Farewell, Grantland, you will be missed

Bidding adieu to Grantland, one of the internet’s best websites.

Ours is a f-cked up industry. It’s one where know-it-all bottom feeders feasting on scraps will cut another’s neck just to climb a rung. One where established journalists will pejoratively lump an entire generation together, all while sitting on a fat mountain of cash grinding out the same content as every hackneyed blog on the web.

It’s a place where the vocal minority complains about clickbait (as if it doesn’t exist in traditional media), yet directly seeks out said content (not coincidentally, the only content that is a guaranteed moneymaker in online publishing). A land where aspiring writers working to find their voice are repeatedly beaten down by comment section bullies (but, hey, comment sections drive engagement!).

Selling art has always been a tough way to make a living, and on Friday with the dissolution of Grantland it became even more difficult.

As a reader, Grantland was Neverland. It was a place where we could read about two black men discussing racism by whether they feel comfortable eating watermelon in public, and then click a link and watch the best movie trailers of the week. A site where we could read about the complex intricacies of NBA contracts, and then dive into wrestling nostalgia. Dinner interviews with celebrities, crying through Parenthood – the site had something for, essentially, everyone.

Grantland’s greatest strength was that it never made readers feel dumb. Actually quite the opposite. It would take topics that, on their surface, seemed goofy and explore them with great intricacy and gravitas. Trips to the AVNs, seemingly random oral histories, discussions of why wrestling matters, fantasy reality television drafts and the dovetailing of politics and sports. It had a knack for making the trivial feel important, for embracing readers’ passions and showing that there’s always more below the surface.

While others in their same webspace made a living off of being cliquey, Grantland invited inclusiveness. As a reader, the site’s closure was akin to finishing a great book: I’ll never get to see all my friends sharing adventures in the same place ever again.

As a writer, Grantland was nirvana. When I first started writing I hoped to one day have the chops to make it there. To hone my voice and sharpen my skills enough to move the needle of people’s emotional barometers.

As the years wore on, while still the goal, my love of Grantland became more personal. It was a place where all the bullshit most writers face on a daily basis was set on a table and masked by an army of hard-fighting editors. The place where, if ever lucky enough to reach, I could start cleaning out my notebook of ideas. All the ideas that take a backseat to viral home runs or aggregated interview soundbites. The works that would eventually define my career.

It was a place where everything read like a passion project and voices could mature. Comment sections were shucked off, and writers were reportedly spared any boardroom talk of “analytics” and “click-through rates.” Voices from the past were celebrated, visions for the future were forged, and creativity was nurtured. For someone living in the unfulfilling land of aggregation Grantland was a perpetual reminder that everyone has a story, and that all stories matter. Even more, that the cream always rises to the top.

As a writer, the end of Grantland is the death of a dream. Selfishly, I’ll never make it to the place I once considered the zenith. Even worse, many of my colleagues – none of whom I’ve ever met or spoken to, but rather admired from afar – are now without jobs. There’s one less den full of storytellers. It is a sad, sad day for all the artists who became collateral damage in a public relations pissing match.

It’s bizarre to think that two people – John Walsh and Bill Simmons – were the creative cornerstones holding up such an esteemed publication, and that without their muscle the tinderbox quickly went up in flames. It’s even crazier to think that a website that employed arguably the most brilliant voices in the NBA, NFL and MLB, along with some of the strongest cultural criticism on the web just shuttered its doors. Some of the most creatively gifted minds in the country went from having full-time jobs to selling their work as independent contractors, all in the blink of an eye.

Ours really is a f-cked up industry.