Useruser666
02-27-2009, 11:49 AM
http://myespn.go.com/blogs/truehoop/0-38-250/Friday-Bullets.html
Get to know one of the NBA's busiest message boards: "To some," co-founder Kori Ellis tells Tim Varner of 48 Minutes of Hell, "Spurs fans arguing about the 15th roster spot for 20 pages may seem a bit crazy, but on SpursTalk that has always been the norm."
http://www.48minutesofhell.com/2009/02/27/a-short-history-of-the-world-with-lj-and-kori-ellis/
A Short History of the World with LJ and Kori Ellis
Jump to Comments
If you have ever taken the time to sift through our comments, or leave one yourself, you know that Spurs fans are a dedicated and intelligent lot. They know their stuff. In fact, if basketball fans can be broken into class (I foresee a Rob Mahoney chart in our future), Spurs fans are something akin to the neighborhood’s spoiled little rich kid. Not Lakers rich. Not Celtics rich. But privileged. They’re like the 20-something indie kid whose retro tee silently heralds The Smiths as rock’s greatest band, thereby disdaining all those who foolishly, inexcusably disagree; they’re your snooty film buff friend who chatters you stiff with cafe exegesis that unpacks each and every allusion contained within last night’s Wes Anderson flick– “I’m surprised you didn’t see Francis Whitman’s strong Van Gogh overtones…”
A stuffy crowd.
Get to know one of the NBA's busiest message boards: "To some," co-founder Kori Ellis tells Tim Varner of 48 Minutes of Hell, "Spurs fans arguing about the 15th roster spot for 20 pages may seem a bit crazy, but on SpursTalk that has always been the norm."
http://www.48minutesofhell.com/2009/02/27/a-short-history-of-the-world-with-lj-and-kori-ellis/
A Short History of the World with LJ and Kori Ellis
Jump to Comments
If you have ever taken the time to sift through our comments, or leave one yourself, you know that Spurs fans are a dedicated and intelligent lot. They know their stuff. In fact, if basketball fans can be broken into class (I foresee a Rob Mahoney chart in our future), Spurs fans are something akin to the neighborhood’s spoiled little rich kid. Not Lakers rich. Not Celtics rich. But privileged. They’re like the 20-something indie kid whose retro tee silently heralds The Smiths as rock’s greatest band, thereby disdaining all those who foolishly, inexcusably disagree; they’re your snooty film buff friend who chatters you stiff with cafe exegesis that unpacks each and every allusion contained within last night’s Wes Anderson flick– “I’m surprised you didn’t see Francis Whitman’s strong Van Gogh overtones…”
A stuffy crowd.