- December 20, 2024
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Well, I guess I'll just come right out and say it.
The Ormond Beach Observer’s famed and beloved sports editor, Matt Mencarini, popularly referred to around town as “The Thrilla from Wrigleyville-a,” “Chicago’s Finest Export” and — my personal favorite — “The Chicago Fire,” will be leaving us.
It's true: This will be Matt's last full paper in Ormond before he leaves to work for a daily a couple hours outside of his hometown of Chicago, to be one step closer to his dream of covering sports for the Chicago Tribune. On his departure from Ormond, Matt said, "I just couldn't hack it in the big city."
Not surprising. Not many can.
But I know, you're angry and feel betrayed. You're thinking: Matt is a no-good, rotten, low-down, limey traitor. How dare he abandon the OBO? Have he no honor? Does he really think Chicago could possibly be a better market for career advancement than Ormond Beach?!
All valid points.
But let’s not forget, libel is real. So let’s at least pretend to be happy for him.
So, joking aside, Matt “Don’t Call Me The Chicago Fire” Mencarini was huge in helping build this paper the past 10 months, and with his talent, we're positive, it's only a matter of time before we see his name in a sports-section byline, right above yet another column about how the Cubs have disappointed him. Matt's a part of our history now and he really will be missed (and not only because I don’t want to take over his City Commission beat).
So, that's the bad news. Now for the really bad news.
You might have noticed last week that I didn’t publish my usual Common Nonsense column. And that's because I had a health scare that really threw me for a loop.
I found a gray hair in my beard.
No, no, it’s fine, really. I’m OK now. But it was definitely a wake-up call, and for days I felt terrified and lost. Emergencies like these really have a way of putting things into perspective, you know?
In the throes of this existential crisis, I could barely think. Faced with my own mortality like that, well, I froze. I stared at the blank page on my computer screen and couldn’t help but feel like I, myself, was also a blank page.
You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re faced with death? It’s true. Except my flash was basically just a blur of anxiety and Froot Loops. That’s my legacy. Put it on my tombstone: “Here lies Mike Cavaliere, friend, brother, blur of anxiety and Froot Loops.”
Thing is, a gray hair isn’t just a gray hair. Sure, I’m still young, with Fabio-esque good looks and the kind of charm that makes me an instant fan favorite among old-lady mahjong circles. But the gray hair reminds me that I’m not that young anymore. Time has officially started keeping track of me; I’m on its watch. And so like anyone who considers themselves a lightweight-intellectual, instead of taking any sort of action to combat these feelings, I analyzed them.
And here’s what I discovered about myself.
1) Culture: I’ve never been overseas, or even to California — but, I can totally whistle “The Godfather” theme song. Like, really well.
2) Academia: My whole life, I’ve reworked sentences to avoid certain rules of punctuation instead of actually learning them — but, I never need a machine to help me calculate the tip at restaurants. I mean, unless the bill is big, or an odd number.
3) Career: You know that barren feeling you get in your stomach when you’re starving? That’s how my savings account feels every day — but, I’ve seen nearly 900 movies since 2006 (I know because I keep a log), so ...
4) Personal: For our last anniversary, I bought my ladyfriend a laptop charger ... just a laptop charger — but, see No. 3.
As you can tell, self-audits can be extremely helpful — especially when you’re goal is to feel even worse.
BY MIKE CAVALIERE | ASSOCIATE EDITOR
CLICK HERE to read more from Common Nonsense.
