One year ago, a group of female Deadspinners got together and built a website that would forever alter the sportswriting landscape. Some delusions of grandeur, but whatevs.
Artwork, as always, by the one, the only, the incomparable Lady J-Money, who credits our success to the quality of our ingredients.
When we last saw our heroines, we were raising glasses to six months of this contraption. Since then….where to start? We got out of the house a little, and brought a few friends along for the ride. We stirred up a couple hornets’ nests and got our knees dirty. We launched a blatant homerism lovefest and let lust rule our fantasy drafts. We went undercover with the Mets and the Mitchell Report and got inside with the Tigers. We turned back time and had ourselves a total eclipse of the heart. We pledged our hearts to the World Series, and just about killed ourselves trying to get there, and just about GOT ourselves killed once we were…but that all worked out just fine, didn’t it? We got down and dirty with the history of Rock and championed the little guys. We came heroically close to covering every single bowl game. We said fond farewells to a fine crop of college boys, and found new targets for next year.
And the snacks. Oh, TSW’s snacky goodness. The legendary Buffalo Chicken Dip. The homemade corn dogs. The 9-Layer Ranchero Dip, K2 of snack foods. Pork with more pork. The genesis of our quiche obsession. The other Ladies got into the act, to the tune of Pudding Shots, Beer Bread, Cheese Straws, and a variety of meats and cheeses.
We celebrated (properly) the apex of football season (and then some), and marked the turning of the sports season. We got our gamble on. We gave thanks, wished on our stockings, spread holiday cheer and strove to be better fans. We found humor in the worst of times and stood up for boobs everywhere. We rassled and clawed and even screwed each other.
After the jump, some poetic and prosaic reflections on our year together.
After a year of playing FanHouse Poetry slam, I’ve come to expect many things from AOL’s comment threads. Racism. Misogyny. Homophobia. Dallas Cowboys threadjacks. But I never dreamed they would one day spread their wings, fling themselves out of the nest, and begin to fashion their own poetry. Yet there they were, when I came running shortly after time expired in the Super Bowl to see what madness awaited. I have excerpted some modest examples for your pleasure:
I jumped to cover the Independence Bowl based on the wide margin of hate available. Nowhere else in the 2007 postseason is a team that’s been such a large part of my life (Colorado and 
Navy’s tricky triple option work was no match for the solid play of Utah tonight. The Midshipmen fell to Utah 35-32 in the inaugural bowl of 2007-08. The first half wasn’t much to look at (I honestly chose to watch this game solely because of the potential for Holtz on-air dementia fun), but aside from this being the beginning of the end of life-giving games to sustain us through the winter (and spring…and summer….*gulp*), it’s not a good time to turn your back to the screen. I spent most the fourth quarter packing for Christmas break and missed four touchdowns.
And this’ll about do it for the 2007 season. (Was it good for you?) One day of conference championships and rivalry games, then that’s all, she wrote.
I have a confession to make, for those of you who’ve stuck with this feature all this time. It’s been a source of much discussion, caused a couple of you gentlemen to 
The season is waning! This year has simply flown by in a haze of ludicrous upsets and marquee comebacks. And it finally feels like fall, even in southern California. Perfect day to 
Another week, another apocalypse. Welcome to college football 2007.
From the moment he donned that purple cap on draft day, Adrian Peterson was anointed (and from the looks of this shot, dipped in wax) as a key player in the future of the Vikings gameplan. And while he appears quite capable of carrying the team on his back (particularly after this weekend), Minnesota brass seem content to split his playing time with Chester Taylor. Are there still doubts about the solidity of his previously injured collarbone? Are they giving the rookie more time to assimilate the schemes? Or just taking it easy on their brand new toy? Whatever the reason, it may be falling by the wayside. Hard to miss AP this weekend, but just in case your memory’s fuzzy, he was the guy barreling down the field with Chicago defenders flopping behind him like tin cans tied to a car bumper. Twenty carries, 224 yards, three touchdowns, on the way to a 34-31 win over the Bears. Here’s hoping Chester Taylor rides the pine next week, as a red-blooded woman and a football fan…Peterson’s a hell of a lot of fun to watch on the field, and ain’t bad on the eyes, either.
It’s no secret that LaDainian Tomlinson has rocket feet, but when I saw him basically launch himself seven feet in the air from the four yard line yesterday for a score, I had to grope around on the floor for my jaw. You can see the play in 
Ladies... 