I’d like to start this farewell column by thanking my father for handing me everything I’ve ever received on a silver platter. I go running to his office in Fisk whenever I’m short on cash, he got me into Northwestern, he forces professors to give me good grades, and he’s gotten me every job I ever had – including my position of sports editor here at The Daily.

How did he land me this job, you might ask? Good question. He has no link to the paper. And oddly enough, I was fairly experienced – seven quarters as a staff writer and one as an assistant editor – and the only person to even apply to be sports editor in the winter. Still, he must have had some subconscious influence on then-editor in chief Casey Newton. Maybe Casey – who has never met Assistant Dean Ziomek and has no intention of matriculating into Medill’s graduate program, of which daddy is the big boss – was afraid of the consequences should he turn me down.

How did Big Poppa Z get me in to NU? Another puzzler. He hardly even knows anybody in the admissions department, and on top of that, I didn’t apply to his turf, Medill. There must have been telepathic intimidation between him and University President Henry Bienen, who then pulled some strings to have me accepted.

And grades? That’s funny. Last time I checked, my GPA was mediocre, probably below the average for my class.

But still, it’s preposterous to even suggest that there is no link between my “success” here at NU and my father’s relatively high position in the university’s administrative hierarchy.

This is simply because my father holds every single Medill student’s future in his hands. He can single-handedly vault them into positions at newspapers like The New York Times and the Washington Post … or crush their dreams by sending them to the Dullsville Gazette.

Wanna get into Medill’s renowned grad school? Just make friends with me. I’ll drop a line to dad, and you’re in.

In fact, not only do I have the opportunity to write this column because of daddy, I’m also the master of the Daily newsroom because of him. Younger female staff members swoon at the sight of me. Other male members of our editorial board offer alcohol and money in order to gain my favor. I can’t even describe the indecency of some of the proposals I’ve received from ambitious youngsters looking to sleep their way up the Daily ladder.

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A better question is this: Why would anyone want any of these things? Going to a snobby private school, cheating to get good grades … and moreover, who in their right mind would want this infernal sports editing job?

Beats me. Sure, there’s the power and prestige that comes along with working 70 hours a week for a newspaper with a circulation of 7,500. At least two people have recognized me on the street or at random house parties because of the smirking mug shot that appears each time I write a crappy column. I get paid a whopping $750 per quarter – almost $2 per hour! – and sometimes get free smoothies at Willie’s Too. And let’s just say that “Respect your elders” is not exactly a common philosophy on the third floor of Norris.

These perks sure are great, but in reality, the main reason anyone works at The Daily is to get clips, right? Well, I’m a psychology major and a Francophile with little intention of ever pursuing a career in journalism. So that’s the end of that.

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Seriously though, folks.

I’m not a masochist, even if sometimes I like to pretend I am. There are some damn good reasons I’ve spent my time here. I’ll make it quick:

1. I love sports, and I want everybody to get as excited about them as I do – not only football and hoops, but also women’s tennis and men’s golf and every sport NU has. Swimmers work as hard as football players do, and they deserve just as much support.

2. I have an inexplicable affinity for The Daily. Probably because I’ve been reading it since the NU field hockey team made the Final Four in 1994.

3. (Some of) the people who work here. Here’s where I might get a little soggy-eyed, so if you’re not a fan of gushy endings, skip over the rest of this.

Thank-you’s and shout-outs are most certainly in order. First, to Dad, who has always been my primary journalism teacher. For the gullible readers out there, all that stuff about him holding my hand through life isn’t really true. He’s a great guy and a great teacher (and he gives me my space).

To Casey and Emily, who provided an environment that made Winter Quarter immensely enjoyable. And to Andrea and David, for doing the same in the spring (that was not an easy job, kinda like trying to melt an iceberg with a blow dryer).

To the next generation of Daily Sports – Cohen & Sterrett, Ariel, Jim, Sam, Nick, Ali, Jason, Kelvin – you guys are going to rock. I’m absolutely sure of it.

To the others who taught me: Emily Badger & Tommy, and Paul Suwan. I’m certainly no Ring Lardner, but whatever miniscule amount of journalistic ability I absorbed in my 10 quarters here at the paper, you guys deserve the credit for it.

To Mahoney and Tracy, who are outstanding at what they do and made my job easier.

To those who were great people to hang out with, or whose names I promised I would write in the paper (at this point, my ethics are so gone, it’s not even funny): Danimal, KT, Leo & Goldy & Nate & Isaac & J. Warren, Jasper & Theresa, Maldo, Aren, Sonia, Matt & Dan, and dozens of others. You know who you are.

And finally, to the eight or 10 people who read my columns. Hope they made you chuckle, or at least read past the jump once or twice.

I’m out.