Gelf Magazine - Looking over the overlooked


August 2, 2009

Sportswriter Without Borders

ESPN's Wright Thompson goes deep, far, and long in search of his field's best stories.

Dan Adler

Wright Thompson is a sportswriter. Sort of.

His last piece for's Outside the Lines examined the political games endemic to our nation's capital—through basketball. He has revealed the terrible toll rising food prices have wrought on Ghana—and how soccer can save a lucky few. And, in a three-part, 15,000-word epic, Thompson captured one of the most important moments in American civil-rights history: James Meredith's enrollment as the first black student at the University of Mississippi in 1962, which also happens to be the last year the Ole Miss Rebels went undefeated in football.

Wright Thompson
"I don't feel like there is any sort of creative itch I don't get to scratch at ESPN or any world that I would like to explore that I don't get to explore."

Wright Thompson

Whether or not Thompson is a sportswriter isn't terribly important. The vocation describes a means, rather than ends. Those ends, which quickly become clear upon reading a handful of Thompson's pieces (at least, as quickly as one can read 5,000-word features), are to inform readers of essential information regarding their world, and to illustrate broad truths in distinctive and insightful fashion—noble ends for a writer of any genre.

In the following interview with Gelf, which was conducted by telephone and edited for clarity, Thompson discusses some of his latest pieces for, as well as why finding his material can take years off his life, how his writing method can sometimes drive his wife crazy, and why he writes about Mississippi so often.

Gelf Magazine: To start at the broadest level, how would you describe your work, as a reporter and a writer?

Wright Thompson: When everything is working properly, there's nothing in there you already know. The idea is for every piece to be, in its own way, definitive—to make it very, very hard for someone else to come along and write about that piece's topic. For a lot of these things, you're almost like an ombudsman for strange subcultures and worlds, where you can take people along on journeys to different places where they wouldn't otherwise go, and I really enjoy that: being a storyteller in the most old-fashioned, cowboy-campfire sense of the word. I get to take you on a journey, and it's hopefully going to take you somewhere weird or new or exciting or poignant. But at the very least, it's going to take you somewhere you've never been.

Gelf Magazine: Do you consider yourself a sportswriter? Or would you define yourself more broadly?

Wright Thompson: I almost think "sportswriter" is an anthropological term. A lot of my friends are sportswriters. I eat and drink like a sportswriter. I sort of like the connotations that come along with the word. I understand what you're saying; some of my stories are very, very tangentially related to sports. But it's a little pompous to say, "I'm not a sportswriter, I'm a writer." One term is as good as another. In a certain definition, a sportswriter is a writer who writes about sports. I have no desire to go work for Vanity Fair. I don't feel like there is any sort of creative itch I don't get to scratch at ESPN or any world that I would like to explore that I don't get to explore. I've never felt limited by the fact that we're a sports company.

Gelf Magazine: I believe that. Despite writing for a sports company, you've written about such heady topics as jockeying for power in Washington and ethnic strife in Ghana. How much do you value the fact that your writing allows you to touch on big, important themes, beyond the traditional sports story?

Wright Thompson: I value a lot of it—the most. We've all gone to do stories—because that's sometimes what we do—where you sort of know what you're going to get, and that bores me to death. My favorite part of a story isn't the trip, and it isn't the writing process, although I enjoy that. It's learning something new. In all seriousness, that's my absolute favorite part. Those things you see are things I'm interested in, but don't really know that much about. I get paid to learn very specific knowledge about South Africa. I get paid to understand what exactly is at the root of Kenyan ethnic strife. I get paid to figure out, and then show, how DC works. That's the greatest job in the world. Hopefully what you see through those stories is some sort of roadmap for my own curiosity.

Gelf Magazine: Do you feel your curiosity often goes outside pure sports, that such-and-such won the game, 7-5? Do you target ideas and stories that broaden the idea of what it means to cover sports, and is that what gets you going?

Wright Thompson: It absolutely does. Again, it's a personal-interest thing. I don't know enough about football to write about the Xs and Os. I'm not even for a moment devaluing that. A very good friend of mine works for the magazine, my best friend, Seth Wickersham, whom you should absolutely read. He writes about football, including Xs and Os. It's interesting to me; I read that, and I say, "Holy shit! That's great!" I get that. Those are very small, individual dramas playing out at incredibly high speeds, and it's dramatic to read. It's no more or less dramatic than a Kenyan civil war. It's just that I suck at math, you know what I mean? I'm not very good at PlayStation. I have a hard time doing those things. So, by hook and by crook, I've found a way to live in a world where I sort of get it.

