement will not be like Mike, Magic, or Favre. There will be no comeback, and there will most certainly not be any jean commercials. I am riding off into the sunset of obscurity, left only with the memories we have shared, but I can rest easy knowing that I will be replaced by a younger, hopefully better writer. I’ll miss you.