Coupeville Sports

Let’s dance…

Dear Whidbey News-Times and Whidbey Examiner … I mean Sound Publishing … I mean Black Press … I mean … how many levels ARE there to this Canadian Corporate Conglomerate, this Evil Empire that has beached itself on Whidbey Island and befouled our once-pristine Island papers?!?!?!

OK, OK, OK … let’s start over.

Dear Moosejawians … Manitobians … creepy Canucks … , Molson-drinkin’ hosers (your pants are suspiciously wet and that’s NOT maple syrup!) … am I getting close?

Hi, my name is David and I’m NOT a responsible journalist.

I print inflammatory headlines. I use photos out of context. I am not impartial. I interject my own opinions into my stories. I cover EVERYTHING.

I am kicking your ass … and I’m only doing this part-time.

I am your worst nightmare come home to roost.

Journalism has changed, in some ways for the better, in some ways for the worse. But it has changed and you have not and you are dying.

I intend to live on.

I know Coupeville. You do not.

I am Coupeville. You have a building here, usually vacant by 4:30.

You print the bare basics three days after the event.

I have 21 articles (seriously) and 34,901 photos (well, maybe not that many, but close…) up online before you drink your morning coffee.

Imagine what I could do if I gave in after all these years and got a cell phone and posted live from games?

Imagine what I could do if I didn’t hold on to at least some of those journalistic ethics better men and women than myself tried to pound into my thick skull?

Imagine if I got really pissed?

Think of a world where you have erased three years of my bylines from the Whidbey Examiner and don’t give a crap. Now imagine that I take that personally.

Imagine a world where I am going to beat you to EVERY scoop.

Imagine a world where I am going to out-write, out-work and out-taunt you.

Imagine a world where I am going to do a feature story on EVERY SINGLE Coupeville athlete, even if I have to stalk Kole Kellison at every soccer game like a … well … stalker. He will talk one day. Oh, he will talk.

Imagine a world where I am going to dry up your advertising, business by business.

Imagine a world where you are going to lose and you are going to look foolish doing it.

Now, imagine a world where you smarten up and move your money out of your failing Whidbey Island newspapers and move it squarely behind me.

Imagine a world where, instead of getting a daily Wet Willie, you’re suddenly on the side of good again.

And where do you find that world?

You write out the sizable check to David Svien and you mail it to 145 N. Sherman.

It’s in a town called Coupeville.

Some day you’ll have to visit it.