You're not happy with the "bullshit" printed about you in the October 11th edition of the Curious Index, which appears below in total in the form of a reader email sent to us by a very, very reliable source after the epic Florida/LSU game in 2007.
The pressbox gets a call from press will call saying that somebody claiming to be Rick Reilly is here wanting up to the press box. One of the SIDs goes downstairs to check (Reilly had not requested any credentials before hand) and in fact it was Rick Reilly. He appeared to be drunk/stoned and was accompanied by a blonde that my friends wife described as looking like a stripper. Given that it was Rick Reilly, he was allowed up to the press box. Where he proceeded to spend the whole game making out with his friend. One of the other SIDs was quoted saying those two need a room bad.
Rick Reilly, seen here on the left, is steamed at us. He's a sportswriter, I think.
You have, on two different occasions in conversations with other bloggers, referenced this as evidence of some of the most troubling things a blog can do. To wit:
"Where's the journalistic integrity?" Reilly asked. "He has my email -- why didn't he try to verify it?" Indeed, the blonde that "looked like a stripper" accompanied Reilly to the party Friday night, and he confirmed that she's his live-in girlfriend.
We're not journalists, for one. We're bloggers, and as usual, we'll have to tell you the definition of blogger by telling you that there is no definition. Yet, you mentioned it again to You Been Blinded recently, as well:
RR: The responsibility. I dont think there is much. Sure you dont have editors or bosses but you can still be responsible. Theres a site, Every Day Should Be Saturday, that wrote some bullshit about us (gesturing to his girlfriend) that was just wrong. They didnt double check, they didnt call me, they just printed it. Call me, Im available, Im out there.
You complain that we didn't contact you, but calling you would have served no utility whatsoever, since we assume you would deny the entire thing, which is what we assume public figures of any note do, especially when someone posts an item under the header "specious rumor." You're also nowhere near as available as you claim to be: after the With Leather entry, we tried to get a hold of you but found no listed phone number, no media guy who had it, and only a "share a story" link on your web site to contact. (This may be different now with ESPN.com, but we haven't tried that addy yet. Email forthcoming.)
Nevertheless, you're honked, and you have a right to be, even if some of us think the term "looking like a stripper" is a compliment where we're from, sir. In fact, notice that if you actually did this with anyone, especially your live-in girlfriend, we thought such rock star behavior bumped you up in our estimation.
However, if you are as honked as you claim to be, here's a novel proposal: call me. My number's here.
My proposal to make amends is simple: we make something positive of this. We both agree to participate in the Clay Travis Quiz Bowl challenge, pitting mainstream sports journos against bloggers such as myself. The proceeds go to your outstanding charity Nothing But Nets, a cause of mutual interest since you seem to care about it quite a lot, and I spent a good deal of my twenties working with a refugee aid agency with clients from malaria-affected regions of the world.
Deal proposed. Call us and we'll raise some money for a good cause. Everyone wins, except for your Quiz Bowl team, of course, who will be humiliated into tears of blood when the bloggers go Obama on your collection of Hillarys.
Love,
Orson Swindle, the pen name of Spencer Hall, who is a blogger and not a journalist, and who is immensely available at all times because he is not pulling down Rick Reilly kwan from the World Wide Leader, and most likely never will.
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