Gelf Magazine: I buy that you don't think you know enough about the Xs and Os, but based on what you're writing, it doesn't seem like you're interested in figuring them out. That's not what you've been writing about, or have been curious about.

Wright Thompson: No, I'm very into and always have been curious about the world and how it works: the very personal, specific motivations of people whom you might have a hard time understanding. I don't really know how to explain why that is; it's just always been like that. Hell, almost anything is a sports story. I'm very interested in using sports as a way to explain the world. When I say "explain the world," I mean explain it to readers, but also to myself. I have a friend who's a food writer, and it's very much the same thing with him. Here's something you're passionate about, and you use it as a way of exploring a much broader world.
A part of it is that I'm just lucky. There aren't a lot of ESPNs out there, that not only will pay for this stuff, but are interested, nurturing, supportive, and encouraging. This stuff doesn't happen by accident. It happens because there are people way, way, way above me on the food chain who want it to happen. My existence is a manifestation of someone else's desire to see these things done.

Gelf Magazine: It seems like you use sports more as the means than the ends. Do you see sports as the lens through which you view the world? I'm intrigued by your saying anything is a sports story.

Wright Thompson: It's almost a lens, but more like a prism. It's clarifying. It helps me cut through the clutter. I'm looking for something very specific. I like stories with broad points. But I also like those stories to be good stories if you took the broad points out, with strong characters and a driving narrative. I did this thing about soccer in Ghana, and it was a story about global food shortage and rising food prices. That's absolutely what it was about, although that sentence doesn't really appear in there. And separate from that, it was just an interesting story. If it had nothing to do with some larger global trend, it's still something you would have read because there are these characters whom you care about.
We're trying to do two things. It's not just this pompous desire to explain the world to people. It's learning about new things, but also never forgetting that you have got to tell them a story. It's got to be people, and a place, and a thing that they care about. It's isn't just a preachy, "Let me tell you everything I know and you should know but don't, ha ha ha ha ha."

Gelf Magazine: How do you get your ideas? How do you come to find the holes in Ken Mink's story, or the history of the Conroys at The Citadel?

Wright Thompson: The Ken Mink story didn't start off how it ended up. I thought it would be a fun, goofy story about a 73-year-old basketball player. Stories evolve as you report them and learn things. A lot of stories don't end up being exactly how you envisioned them in the beginning.
The Conroy story came about because Ken Mink's coach used to be the coach at The Citadel. I was in his office and he was telling me stories about how the Great Santini used to come to the games. I thought, "Well, that's really interesting. The Great Santini could be a sports story." So I checked into it. And then the Citadel team started doing really well after I first checked into doing the story. So all of that is just luck; it's the journalism gods.

Gelf Magazine: So an insightful investigative piece and a profile of the troubled relationship between a family and a college was really just serendipity?

Wright Thompson: I mean, you make your own luck to a certain degree. If you do the work, and you pound the pavement, good things happen. To a certain degree, you just have to count on working hard every day and showing up and hopefully catching lightning in a bottle. I read a lot. Some of these stories go from big to small. The global food crisis started off with my editor and me saying, "We should do a story about how the rising price of food affects people." Well, I started looking all over the place—the Philippines, Ethiopia, Southeast Asia—for a story that best did that. I was really close to doing a story in Ethiopia, instead of Ghana, about these two towns. It was the same large theme, but a completely different narrative. It just wasn't quite right. Then I came across Ghana, and we were off to the races.
The story in Nazareth, Texas was because I had been very interested in this idea of reverse manifest destiny, that these places settled during the mad rush West are now drying up and blowing away. There's this large idea, the central platform of what it means to be American, of manifest destiny, growing as a nation west. And then after there was no more land, we had the metaphorical goal of bigger, larger, all of that. It turned out that that wasn't really true, we didn't actually perfectly settle the West. So I was very interested in reverse manifest destiny. So I went to this professor, Frank Popper, who works at Rutgers, and I said, "Give me 10 towns where we could look at this. You give me 10 towns, and I'll find a sports story." And one of the first ones—if not the first—on the list was Nazareth, Texas. I Googled it and it said, "Home of the Nazareth Swiftettes, winner of more state championships than any public girl's high-school team in the country's history." I didn't even have to look up the rest of them.
With 1962 Ole Miss, I just always wanted to do it. I was waiting until I had, to a certain degree, confidence in my own chops to do it right, because you get one shot at that. Every writer will tell you, you go back and read the stuff you wrote five years ago, and you're appalled by two things: a) how much you suck; and b) how you could have possibly thought you were good, which of course you did. I just wanted to make sure that if you were going to do a story that personal, that you do it right, because you get one bite at that apple.

