Finish June 2025 dispatch

.dictionary

@@ -108,6 +108,7 @@ scrollers
 sdkman
 sferik
 sgronblo
+shitshow
 shoulda
 signup
 smalllikeart

content/journal/dispatch-28-june-2025/index.md

@@ -1,10 +1,18 @@
 ---
 title: "Dispatch #28 (June 2025)"
-date: 2025-06-02T13:14:42-04:00
+date: 2025-06-05T02:24:11-04:00
 draft: false
 tags:
 - dispatch
 references:
+- title: "Move, resize, and organize windows with Stage Manager on iPad - Apple Support"
+  url: https://support.apple.com/guide/ipad/move-resize-and-organize-windows-ipad1240f36f/ipados
+  date: 2025-06-05T05:45:20Z
+  file: support-apple-com-t121b2.txt
+- title: "How to Finally Divorce Your Toxic Sports Team | GQ"
+  url: https://www.gq.com/story/how-to-finally-divorce-your-toxic-sports-team
+  date: 2025-06-05T06:02:43Z
+  file: www-gq-com-gqmumq.txt
 - title: "Opinion | There’s a Link Between Therapy Culture and Childlessness - The New York Times"
   url: https://www.nytimes.com/2025/05/30/opinion/therapy-estrangement-childless-millennials.html
   date: 2025-06-03T15:48:53Z
@@ -31,58 +39,79 @@ references:
   file: cliophate-wtf-ja3aad.txt
 ---
 
-Some thoughts here...
+Bamboo killing season is over, now we're onto goddamn cockroach season. I've lived in the South for a quarter century and those little monsters still freak me out. We went down to Lake Norman for Memorial Day weekend, spent a bunch of time on the new (to us) pontoon boat. So much fun. The kids loved it, and I look forward to many more years with them out on the water.
 
 <!--more-->
 
 {{<dither IMG_8286.jpeg "782x600" />}}
 {{<dither IMG_8290.jpeg "782x600" />}}
 
+Here's some new music:
+
+<audio controls src="/journal/dispatch-28-june-2025/Updraft.mp3"></audio>
+
+Not thrilled with the final result here but this does feel like progress: I used different drum samples than usual, which give a less techno, more lo-fi feel, and I designed both bass patches myself rather than just flipping through presets until I found something workable.
+
+My laptop crapped out on the last week of a big project at work. I was able to cobble together a setup using an old ThinkPad for coding + my iPad for everything else; an iPad with an external monitor and [Stage Manager][1] is pretty slick. Then I was able to grab a spare from work and restore everything from Time Machine. I spend a lot of time thinking about backups I never wind up using, so this was a nice reminder that keeping a few different backups -- one you can access from any device, one you can use for a full system restore -- is worth the time and expense. The project launched successfully. I'll post a link once it's ready for the public.
+
+[1]: https://support.apple.com/guide/ipad/move-resize-and-organize-windows-ipad1240f36f/ipados
+
+Busy June ahead of us: Nico turns one in a few days (man time flies), then we're off to the beach with Claire's family, then I'm headed to the [Eastern Shore][2] to hang with a buddy of mine and make some synth jams.
+
+[2]: https://visitesva.com/
+
+Finally, I've been following the Tottenham Hotspur football club for ten years. I was just about ready to give up on them, between not having time to watch a lot of matches and the terrible vibes this season. [This piece felt pretty targeted.][3] Then they went and won the Europa cup, their first silverware in 17 years and the third-coolest thing you can win in a season. Let's hope they keep Ange around.
+
+[3]: https://www.gq.com/story/how-to-finally-divorce-your-toxic-sports-team
+
 ### This Month
 
-* Adventure:
+* Adventure: [Holden Beach][4], [Eastern Shore][2]
-* Project:
+* Project: music in Eastern Short; might try [OpenAI Codex][5] to build a 3D web toy; might even try surgery on my old laptop to see if I can get it working again
-* Skill:
+* Skill: the usual music production stuff; really looking forward to picking up some new skills (synthesis, Ableton)
+
+[4]: https://www.ncbrunswick.com/islands-towns/holden-beach/
+[5]: https://openai.com/index/introducing-codex/
 
