Love and hate. They go together like razor blades and Halloween candy. Is a love-hate relationship even possible? The very idea seems silly. Doesn’t love dissolve any lesser emotion? And doesn’t hate do the exact same thing? In theory, then, love and hate should go their separate ways, and never should the twain meet.
Of course the above paragraph is nonsense. We all have love-hate relationships. We all have things we adore that nonetheless frustrate us time and again. You love The Monkees but feel guilty for listening to “I’m A Believer” ten times straight. You think Kobe Bryant is an all-time great, but wish he would stop doing that absurd fist-pump. You despise “Dancing With the Stars” and never miss an episode.
My name is Will Schultz, and I confess to my share of love-hate relationships. I’m going to tell you about a few of them. Why? To unburden myself. To make you feel better about the subjects of your love and hate. To tell a good story. And to explain why Bill Simmons is the only sportswriter I read, in spite of my suspicion that he is pure evil.
This will be a multi-part series, with installments appearing when you least expect it. Coming soon: the historian whose irresistible books drive me up my carrel wall.
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