Today is the 14th anniversary of my first day at The Whig.
Don't pinch yourself cause it doesn't fly by, it hyper-spaces by.
What I remember about that time is having a proper sendoff by my buddy Wilx in Grand Rapids, he was a little green the next morning but I was more experienced in the matter. I remember the long drive, somehow getting around Chicago, the rest stop just south of Pontiac, listening to a Cubs-Cardinals game and thinking how awful and arrogant Mike Shannon was as an announcer.
The day I arrived in Quincy, a Saturday, there was a huge karting race around the downtown area and I couldn't get close to my temporary quarters. Let's just say it was a downtown "hotel." Let's just say it was the longest 40 days and 40 nights of my life staying there.
I remember taking the bridge to Missouri and thinking, "Wow, I'm in Missouri." I remember going to South Park and then walking up South 12th Street to see our new digs in Southern View. And feeling blue I couldn't move in for more than a month.
I have little memory of my first day at The Whig as sports editor, other than I think I was introduced to some coaches and administrators right off the bat. I do remember walking past the Branding Iron at 5 a.m. that first week and seeing all the graveyard guys with their Buds.
I think one of the first lunch places was The Scoreboard. I think. I do remember covering a volleyball match at Culver-Stockton that first week, and going to Hannibal for a football game that first Friday night.
Geesh. Fourteen years ago?
How can that be?