It’s been too long since I posted here, and I’m sorry about that. I was writing The Whore of Akron and also reporting and writing a long feature for Esquire (http://tinyurl.com/6ydpw5l ) aboutthe 10th anniversary of 9/11. The book is officially out on 11/15 — I urge you to pre-order many, many copies today (http://tinyurl.com/3cbxcc8) — and Esquire‘s running an excerpt in the current (November) issue, the one with Rihanna on the cover.
The Esquire excerpt is from Chapter 9, and includes the first time I saw LeBron take the court in a uniform other than the Cavs’. The line that drew the most attention, about wishing for a career-ending injury, pissed off a lot of people, including a few holier-than-thou media lickspittles. I felt what I felt and I wrote what I wrote, and I have no problem talking about it — but not a single asshat who used that line as an excuse to bloviate about what a piece of sub-human shit I am ever bestirred himself to get in touch.
The problem isn’t that I’m hard to reach — I’m not. The problem is that they’re too fucking scared or lazy to try.