Gelf Magazine: That Ole Miss story may be your most ambitious. You had to sell that this was a moment when sports and one of the most important moments in American history came together. Were you worried that was going to be a difficult task, to explain how sports fit into the significance of that historical moment?

Wright Thompson: I wasn't worried about that because they seemed so intrinsically related to me, especially knowing how much football is a part of the university's self-esteem, for lack of a better term for it. I was worried, because I wanted to make sure it wasn't just interesting to me because I had lived here. You always need people to check you. I always tell my editors, "Look, at any point in this process, if you think this is boring, you need to tell me," because this stuff takes months to do. But we got into it and quickly realized, no, this is interesting.
It was the most ambitious outlining thing I've ever done. You should have seen my office from this. My poor wife, who's sort of a neat freak … I had literally floor-to-ceiling, all four walls covered in post-it notes, because I had hundreds and hundreds and hundreds—five or six hundred—pages of notes, and then all these different books that I'd read. So I had to go through all of the books, and all of the notes, and write down every single saying or quote or fact or detail that I thought might be relevant, and then put them up all over the wall, so that I could then put the notes down, put the books down, and look around, and try to figure out what order it went in. And my God, that almost gave me an aneurysm.
It was a very difficult story to keep from spaghetti-ing at the edge. I had to keep that on rails. If someone is going to read a 15,000-word story, there can't be off-ramps. It needs to be taut. It's funny to think about a tight 15,000-word story. Newspaper reporters are rolling their eyes and throwing up in wastebaskets. But it did need some sort of narrative tension that couldn't let up, and if it did let up, not for long. Does that make sense?

Gelf Magazine: It makes total sense. I'm not reaching for my wastebasket, despite usually writing more like 1,000 words. I will reserve my vomit.

Wright Thompson: But you know what I mean. The opportunity for a 15,000-word story to be great is there, much more so than it is for a 5,000-word story. But the opportunity for total calamitous disaster is there, too. Big play, big oops.

Gelf Magazine: Obviously, the Ole Miss piece is a much longer piece than your others. Did you believe the import of those events was too much to make it a 5,000-word piece, that it was worth the risk to try to write the 15,000-word story?

Wright Thompson: I couldn't figure out how to do it in 5,000 and make it as sweeping as I wanted it to be, where it wouldn't just be a nostalgic look at this thing, but rather a story that explained how that time still resonates now. I thought that we were nowhere near done dealing with the events of 1962. I thought it would cheapen it if you didn't at least try to show how this thing has led to now, with tentacles that reach from then to today, and how we're still dealing, or not dealing, with some of these issues. I felt like it was not a story about this long-ago moment, but a story about the South today. I couldn't figure out how to do that in 5,000 words.

Gelf Magazine: After getting to 15,000 words with that story, do you have any desire to do a book? Either on this or something else?

Wright Thompson: I don't have any plans to write a book. I'd like to do that one day—I find that the more stories I write, the more I long to be more and more complete—but I just haven't found anything I want to devote that much time and soul to. I know how many pages of notes I have for a 5,000-word magazine story, so I know the amount of work it would take to do a book the way I'd want it done.

Gelf Magazine: While we're on Mississippi: You hail from Mississippi, and you haven't strayed away from it in your work. Why is that? Is it that you're a step closer to unearthing the right details and narratives? Or is it just that it's a luxury afforded you in your position, that you can dote on your home state?

Wright Thompson: One, I like to write about place, so it seems natural that I would want to write about the place where I'm from. Two, on some level, all writing of a certain kind is a process of self-exploration. I'm from a place and would like to know how that affects me, how the place has gone into creating who I am. Three, you write what you know. I can write about Mississippi with a level of authority. My Steve McNair piece that ran recently … I can't imagine having done that piece with the same sort of confidence if I didn't know the subject matter, and didn't know exactly what I was talking about.

