It’s been a long and fruitful year; a year of Roses victories, big claims about penalties, missed penalties, hours of podcasts, thousands of tweets and the blood sweat and tears of, what feels like, a million BUCS Wednesdays.
The Mixer wouldn’t change it for the world. Sure, it can get a bit wearing seeing the cogs turn in a loyal team member’s head as they think of a suitably banal reason why they can’t possibly cover the lacrosse seconds on a freezing December afternoon.
Sure, having to passive- aggressively coerce said team member into knocking up 400 words on such a fixture doesn’t always feel “moral” especially when they have a degree to do – but The Mixer was doing God’s work.
Speaking of God’s work, there is an element of fanaticism to editing this beguiling, beautiful beast of a section.
Normal people dance and chat and drink – The Mixer spent evenings debating the merit of David Ambrozejczyk moving back into net for Alcuin firsts with a brilliant man from Blackburn.
Students eat pizzas and get sick on the dance floor of an odd Chinese restaurant marshalled by a roided up bouncer with minimal respect for the rule of law.
The Mixer extolled the virtues of the woman’s basketball team, wondered whether a fencing promotion was possible and found solace in the company of commited band of people whom we could never thank enough.
They know who they are and, knowing them, they probably want a shout out so that everyone else knows as well.
It would, however, take many more words than this to properly thank them all. They are all tireless, hardened hacks capable of sniffing out a story like an Italian pig searches for truffles.
If there was a picture to be taken they would be there, if graphics were needed they’d turn up flawless and informative and if the Nouse server needed re-starting from a Rugby League ground on a Nokia 3210 then it would get done – just don’t ask us how.
Getting a response to your work is an incredibly gratifying experience, one that reminded you there was a world out there and made it all worthwhile.
The Mixer has been lucky enough that the sporting community at York is one of the most encouraging, engaged and gracious groups of people in this twee little chocolate box town.
Every so often there were negatives (“You know nothing you stupid ginger twat and you wear weird jeans. And shit t-shirts. And you can’t take penalties”) but for everyone of those there were kind words about podcasts that we didn’t even know people listened to and sentiments of thanks for meticulously updated Fantasy Football leagues (Cheers, Fairbs).
In short; it’s been a pleasure. A monothlithic, knackering and all- consuming pleasure. Now, thankfully, it’s time to hand on the baton.
There were times, when the Yorkshire rain hammered on our notebooks and the inky tendrils of our writing mixed with the salty pools of our tears and we thought about jacking it all in.
We thought of leaving the consistent glitz and glamour and the crush of groupies. And we resisted.
Because, as Dolly Parton once said; you can’t have a rainbow without the rain. And people said she was just a big pair of tits.