 ### Reading & Listening
 
-* Fiction: [_Invasive_][1], Chuck Wendig
+* Fiction: [_Invasive_][6], Chuck Wendig
-* Non-fiction: [_Title_][2], Author
+* Non-fiction: [_The Notebook_][7], Roland Allen
-* Music: [_Trans Pacific_][3], Gas Lab & Kazumi Kaneda
+* Music: [_Trans Pacific_][8], Gas Lab & Kazumi Kaneda
 
-[1]: https://bookshop.org/p/books/invasive-chuck-wendig/6437961
+[6]: https://bookshop.org/p/books/invasive-chuck-wendig/6437961
-[2]: https://bookshop.org/
+[7]: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-notebook-a-history-of-thinking-on-paper/21106064
-[3]: https://gas-lab.bandcamp.com/album/trans-pacific
+[8]: https://gas-lab.bandcamp.com/album/trans-pacific
 
 ### Links
 
-* [There’s a Link Between Therapy Culture and Childlessness][4]
+* [There’s a Link Between Therapy Culture and Childlessness][9]
 
   > I thought of the love I felt for the unborn little thing within me — just then, just beginning to make its presence known with a kick and flutter and a flip — and I felt bowled over by all that I had not understood. The love my parents had felt, do feel, that I had recognized in the abstract, I had so often overlooked.
 
-* [Searls of Wisdom for April 2025][5]
+* [Searls of Wisdom for April 2025][10]
 
   > Planet Earth is undeniably a bit of a shitshow at the moment, but I'm actually feeling optimistic that we're approaching the precipice of something that will—once we get to the other side of it—feel like the beginning of a sea change in how information is organized, constituted, and distributed. To wit: skepticism of information technology has materialized and matured from opposite ends of the political spectrum, and advocates from both sides are meeting in the middle with relatively boring policy prescriptions like regulating the use of smartphones in schools and expanding the scope of antitrust actions. Seems… fine, actually?
 
-* [Navigating by aliveness][6]
+* [Navigating by aliveness][11]
 
   > And if in a year or two or ten the paragraphs above look hopelessly naïve … well, I think I’ll be glad to have been naïve, in this context. Because I suspect that a certain form of naivete may be a precondition for aliveness.
 
-* [Moleskine Mania: How a Notebook Conquered the Digital Era][7]
+* [Moleskine Mania: How a Notebook Conquered the Digital Era][12]
 
   > “Do you know there’s a section of our customer base that buys a fresh Moleskine every time they come into a store? We have no idea what they do with them”
 
-* [Junk Contemplations][8]
+* [Junk Contemplations][13]
 
   > All of these things hurt my eyes, even though this has more or less been the state of stuff in our home for the past two years. I just can’t get used to it, something keeps on urging me to clean up, and I indeed have the feeling that that is exactly what I do all day long every single day—without much success.
 
-* [How to think][9]
+* [How to think][14]
 
   > I expect that when, and if, the AI revolution arrives, people who have the ability to think are the ones who will not be left behind. Thinkers will be the ones who will thrive in these uncertain times.
 
-[4]: https://www.nytimes.com/2025/05/30/opinion/therapy-estrangement-childless-millennials.html
+[9]: https://www.nytimes.com/2025/05/30/opinion/therapy-estrangement-childless-millennials.html
-[5]: https://justin.searls.co/mails/2025-04/
+[10]: https://justin.searls.co/mails/2025-04/
-[6]: https://ckarchive.com/b/zlughnhk8772ma7qrr9qehwzgng00f6
+[11]: https://ckarchive.com/b/zlughnhk8772ma7qrr9qehwzgng00f6
-[7]: https://thewalrus.ca/moleskine/
+[12]: https://thewalrus.ca/moleskine/
-[8]: https://brainbaking.com/post/2025/05/junk-contemplations/
+[13]: https://brainbaking.com/post/2025/05/junk-contemplations/
-[9]: https://cliophate.wtf/how-to-thi
+[14]: https://cliophate.wtf/how-to-think