Gelf Magazine: So you do feel closer to the truth of the story, because, in part, you lived that.

Wright Thompson: Yeah, there's that, and also, I go back to the natural curiosity about it. I see it every day, and I'm interested in explaining it, both to myself and to other people. I don't think that a continued interest in Mississippi is an exercise in self-indulgence. I'm wary of that. I'm trying to be very honest with myself about that. So if it is self-indulgent, someone should tell me.

Gelf Magazine: I didn't perceive it as self-indulgent, but you are very much a character in both the McNair piece and the 1962 Ole Miss piece. What is it like to put yourself in these stories? Does it raise the stakes? Are you worried about putting yourself out there?

Wright Thompson: I'm not. Maybe I should be. There's an adage that you're not supposed to write in first-person; I've never understood that. I mean, I can't use a third of the English language? I'm not nearly a good enough writer to just automatically cut away a third of the English language.
When people tell you stories in a bar, they use first person. Sometimes they themselves are involved in the story.
I don't like the, "This reporter told a reporter." That's absurd. I just feel like, if you're in the story, be in the story. Nobody likes a third-person omniscient narrator more than me. If I'm not in a story, you won't see me anywhere near it. The story about the bullfighters, the story about Pat Conroy, the story about Tony Harris—I'm not in those stories. But if I am a character, I'm going to be a character.

Gelf Magazine: Coming to your other recent Mississippi piece, let's talk about the legend of Steve McNair at Alcorn State. What did you intend for that to be? A eulogy? A reminder of what McNair once meant to Mississippi?

Wright Thompson: I wanted to try to explain what it felt like as a way of showing what was lost. When I say "lost," I don't mean the loss of a person, although that's something his family feels. I meant the loss of this period of time that meant something, and trying to see if it still, upon processing this new information and this new knowledge, felt the same—if the memories still meant the same thing they meant two weeks ago. What it felt like, now armed with these new mental pictures, taking this pilgrimage so many people had done before. That's what I wanted to try to do.

Gelf Magazine: Let's move to another story, "The Power Game," a look at people trying to get in on the game, both literally (basketball) and figuratively speaking (politics). What were you going for? Were you intrigued by the parallels between the two games, and did you see this as an interesting way to look at politics?

Wright Thompson: I wanted to explain how DC worked. I started thinking about this around November. I was sure this was going on, so I started calling around, and yes it was, of course. We were all reading a ton of politics around then, and watching it on television, and I was intrigued. I was starting to read some books, and I thought, "Well, I'd really like to understand how the town works. I'll do a story about that. I'll learn about it, and then I can write about it." That totally came out of a personal curiosity.
The thing that goes for all of these is, you have this conversation with your editor. You say, "I think this is a good story, what do you think?" I have lots of stories I think are interesting that upon further review aren't. So it's not like every single thing I'm interested in, we go do. But it's a jumping-off point for brainstorming. In that instance the response was, "Yeah, that's a really interesting story. Poke around, see what's there, and we'll talk again and decide if we should do it."

Gelf Magazine: What is the most surprising element of that story? You spoke before about trying to capture something that people don't know. What was the new information that made this story come alive?

Wright Thompson: You'd think if you get elected to Congress, that you would get to have your own hobbies. I was just surprised to realize—this is going to sound really dumb to DC watchers—the degree to which the elections never stop. Not only the actual elections, but the same sort of maneuvering to get yourself power. And not in a totally selfish way; if you don't have power, you're not really serving the people who sent you there. It just never, ever ends—the jockeying for access. That's going to be perfectly obvious to some people, but it was interesting for me to see up close.

Gelf Magazine: Are you saying that while the jockeying for power might be obvious to people, hanging it on basketball really makes it tangible and real? As in, "Look at what these guys have to do, they have to adopt Obama's hobby."

Wright Thompson: It does make it real, and also, it just is a very specific example of how the president's whims manifest themselves over a city. At its heart it's a portrait not of people or a sport, but of Washington, DC. And so by taking one small aspect of it that you realize must be repeated over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, it reflects all other walks and aspects of life. It shows you just how the town works, how political it really is, and what that means.

Gelf Magazine: Did you actually get to see Obama play?

Wright Thompson: No.

Gelf Magazine: Wish you had?

