My most recent post at Call to the Pen was about the New York Yankees and some baseball moves they should consider were the logic of Jon Heyman and some other mainstream writers to be mistakenly believed as sound. It was a wee bit satirical and there were some attempts at jokes and all that. It was also posted over a week ago. The day after my post I was contacted by a Call to the Pen editor-type and asked a series of questions in regards to my place on the site. Reading between the lines (I went to college, where I studied English and Creative Writing), it became readily apparent that they were very interested in internet-things like “relevant baseball news” and “traffic” and “page views” and all sorts of other insufferable garbage that I don’t care to understand or think about. Metrics, perhaps. Click-Through Rate. I was also able to glean from the electronic mail that I probably wasn’t the greatest performer when it came to all of this new and important stuff and that the editor-type wasn’t all that keen on my choices of blog content and writing style. Some people don’t find me funny or interesting, turns out. I’m just as shocked as you are. The end result is that I promptly tendered my resignation, or whatever, and the post you can click on and read right here will be my last at Call to the Pen. So it goes, a guy once said and continued to say for quite a long time.
I spent over a year at Call to the Pen. I wrote like, somewhere around 100 posts in that time. That strikes me as a lot. It was a lot of posts, and a lot of words, and a great deal more stress and anxiety and impending doom. The blessing of Call to the Pen was also its curse. I was expected to provide two posts per week. This kept me motivated, to a certain extent, and it forced me to write when I wouldn’t have otherwise. I think I fared ok, despite the panic. It also made me more than miserable on select days. Many days. I suppose part of the idea of this blog is to show someone, anyone out there that I’m a person with a decently functioning brain who likes baseball and can write about it on a certain consistent frequency. Call to the Pen allowed me to publicly present that ability, and to do so on a stage marginally larger than the one I’ve fashioned for myself here, with internet comments, and on Twitter. For that I am grateful, and I think fondly of many of my co-writers, and to the people who originally gave me the opportunity to contribute. Thank you, people who deserve it. You were nice, and we posted some baseball shit, and it was good more often than it was not.
And now here I am, back where I started, and it’s just fine. For one reason or the other, I felt a certain responsibility to Call to the Pen, a responsibility to cover topical subjects and newsworthy happenings, and I gave it my best shot and I wrote about things in such a way that I could live with myself. I was willing to write about a contract extension, or a free agent signing, or a steroids controversy, but I was going to couch it in a great deal of ham-fisted bullshit, and occasional satire, and a whole lot of tongue-cheeking, because I know what baseball news aggregation looks like and I don’t find it particularly compelling or worthwhile. Unless it pays, in which case, I fucking love it. I’ll give you Dan Haren’s career trajectory and injury history and WAR/$ all day every day. Now, I’m a free man, burdened to no website or news cycle or misplaced sense of responsibility. It feels good and also not good, because I can do whatever the hell I want. Most days, whatever the hell I want to do is not write a baseball blog post. I’ve sat around for a week, lived life, breathed easy after work between the hours of 5pm-10pm, and now I suppose I’ll attempt a return to the grind. Shit might get weird, or intermittent, or just plain awful. But writers write, and that’s the delusion I’m grasping at for a least a while longer.