static/archive/www-gq-com-gqmumq.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,773 @@
+[1]Skip to main content
+[2]GQ
+[3]GQ
+[4]STYLE
+[5]SHOPPING
+[6]CULTURE
+[7]GROOMING
+[8]WELLNESS
+[9]GQ SPORTS
+[10]THE GQ BOX
+[11]VIDEOS
+Menu
+[12]Newsletters
+Menu
+[13]STYLE
+[14]SHOPPING
+[15]New Arrivals[16]Under $250[17]Office Style[18]Editors' Wishlists[19]Watches
+[20]Sneakers[21]On Sale Now[22]All Shopping
+[23]CULTURE
+[24]GROOMING
+[25]WELLNESS
+[26]GQ SPORTS
+[27]THE GQ BOX
+[28]VIDEOS
+MORE
+[29]NEWSLETTERS
+[30]BACK TO GQ.COM
+[31]Search
+[32]Sign In
+[33]GQ Sports
+
+How to Finally Divorce Your Toxic Sports Team
+
+Of all the relationships in life, none is more unrequited than the one we have
+with the teams we love the most. One writer learns how to extricate himself
+from the senseless pain and suffering of his fandom
+By [34]Tom Lamont
+April 15, 2025
+Image may contain François Walthry Book Comics Publication Adult Person Baby
+Face and Head
+Illustrations (throughout) by Zohar Lazar
+Save
+Save
+
+This story was featured in The Must Read, a newsletter in which our editors
+recommend one can’t-miss story every weekday. [37]Sign up here to get it in
+your inbox.
+
+━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
+
+About a year ago, while watching his team lose a must-win game, a fan of the
+Dallas Cowboys named CJ Boyd removed his replica jersey, balled it tight, and
+hurled it off the balcony of his apartment in DeSoto, Texas. While his partner
+looked on, filming Boyd’s tantrum on her phone, he chased his floating jersey
+outside, where he picked it up to hurl it farther along the street. He was
+topless. It was winter. Boyd didn’t feel the cold, he told me, for misery. The
+clip of his outburst circulated online, and when I watched it I thought: Yeah,
+that captures it—the circular pain of a fully felt love for a sports team, the
+seeming impossibility of escape. In the video, Boyd marches up and down the
+street renouncing, then retrieving, the jersey, never able to throw it far
+enough to be free.
+
+When a spark has gone, lovers may separate and spouses divorce. Businesses are
+dissolved all the time without acrimony. Friends quietly stop texting one
+another. We abandon unsatisfactory jobs, apartments, political parties. Why
+should it be different with a team?
+
+Of all the many rules governing human behavior—stuff codified by law,
+etiquette, or religious decree to steady interpersonal relations—the only
+universal taboo I can think of that’s rational, legally sound, ethically
+neutral, yet carries the social equivalent of the noose is the ditching of a
+sports team. Among fans, there’s no excuse that will account for it. No exit
+papers or under-the-table permissions may be obtained. It’s bone-felt, beyond
+argument, and if you care to know anything about sports, you know that however
+degraded, bored, impoverished, or exhausted a fan may feel, their continued
+fidelity is expected, no matter what.
+
+In Michigan, a few years ago, it made its way from local to national news that
+a family, the Carpos, had decided to give up the Detroit Lions, tired of years
+and years of losing. It was a sensation, an outrage. When David Cameron was on
+the verge of being reelected British prime minister in 2015, commentators saw
+it as an awful portent that he could not seem to remember which fan base he
+belonged to: Hammers or Villans. Before the director Steve McQueen was underway
+on his name-making movie, 12 Years a Slave, he was fanatical about an English
+football team, Tottenham Hotspur. “I gave up football,” McQueen told an
+interviewer in January 2014. “It affected my day too much. It’s just stupid.”
+Within a couple months of that unusual admission, McQueen was the proud owner
+of an Oscar for best picture. A Tottenham fan myself—affected by it, made
+stupid by it—I imagined a cosmic link between the two events. In renunciation,
+McQueen seemed to have found peace, and reward.
+
+That was a decade ago, and also when I first started to dream about bailing