Wright Thompson: I mean, I'd like to have hung out with the president of the United States, yes. I have no desire to watch a 40-something-year-old man play pickup basketball. But, hell, I'll do anything he wants to do if I get to hang out with the president. And that's not just Obama. I mean, it's the president, you know? Whoever the next president is, I'd like to go meet him. Or her. Unless it's Sarah Palin.

Gelf Magazine: Let's talk about "At the Turn," the Gary Player profile. What struck me was how close you were allowed to come to this man, his family, and his life. What was it like to be allowed that insight and that proximity?

Wright Thompson: It was completely unbelievable, until I realized that he's just very approachable. You're going to love this story. The article originated as, go to the Masters and find something. None of this was set up. I just went there. Once I got there, I realized, "Oh look. I know what would be a neat idea. Let's take a guy who's going his last Masters and a guy who's doing his first Masters." So I emailed Gary Player's people, and they were great. They were like, "Yeah, sure, come to dinner, that would be great." I couldn't believe it. I was also dealing with one of the amateurs, who would not let me come to their house. That's a nice little insight into how sports works: You've got a college student, an amateur playing in the Masters, who didn't want a reporter over at his house, but it was cool for Gary Player. So then I went to Danny Lee, and his people were great. That story was born on Tuesday, and ran on Monday. That was a week from inception to run. I wrote that in one sitting; I just sat down and wrote it.

Gelf Magazine: Isn't it daunting to just show up at the Masters and ask, "What's the story here?" Or do you just assume the story will be there?

Wright Thompson: Fuck yes it's daunting. I was nervous as hell. That stuff takes years off your life. But it's fun, and a hell of a rush. It's interesting because that sort of flexibility is vital, because you get a story that's current, that feels current, that feels "now." You gain a lot by doing that. But it costs something. Like sanity. And also sleep. But I like that—I really like doing that. Pat Conroy was a quick turn. I went there on the 26th, and the story ran on the 4th or the 5th. And I wrote it Sunday, in a day. I wrote that in one sitting: one day, and then a day of editing. I just sat down and wrote it.

Gelf Magazine: That's the second or third time you've said you sat down and wrote one of these stories in one day. What does that speak to, that you are able to churn out a four-thousand- or five-thousand-word piece in one go?

Wright Thompson: I really outlined. I would like more time, but I'm in a world of deadlines. Things have to run when they have to run. I took a lot more time to write the Ole Miss story. I had to; it was a lot more complicated. The narrative arc of the Conroy piece was pretty simple to me. I felt like I knew what went where. Everything is a function of deadline and when things need to run. We're professionals. We write stories for money. And people who want to run those stories need to run them at certain times. I'm not painting Guernica. It's my job to have these be ready to go when my boss is set and ready to go. So I just work with as much time as I'm given.

Gelf Magazine: To come back to "At the Turn," the idea of one star rising while another falls is a theme that most definitely transcends sports. How much was in your mind?

Wright Thompson: It was completely in my mind. I tell you, you talk about journalism gods: I had picked Danny Lee and Gary Player before I knew they were going to play a practice round together.

Gelf Magazine: What struck me as a common theme to all of these stories is that whatever broader themes you're investigating, you hang those major ideas on these very memorable characters, whether it's a nine-time golf major winner or a 73-year-old basketball player or guys who played at Ole Miss during the riots of 1962. How much of this process, for you, is bringing these characters and personalities to life?

Wright Thompson: A whole lot. People are interesting. The stories that I adore, and the writers that I like, have always explored character…which is just a fancy word for people. They're not characters—they're people. Gary Smith said that one of the most important parts of doing a story is figuring out what the main character's central problem is in the world, and how they go about solving it. I just thought that was incredibly smart. And that is always interesting. I don't like the circus stories, like the one-legged dude. I like stories where seemingly ordinary people find extraordinary things inside of themselves. And those stories teach us something about the human condition. God, that really sounds pompous. But that's much more interesting to me than the blind swimmer. I don't know. What do you think?

Gelf Magazine: Makes sense to me. That was what my question was getting at. I'm not a big golf fan, but the Gary Player story isn't a golf story. How much of your job and your writing is just finding the right people, the people who are worth fleshing out and becoming those stories?

Wright Thompson: I mean, it's everything, right? I mean, seriously, I've met some extraordinary people doing this. From Jack Nicklaus to Tommy and Debbie Conley, whose son Matthew got killed in Iraq—just really extraordinary people. People say this, but I mean this as sincerely as I can mean something: It is an absolute privilege to get to crawl around in people's lives for however long it takes, and then to try to show people what that's like. That's a hell of a responsibility when people let you inside their lives and trust you with them, the soft parts of them. They let you see them as they really are. That's a hell of a thing. My God, that's a joy and a privilege. I love every minute of that.

