i have been grappling with a bit of nostalgia lately, sort of like an emotional runny nose. i was preparing to wipe my metaphorical nose and exorcise the demons tonight with a post in homage to renowned literary theorist and retired Brigadier General N. A. Tymoczko. the plan was to write a post that would straight-up steal his wine review cum movie review idea, aka "New Criticism" and use it to review the Pacers' lineup after watching them crush the Celtics and pee on Paul Pierce. this did not happen. none of it. and after reading point, counter-point, counter-counter point, etc about sports and hipsters, then watching the Pacers' offensive wheels (dubiously attached at the best of times) come off, catch fire, and plummet off a cliff i am tired of sports. bone tired. wearied. seriously. if the phrase "played the fuck out" hadn't been used by everyone's favorite Jew and then stolen by yours truly, (making it played the fuck out) i would say that the whole of Sportsdom as a topic of conversation is played the fuck out. but since i can't (or won't...?) say that, i'm instead issuing a temporary restraining order against Sport, LLC and subsidiaries to keep them off of the Island for a period of 7 to 10 business days or until i get so bored i have nothing else to talk about. whichever comes first.