Unflappable, like Baby Jesus

So I, meaning me Raven, am hard in the mix working on an Armchair Linebacker 2012 NFL Preview e-book that should be available in the next couple of weeks, preferably the weekend of the Hall of Fame game, but who the fuck knows? It is the same amazing preview insights Neil and I gave you last year, and like I've done in a number of spaces both printed and imagined by 0s and 1s in recent years. It will be amazing, I can assure you that, and much better than the pompous douchery that passes for FoootbllOpinionz4U inside the interweb's retarded podstate.
Also, Neil retired from Armchair Linebacker in the spring, suffering from burnout. It is hard to be a living Oracle of the Damned, and I understand the suffering he went through and still goes through, because he is still that living oracle, whether he shares it with you freely here or not. Sure, he is paid miniscule scraps of fake American money to write for guyism (which you should always check out), but when you are a Living Oracle of the Damned, and you feel the suffering of your people, even if you are in a good place from the drugs and liquor, it is a hard row to hoe, to use a rural colloquialism from my southern upbringing. I would not surprised if Neil pops up now and then here still, because he is an addict, but I also would not count on it. I might could start doing some Redskins shit after the football preview is done, but hard to say with me. I'm somewhat flaky.
So what this does is take this tremendous forum of The Armchair Linebacker, which it will always be, as there are no other spiritual warriors of words that truly could ever hold the title The Armchair Linebacker, even if they bought the site and did something else with it. We have earned that title, not simply attached it to ourselves. But there is a void now. So I ask you maddened souls of the 0s and 1s land, where are your Spirit Warriors? Where are the tried and true darkened vikings who root for whatever team out there? Where is my downtrodden tortured genius Cleveland Browns fan? Where is the post-prison Hispanic Raiders fan who has discovered the beauty of the written word while incarcerated? Where is the lesbian barista Seahawks fan who loves nothing more than a good spinach quiche on a rainy Sunday afternoon while the Seahawks destroy like the Cardinals or somebody? WHERE ARE YOU FINE FOOTBALL DEGENERATES AT?
I beg of you, come to  us. We offer you no money, because ultimately money is useless and everybody on the internet is some sort of writer. Honestly, if you are of the right quality of word spirit, you probably already have your own website/blog thing going, and I understand. We are all at different stages of still believing in this failed American economic system where we will one day be rewarded with financial independence in exchange for our genius. But that may not happen by next Arab Spring. So I implore you to write here with us, your kindred spirits.
Most internet football sites are for assholes. Grantland (and its like) are for wordy assholes, just as stupid as the basic sites, but pretend they are not because they use a bunch of numbers. We at Armchair Linebacker appreciate drug abusers, chronic masturbators, degenerates, social misfits, Greyhound bus riders, Canadians, System D entrepreneurs, theoretical metaphysicists, and the great dumbsaint minds of the dark corners of society. You are our people, and we are your people. Let us join. Nobody makes a fucking dime off this site, and nobody ever will (except for google in their shady ass ways). A true Spirit Warrior cannot be owned or bought; he just does what the fuck he does, everyone else be damned, literally.
So that is the proposition. I expect no response. I expect weak responses from weak people who think they are clever when they are not. But if through all that bullshit one of the 29 people already signed onto this site sometimes posts something, or if one new beautiful stranger with even half the Spirit of myself, or a quarter of Neil's strength, shows up, then so be it. This site will probably become their's, because nobody owns its Spirit, and no one person will ever direct its War against what football has become, both on-the-field, and in what passes for clever commentary about it inside this cyberwasteland.