Gelf Magazine: Clearly these are people who are letting you into their lives, and you do them a service, because these are not one-dimensional pictures. These are big, fleshed-out pictures. I imagine it's a daunting responsibility to do these characters justice, but ultimately a total pleasure.

Wright Thompson: One of the hardest things to explain is that so much just happens when you're that far into something. That's why it's so hard to go back and talk about it later coherently. You get that so far into somebody's life and the story just emerges, fully formed in your mind. You just understand somewhere in the process, "This is what this is. This is what this needs to look like." That's the most nerve-wracking part of doing a story, is every moment up until I know what it's going to look like.
I remember I did this story about a road-trip through China, before the Beijing Olympics. I remember very clearly the moment I realized what the outline was going to be. I was in the car; we were on a mountain road, there was the mountain to the right and a lush green valley to the left, and we were winding ahead. We had to go to the right, way around to the right, then back out to the left, back around the mountain. I was freaked out. How am I going to take all of this stuff and put it in a story? I remember that moment very clearly. But after that it was easy. There is just this moment where you're way inside something, this moment of realization. When those stop coming I've got to go to law school. I have no idea if that's normal or not. That's what's really hard to talk about. A certain amount of it, when you go on the road reporting some of these stories, you just sort of understand what to do next.

Gelf Magazine: What would you tell someone who wants to do what you do?

Wright Thompson: One, if you're not incredibly lucky, you're screwed. The thing I tell people is, if you try to simplify this as much as possible, it's just that you need to find stories that say something about the human condition. Stories that say something that everybody will understand, and then try to spend as much as time as possible around the people whose lives most exhibit that. Be compassionate. I don't think I've ever hated anyone I've written about. I've written about people who have done some bad stuff, but I never hated them.

Gelf Magazine: Do you think that openness is unique to you?

Wright Thompson: I don't. There are people who are certainly better at this than I am. I just try to meet a story on its own terms, see it, discover it, and let it wash over me. I like to be immersed in a story. If I'm doing a story about politics in DC, I want to eat there, at restaurants where political people in DC go. I never want to check myself out of the world. I want to be immersed in it. A really good friend of mine lives in Annapolis, but I didn't want to go to Annapolis. I wanted to stay in DC. I wanted to stay plugged into the story, be all about it.

Gelf Magazine: You mentioned people who you think are particularly good at this. Who are they? Who do you try emulate, or look up to?

Wright Thompson: I look up to Gary Smith. I don't emulate Gary, because no one can do what Gary does. Nobody. I look up to Tom Junod. I can't really do that either. I'm trying. But Tom makes these intellectual leaps in his stories. There are entire story arcs that are playing out in his head. And when you read them they appear organic, as if the story couldn't have been any other way. That guy is just scary smart. The guy whom I'd most like to write like—I'm not there yet but I feel like he's somebody I'd like to emulate— is Charlie Pierce. The guy is crazy smart, and he's a good observer of scenes. If I ever perfected the way I like to do stories, they would appear as if they had been written by Charlie. But I'm a long, long way from Charlie. I try to write like me.

Gelf Magazine: Are you saying that while you look up to these guys, you're not really trying to emulate anybody, but rather trying to be true to your style?

Wright Thompson: I guess. I think it's a little presumptuous to say I have to be true to my own style, as if I have a style. But I do try to understand the things that people say while they interact with the stories I'm doing, and then try to emulate whatever the intellectual process is. But at a certain point, you just have to see the world as you see it. In a great magazine story, a lot of it exists because somebody sees the world a certain way. And that's uncoachable and unteachable.

Related in Gelf

In his previous Gelf interview, Wright Thompson spoke about helping to free an innocent man.

Dan Adler

Dan Adler is a freelance writer.

Post a comment

Comment Rules

The following HTML is allowed in comments:
Bold: <b>Text</b>
Italic: <i>Text</i>
<a href="URL">Text</a>


Article by Dan Adler

Dan Adler is a freelance writer.

Learn more about this author


Hate to miss out? Enter your email for occasional Gelf news flashes.


Gelf t-shirt

The picture is on the front of the shirt, the words are on the back. You can be in between.