+out, imagining the many ways the emotion and ambition I wasted on a sports team
+might be better spent. I felt like a reasonably well functioning adult, a fun
+parent, a listening spouse, a reliable wage earner…. But only till about 3 p.m.
+on a Saturday, at which point I became a pacing, pink, grudge-holding bore with
+a fuse the length of a fingernail. I was perfectly prepared to obliterate all
+sorts of cheerful occasions with thermonuclear sulks about sporting contests I
+had no control over.
+
+I knew that lifelong fans, periodically swearing off, almost always came back.
+I dredged newspaper archives and the internet for examples of successful
+separations like McQueen’s, but there wasn’t much out there. In the 2010s, an
+English fan called Adam Thompson finally tired of his team, Wolverhampton
+Wanderers, and sought a parting. He registered a WordPress blog—How to Divorce
+Your Football Team: A Social Experiment in Leaving Your First True Love—and
+charted his efforts to begin again. There were field trips. Even flirtations.
+The blog fizzled out.
+
+When I contacted Thompson to ask what happened to his experiment, he told me he
+got cold feet. Boyd, the man in Texas, said that if the Dallas Cowboys were a
+girlfriend, he would have broken up with them years ago. But this was sports,
+where sticking it out or dying can seem the only options available to
+malcontents. Could anything be done?
+
+━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
+
+There is a sentiment in Korean sport: The fan doesn’t choose the team; instead,
+the team chooses the fan. If this is true, then Tottenham took a roundabout
+route to get me. My dad grew up in Scotland. As a boy he cheered for Aberdeen
+FC, which occupies a crumbling redbrick stadium on the sandy banks of the North
+Sea. When he moved to London, he was a lonely provincial teenager in need of
+work and friends. He tried to assimilate in a hurry, and various severings of
+identity took place. He anglicized his accent. He told fibs about his
+upbringing. Out went the old team, and after he met my mother, he took up
+supporting Tottenham, whose players used to visit the special-needs school
+where she worked. That gesture was enough to plant something in him that he
+later planted in me. So we were Tottenham fans.
+
+For as long as I can think, my relationship with the team has been anxious,
+angular, a bit wrongheaded, a bit much. At the first live game I went to, a
+player from the visiting team turned to the home fans and threw out an arm in a
+fascist salute. He also mimed having a Hitler mustache. These were stunning
+gestures in a stadium full of Jewish North Londoners like me. Nothing has been
+neat or shapely about following the team since. Season after season, my dad and
+I ground our teeth and ground it out, celebrating some, chuntering more. He
+died in 2022, just days after the end of a reasonably successful campaign by
+our standards. My dad and I had enjoyed four, maybe five, such golden seasons,
+spread out over the 30-plus years we doggedly followed the team. Were they
+enough, the scattered good times?
+
+One of his mates came to his funeral wearing a Tottenham jersey. I remember
+thinking how odd it was, that a team could take root in someone’s identity to
+such an extent, finding purchase in my dad where religion, music, luxury,
+literature never did. I remember wondering as I said goodbye whether this was
+the time to say goodbye to our shared team too. By 2024 I was more determined:
+a parent to growing children of my own, children who watched me celebrate or
+pace the corridors of our home, mysteriously elated, inexplicably upset. I took
+my son to watch Tottenham play our loathed local rivals, Arsenal, and we fell
+behind 1-0, 2-0, then 3-0 in the first half. Gremlin-y Arsenal fans howled at
+us from their section. There was something in my son’s flushed face, a
+frustration that I had no power to relieve, that made me decide: enough.
+
+Fan to fan, we are conditioned to admire unconditionality, a devotion that’ll
