We’ve all been there. A local football game—or basketball, or soccer, or any other sport. A crowd of friends and neighbors gathers, swaps greetings, settles in to cheer the home team. But as soon as the whistle blows and the ball is in play, we hear him. The blowhard. The guy who knows it all. The guy endowed with infallible judgment and a voice even bigger than his ego. He blares his play-by-play, lobs his grenades. He savages the coach, the quarterback, the point guard, the
An insurgence of words
In which we attempt to puncture the culture of spin.