As the celebrations swing into full pendulum, I find myself compelled to write a little congratulation to all the fabulous writers who I have been lucky enough to join in this little exercise that is the Bleacher Report.
After searching the internet for a forum to express my views on whatever, I was lucky enough to stumble across this site and was immediately hooked.
As a passionate follower and participant in the beautiful game it was with glee that I searched through countless articles to find a footballing fix that was not to be found elsewhere.
Mainstream journalism is mainly stale and without passion, it is on sites like this that you find the real deal, the genuine "article".
People who love their chosen game and the feeling it gives them as they ruminate on it constantly and with fervour.
I cannot begin to relate to anyone the amount of high quality pieces that I have read on this site, from American football (a game I have immense respect for) to Cricket, Ice Hockey, to my own beloved Association Football.
To go off on a tangent for a moment about my views on American football, something I always meant to devote an article to and never got around to, it is a game that is founded on the individuality of a nation that found itself without peer and so did not want to borrow from elsewhere.
I admire the American game for its sheer imperiousness, the we are not Europe, we are not the world, we are the United States of America and we will create a game for ourselves that is our own and we will play it.
As a New Zealander I admire it especially, because even though New Zealand borrowed Rugby Union from our colonial masters, we excel at it and are the Brazil of world Rugby, no matter how many world cups we stuff up.
To the creators of Bleacherreport.com, I thank you for the chance to write at will and the benefits it gives my tired or restless mind.
To the myriad of contributors to the site I have this to say, there is nothing more simple or more powerful than the written word.
As for my headline, time is a societal construct, a product of uniformity and the age of "reason", may we all live our lives beyond it, for as long as we can draw breath.
The pen in any mans hand can be the conduit of the gods.
May we never forget that.