+withstand any stress. The most exemplary fans are not the winningest or the
+most neatly coordinated, nor those that travel in large, uncomplaining packs.
+The exemplars are the undernourished loyalists who hang around when there’s
+little to no encouragement for them to do so. I think of Ron “Crackman”
+Crachiola, that immortally optimistic Detroit Lions fan, or that much televised
+booster of the New York Jets, Edwin “Fireman Ed” Anzalone, both of whom have
+clung on, costumed, hoarse, through actual decades of false dawns. Dawg
+Pounders with your heads in your hands at Huntington Bank Field, a stadium
+known in Cleveland as the Factory of Sadness: I see you too. Broadly, there is
+peer-to-peer sympathy for all of these franchises—Lions fans, Vikings fans,
+Sabres fans, Kings fans—and their collective centuries of waiting.
+
+We have to be impressed by such devotion. Me, I’m also put in mind of tales of
+prisoners or kidnap victims, so accustomed to their jails they might refuse a
+means of escape. Logic is not meant to be a part of the true fan’s equipment.
+Applying logic to our situations, 99 out of 100 of us would start a mighty bin
+fire, burning the keepsakes. I wish I’d asked my dad how he did it, severing
+himself from his boyhood team.
+
+Even without that guidance, resolutions took shape for me through the summer of
+2024. I needed to at least try to break it off, stop this reflexive way of
+thinking of the team as an extension of myself. When another season began in
+August, I refused friends’ offers of tickets. I kept away from screens during
+matches where I reasonably could. If I failed, I’d at least leave the
+beginnings of a trail, something for future escapees to follow.
+
+I stayed quiet on text chains and left WhatsApp groups—swearing off the
+bumblebee emoji, never expecting to be “buzzing” about a goal again. I
+accepted, glumly, that some of my friendships would suffer in the short term. I
+warned my only brother I’d be taking a holiday of indefinite duration from our
+team. What next? Actual holiday, putting miles between myself and the home
+stadium? Hypnosis? I thought I might try laughing at the whole situation. On
+paper, intense fandom is absurd.
+
+I reached out to an online comedian named Isaac Barron, who produces videos
+throughout the NFL season in which he plays a distraught sports fan. Tears
+streaming down his face, Barron pleads for release: “I can’t take this no
+more…. Every year I go through this…. I’m sorry about the TV.” Barron puts in
+such a persuasive performance that I had to call him out as a fraud. There’s
+legitimate pain here, I insisted. Barron, another Cowboys lifer, laughed. At
+least 50 percent of the anguish is legit, he said. Barron’s wife, Shannon, told
+me that he had ruined a date, years earlier, by hiding in his bedroom and
+crying over a loss. Sketch comedy was a compromise they’d dreamed up, a form of
+catharsis. “The tears come from the fan in me,” Barron said. “The actor in me
+pushes them.” He’d made himself find humor in what might otherwise be breaking
+his heart.
+
+If humor wasn’t my way out, maybe I could deaden myself with cool, professional
+distance. John Powers, a sportswriter at The Boston Globe, told me how he’d
+extricated himself from fandom: by becoming a sportswriter and forcing himself
+to turn neutral. His colleague Dan Shaughnessy, who grew up outside Boston and
+has written about the Red Sox for the Globe for over 40 years, said something
+similar. “If I’m covering a game, the Red Sox lose, I need to be able to tell
+the readers why they lost,” Shaughnessy told me. “When my head hits the pillow
+it doesn’t matter whether they won or lost, except for the story. I’m rooting
+for the story.”
+
+I had tried laughing, like Barron; now I tried rooting for the most dramatic
+narrative around my team, whatever that might be. It was a Sunday in October.
+Tottenham were playing away. We were up 2-0 at halftime and the best story,
+following Shaughnessy’s theory, would be a dramatic three-goal comeback by the
