Today is the final day at Deadspin for Tim Burke, the living embodiment of Florida or Ohio?, who makes history by becoming the first white man to leave a sportswriting job and not go to The Athletic.
Constructor of the Burkeputer, a state-of-the-art rig that is terminally filled with seawater and live frogs, Burke can be found watching every single sporting event on earth at the same time, wondering aloud if you just saw that thing that happened on Senegalese public access—unless it is the final minutes of a championship game, in which case he will be at a Tampa school board meeting and unreachable. Burke—chiptuner, lover of hounds, obliterator of dead girlfriends, repurposer of Jim Ross, appreciator of citrus, Stern Warning—will be deeply missed, right up until the moment we incorrectly use the word “robbery” and aren’t corrected.