As the news of Jeff Ireland and the Fins long-awaited divorce broke Tuesday night, and Dolphins Twitter was drenched in pure joy, two things dawned on Dat Roro Kid and I.
1.) Holy fuck! It finally fucking HAPPENED!
2.) Time to close shop on FN.
Yep, after six years of writing, blogging, venting, dick joking, winning awards, pissing off Jets fans, earning adulation, flying two banners, creating nick names, and suffering along with all of you every Sunday, it’s time to put a bow on our beloved site and say goodnight.
The Ireland departure just seemed like perfect symmetry for us. Though we never set out to be The Mouthpiece of People Disgruntled Over Jeff Ireland, we somehow became just that. We poured our frustration into comedic posts, some satirical, some just plain silly. And what eventually emerged was us being those guys that flew banners behind airplanes calling for Stephen Ross to fucking shitcan that dipshit already.
But, as our throng of dedicated fans know all too well, FN was way the hell more than that.
When we started this blog in 2007, we had no idea the Dolphins would monumentally shit the bed and would continue to do so for years to come. FN started off as a dick joke blog. A place to talk Dolphins football and shoot the shit.
But it quietly evolved into something more. It became a way station for the angry fan to share in the frustration and laugh in the face of our beloved team’s ineptitude.
We began to make noise. And our shit was loud.
From players nicknames hitting the mainstream, to Roger’s middle finger at the Jets flag (which is everywhere on the Internet now), we made noise. We started campaigns like Suck For Luck, because we knew that motherfucker was going to be a stud (and he is) and we knew that losing a few meaningless games to draft him was way more important than arbitrary fandom. Yet, at every turn, anything weird or different or out of the norm was met with scorn and disgust by those who didn’t understand.
We became the face of the “bad fan,” because we dared not be so fucking myopic.
And we made our mark. Love us, or hate us. We planted the fucking flag of discontent deep into the ground. And on that flag were balls. Giant fucking balls.
(We’re also taking credit for introducing the world to Louis CK. That dude was a virtual nobody when we started posting his bits every Sundays. Look at him now!)
We became the go-to website for discontented fans who were tired of mediocrity. Sure, we said FUCK a lot. Yes, we pissed off mainstream media people and other Fins fan sites. But we gave no fucks for this. No apologies.We held nothing back. We gave our hearts and souls to the team we loved, and we fed off the rabid thirst of our loyal readers who felt exactly the same way.
A community was born here, and it eventually spilled over onto Twitter. People that have no idea what FN is tweet meows at Brian Hartline. That started here!
Our heroes are McCartney, Lennon, Bill Hicks, Louis CK, David Foster Wallace, Hunter S. Thompson, and the original Not Ready For Prime Time Players cast. We mashed those influences together and made dick joke stew out of it all.
And you came along for the ride.
But we weren’t just about jokes and tits. We know our shit too. The players we called for Miami to draft — and inevitably were not — have pretty much all flourished wherever else they were drafted. Our game previews, while stuffed with ass jokes and boobie pics, were filled with real football analysis.
We wanted to make it OK to be intelligent and the class clown at the same time. This is football. It’s supposed to be fun!
I owe pretty much everything I am to FN.
My friendship with Roger was born out of a desire to work with him. Here was a kindred spirit, a guy who got me, a guy who had the same twisted humor as me, and a guy who loved the same music as I did, the same books, the same films, the same TV shows. We’re friends and brothers for life. And FN gave me that.
FN also opened doors for me professionally. The New Times found me here, and I’ve worked for them ever since. I’ve also written for other outlets, such as Deadspin, Bleacher Report, CBS Sports, and others, thanks to this site giving me the voice and the place to experiment with my craft.
Shit, FN is even where I met my girlfriend. I met her here! She started as a reader of mine! This gives so much hope to all bloggers currently living and writing in their mother’s basements, doesn’t it?
Mostly though, FN gave me you, dear reader. No one asked you to keep coming here on a daily basis to read our goofy shit. But you did. You actually found us entertaining. You sent us fan mail. That shit was bananas!
And Roger and I are always perplexed and blown away anytime we meet one of you in person. The outpouring of gratitude you show us, the expression of thanks for being your mouthpiece, like we’re the fucking Beatles of Dolphins Blogs.
And it was an honor being your mouthpiece, Nation.
An absolute honor.
But, alas. All things must pass.
We brought down the ire of the so-called experts. Omar Kelly, Ben Volin, Kim Bokamper, and others like them. We even got shit from The Phinsider. They all thought we were just dopey fans doing dopey shit. They either never bothered to read between the lines, or they just hated us because we put a dent in their readership.
But what our critics even now never understood was what we — all of us — have always been about an expression of dissatisfaction.
No one here actually believes Ross fired Ireland because of our banners. THAT WAS NEVER THE FUCKING POINT, YOU FUCKING DILDOS.
The point was to make some fucking noise. To rattle the cages. To be rabble rousers and trouble makers. To be the voice to the voice-less. People were pissed off at Ireland and at Ross for keeping him around for so long. The banners were a symbol — nothing more. A symbol of our discontent.
It was loud, it was brash, it was foolish, it was tacky, it was bold. It was fucking hilarious. And it got people’s attention. It got people talking. It got written up on Jeff Ireland’s Wikipedia page (we’re all forever linked with that shitheel).
While other news outlets and fan blogs and high-minded fans were busy bending over to blind loyalty to the Dolphins, taking a paddling to the ass from Jeff Ireland and asking for more, we were the crazy frat house next door with the booze, and the parties, and the pot smoke, and the tomfoolery.
We were fucking Delta House to their Omegas.
And that was the Goddamn point. We made noise and we made it count.
Fuck you with a frozen chicken if you don’t understand that.
And that, dear friends, has been the whole point of this here blog.
What happens to the Dolphins from here on out is, as it has always been, in the hands of the football fates.
As for us, we just want to say we love you. And thank you.
Carry on, dear friends.
The dream is over….