Goodbye, Bloke

For the last year or so, the view off the port side of my old faithful eMac has been the proud profile of one Matt Davis. Over the months I’ve watched him work—barking bold questions into his telephone, cursing, pounding away at his keyboard, and eating incredibly offensive lunches involving smelly fish.

The man is one of the most audacious characters I’ve had the pleasure of working with (only second to a gentlemen I met as a fish processor in Alaska who had a total of two teeth and a philosophy that revolved around the mating rituals of halibut). Sure, he can be slightly paranoid, overly competitive, and downright nutso at times. But goddamn if I don’t get a tear in my eye when he warbles his way through “Nobody Does it Better.”

I do have to thank him for being one of my biggest supporters (dare I call him a fan?). The third-person Olympic Provisions prose? Wouldn’t have done it if Davis hadn’t said it was a “brilliant” idea. Having a blog post getting picked up by Jezebel? Wouldn’t have happened if Davis hadn’t pushed me to do some actual reporting. So I guess, in hindsight, his influence has been a mixed bag. Never-the-less, I’ve learned a great deal from the fellow.

It’s been a pleasure working with, and occasionally eating with, the voracious British newshound. I hope NOLA is prepared for him. I know I’m not quite prepared to see him go.

Best of luck, Matt. Save some gumbo for me.