I don’t like typing this. I think it’s because I don’t really believe in it. When I was a kid, as a 4th grader, I found out that Santa Claus was a phony bologna. In my annual letter of selfishness to the North Pole, I asked for an adjustable basketball goal. Around mid-December, I found that basketball goal…in our unfinished basement. My parents had haphazardly hid it thinking that 4th grade Ryan was 2nd grade Ryan and was terrified of the place where camel crickets rule. However, 4th grade Ryan was adventurous and, if 42-year old Ryan can be honest 32 years later, was already questioning the existence of a chubby man that no way in hell could fit down our chimney.
Replacing Ronald Acuña’s WAR
