What is going on here?
Well, let's start at the beginning. I began my current job in 2002. That summer, I moved into my own apartment. My first year there, I had no internet. Think about that. Any online activity I had was done at my parents' house, or at work. Unthinkable today, right?
The time came when I realized I needed to join the 21st century. The best choices in my neighborhood were Roadrunner (Remember that?) from Time/Warner Cable, and DSL service from the local phone company, which was then SBC Ameritech. My landlord, an extremely fussy bastard, wanted no holes drilled in his duplex, so I went with the DSL. With this service came an @sbcglobal.com email address. Outside of my college email (the first I ever had, which was set to expire, I think) and my work address, this would be my main email for the next few years.
At some point, I switched to a yahoo.com email. Maybe it was when I started living with my soon-to-be wife. The old apartment, as well as the DSL service was gone, but not before I started Thorzul Will Rule. At that point, you could sign up for Blogger with a non-Google email, which is what I did with my sbcglobal account.
Fast forward to two weeks or so ago. At that point, I was still using that same account as my point of entry to all that Google offers. I probably hadn't used the email account in over a decade, but everything was still working, so I just let the ship continue to sail.
Big mistake.
One day last week I went to start a new post on Thorzul. I was prompted to sign in. I tried, but was told the password was incorrect. I consulted my password list, entered what I had, and still nothing. Boring details aside, what must have happened was that my account was hacked and the password was changed. Ordinarily this would not be a problem. Have Google send a code to your email account, enter it, fix what needs fixing. The problem is that you can't do that with a dead email account. The sbcglobal account is in no way supported by AT&T, the company that swallowed up the Baby Bells some time ago. Google offers other ways to recover an account, but they all depend on access to the original sign-up email account.
Thorzul Will Rule is dead.
It kind of feels like what I imagine coming untethered during a spacewalk might feel like. It's there, and we call all still enjoy reading it, but it can no longer be changed. I lost access to my Google Drive as well. Nothing totally catastrophic, but there's some tedious work ahead. My entire Robin Yount card database is gone, and so it my entire comic collection listing. With 12-15 short boxes needing to be rearchived, it's a job.
But let's look on the bright side of things. A new blog is a chance to stick one's head into the crisp air and breathe deeply. The old standards will still be there. The winter triumvirate of Trade Me Anything, Card-vent, and Top Pulls will still rise and set like the sun. And there will be some new stuff, too. Perhaps the tone will change, but always expect irreverence, honesty, and outright lies.
As for the title of this new venture, that came to me within hours of realizing I would have to start over. It's pretty much my current outlook on the hobby at this point in time. And there's a heretofore untold story that goes with it.
I was probably in sixth or seventh grade, playing for my school's basketball team. I wasn't ever very good, but my defense and speed allowed me to usually get the call to start. I coudn't tell you the team we were playing or the venue, or if we won or lost, but I distinctly remember one specific sequence that tells a lot about who Thorzul was at that age. I don't remember if it was off of a turnover or not, but the best player on the other team had a breakaway on which I just wasn't going to allow a basket. I caught up to the kid and fouled him very professionally, without injury or malice. He had a problem with it, though, and said something to me. I immediately know how I was going to handle it. When he stood up at the line to take his two free ones, I simply turned from my spot and stared at him. I never said a word, just stared him down, not even making any pretense of readying myself for a rebound. I can still picture it now, this big-toothed, Seinfeld-mulletted goof standing at the free throw line, saying, "What the fuck are you looking at?" when he should have been concentrating on making his shots in this Catholic League basketball game.
He was rattled. He missed both free throws. Possession switched hands, and as he was getting back on defense, he was still asking what the fuck my problem was. It was a glorious moment, and all I had to do was give him the
Death Stare. I remember meeting back up with our parents after the game and one of the dads asked me, "What did you say to that guy to make him mad like that?" I told him, "Nothing, I just looked at him." When a situation calls for it, sometimes that's all you need.
I look forward to what the future of this blog holds.
Please keep reading, I'll do my best to entertain.
