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This week has been pretty slow around the Jobu’s Rum offices. I keep trying to motivate myself to cover my favorite local teams, but nothing seems to want to come out onto my keyboard. I’m just not ready to move on from the World Cup. We poured ourselves into the coverage over the last month, publishing over 75 posts on just about everything that went on during the tournament. Every day, I was either writing or editing anywhere from one to four or five posts. Now that it’s all over, It’s like I have hit a wall, and don’t know where to turn next. I’m sure you all have noticed, as we’ve covering the European silly season as it relates to the players we saw play in Brazil–desperately grasping for straws so that the best sporting event in the world doesn’t escape our grip.

I mean where do we go from here? I love the Yankees, but these days, with this team, it’s hard to even watch them play, let alone write about their mounting injuries and losses. The Celtics have made a couple of notable moves this off-season, including trading for promising center Tyler Zeller, but I’m not quite ready for basketball yet. As far as the Giants go, covering them is just admiting that summer is over. I can’t even let go of the period from mid-June to mid-July yet… so that’s not happening for me just yet either.

Even major sports news and happenings, like Lebron James’ shocking return to Cleveland, don’t seem exciting to me. Hell, even Lebron himself was in Rio watching the World Cup final by the time the dust kicked up by his new contract with the Cavs–and Chris Bosh’s new deal with Houston–settled back down to Earth. If he didn’t care, why should I? Did you know Derek Jeter just played in his last All-Star game after a 20-year career and had a heck of a game? I did, but I didn’t feel like writing about it. Have you ever seen the episode of South Park named “You’re Getting Old,” where everything Stan hears and sees literally turns to shit because he’s been diagnosed as a “cynical asshole” by his doctor? That’s my life right now as a sports blogger without the World Cup. Nothing is good enough, because nothing is World Cup fútbol.

Germany’s big win seems to have stunted my creativity…

I ask you, how am I supposed to go back to covering normal sports after 30 days of blood, sweat and tears shed over the best sporting event in the world? I just don’t know. I can’t. I guess my feelings can best be expressed by a monologue from the classic American film A League of their Own, starring a young miss Madonna Louise Ciccone:

“And what am I supposed to do, huh? Go back to taxi dancin’? Ten cents so some slob can sweat gin all over me? I’m never doin’ that again! So you can go back there and you tell ol’ rich Mr. Old Chocolate Man that he ain’t closing ME down!”

OK… so there’s no rich Mr. Old Chocolate Man to tell off in this scenario, and covering the Yankees is hardly comparable to getting sweat on by a slob, but I still won’t be able to cover a World Cup again until 2018 (I know, I know… qualifying is practically right around the corner… bah humbug). On the Kübler-Ross Grief Cycle, I’d say I’m past the Shock, Denial, Anger and Bargaining stages, and currently wading through the Depression stage–the rock bottom. After this comes the Testing stage, where we begin to seek realistic solutions to the crisis through which we are suffering. For me, I think that’s the process I’m hoping to kick off with this post. For those of you who clicked on the link or have a fancy psychology degree, you know that the Acceptance stage is next. That’s when the healing will be complete, and we’ll be back to doing what we do best around here: covering sports in a funny and informative way.

Maybe I’ll take the rest of the week off and come back strong next week. What do you guys think?

Featured image courtesy of: Carlos Pazos/Reuters

Martin Stezano

About Martin Stezano

Uruguayan born and American raised with a unique perspective on the domestic and international sports scenes. It will both tickle your funny bone and enlighten your mind. Love it or hate it...just read it.

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