My Guardian soiree began long
before I entered the hallowed halls of our prestigious institution, dating back
to when I was a pimply faced, mid-pubescent teen on the staff of our high
school’s newspaper, the Lowell.
Alongside several future world leaders, including Sports Editor Rael “Themba”
Enteen, we commandeered the sports page, adding our personalized flair and
sports-minded nuances to the section as we pleased. It was fun, but coming into
UCSD, I hardly thought about joining the newspaper, opting instead to immerse
myself solely in my studies. It was not until Rael got on the horn after the
departure of his former associate that I mulled over donning the No. 45 and
bringing back the team to greatness. After little deliberation, I laced up my
Jumpmans and entered the fray.

(Photo Illustration by Erik Jepsen/Guardian)

I’ve had a great time here and
most of my memories deal not with the paper but the people who make it. Putting
together pages, writing (albeit rarely) and assigning stories were all fine,
but I’ve been most drawn to the intellect of the staff. It’s great that there
are smart and funny people who bring something to the table and still take care
of business. For that stimulation I am grateful to you all.

Thank you to fearless leader
Charles, for your dedication to the cause. You got heart, kid. Thank you to
McArdle, Mendoza and L’Heureux for having answers and accepting that I will
never understand the difference between Focus and Hiatus. Gracias to Richard
for not punching me in the face after I yell for you, and thanks for making my
job even easier with your Korean technology. To the rest of the staff, thank
you guys for the entertainment.

Mike, my apologies for arriving
late so many times for distribution. Anna G, much thanks for the new ride and
also making sure I get that money.

Finally, to the sports crew:
thanks forever for being on top of your game. You are my ideal No. 3 hitter:
powerful and consistent. To my fellow handsome entrepreneur Enteen: we did it
mope, and it’s just the beginning.

So here I am, sprinting out for
the last time to my position and ready to begin the proverbial and uncertain
“new things” in life that retiring athletes discuss at their teary-eyed
farewells. Am I sad? A little. However, I think I’ll listen to my good friend
and two-time NBA MVP Steve Nash and do what he once told me: “Get the fuck out
of here, kid!” It’s been grand.