+opposition. When exactly that happened, it felt dreadful as always, an ache
+that made its way around the belly, groin, molars.
+
+I was at a family lunch that Sunday. My sister-in-law, a therapist, asked why,
+if I truly wanted out, I hadn’t sought counseling yet. Embarrassment wasn’t
+reason enough to keep dragging my feet. Googling, I came across a therapist
+named Christina DeCoux, who is based in Los Angeles. A particular sentence on
+DeCoux’s website caught my eye: “People often seek me out because they are
+feeling stuck in a painful emotional pattern that just won’t let go.”
+
+Image may contain Book Comics Publication Person Accessories Glasses Box
+Clothing Footwear Shoe and Cartoon
+━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
+
+I booked a consultation with DeCoux and we spoke over video. I explained my
+predicament and we talked about what I might like to achieve. I said I just
+wanted to leave it all behind with some dignity on both sides, affectionate
+memories in tact. I wanted a happy divorce.
+
+I had just spent an afternoon with Ryan Ray, an insurance broker from England,
+who I thought might have the saddest story of any fan in the world. Ray and his
+mates followed their own boyhood club, Wimbledon FC, based for a century in
+southwest London, when it was moved by new owners to Milton Keynes, 60 miles
+north of London. Fans who decided to keep their allegiance local reinstituted a
+new club in the neighborhood called AFC Wimbledon. The old team that moved
+north became MK Dons, taking with it the players and, in theory, the status and
+history…plus Ray and a smattering of original fans. Supporters on either side
+of this angry divide insist it is the other lot who are the deserters. “I don’t
+open my mouth anymore,” Ray says. “ ‘Ah, who do you support, then?’ I don’t
+bother answering. It’s not worth the hassle.”
+
+Ray and I had come together to watch MK Dons play a cup game against AFC
+Wimbledon. Visiting fans traveled up in red double-decker buses, to emphasize
+their fundamental London-ness. In the stadium they sang a chant that ironically
+glamorized life in the capital (Champagne, cocaine, Ferraris) at the expense of
+the turncoats who’d left. “You’ve got bus stops and secondhand shops,” went one
+part of the chant, probably the nicest part. “Your clothes are shite and your
+haircut’s fucking weird.” As with many separations, dialogue had cheapened to
+insults, lists of bad traits, the once-unsayable things now exaggerated for
+maximum cruelty. After his team went down 1-0, then 2-0, Ray and I retreated to
+a windowless bar inside the stadium. “I look forward to it,” he said, “the six
+to eight weeks when I don’t have to focus on anything to do with this football
+club. I long for it.” Ray meant the offseason. “Sometimes I wish I could just
+sit there without any bias, without any interest—but it’s not me. I’m tribal.”
+
+I mentioned this idea of tribalism to the therapist, DeCoux. I explained my
+conviction that the saddest, bleakest parts of the fan’s experience—the
+exaggerated grievances, the shortsighted bragging, the narrow delusion of being
+exceptional—were the parts bound up in tribal feeling. She said that whenever
+she watched her own husband watch sports—he was a New York Rangers fan—she was
+sometimes put in the mind of religious cults. DeCoux was raised inside a
+rule-bound evangelical church. She left in her 20s and made cult recovery one
+of her areas of focus as a therapist. “You wouldn’t know what songs to sing
+unless you were a part of the group,” DeCoux recalled of her church. “You had
+to perceive what were the correct things to say. If you were ever off message,
+you could feel the energy shift.”
+
+She might have been describing any supporters’ pub in Newcastle or Bavaria; one
+of those stadium sections that are set aside for drum-banging, flares,
+ride-or-die piety. DeCoux continued: “Of course, the one thing you can’t say
+is, ‘I’m not sure I want to follow along with you guys anymore. I’m changing
+cults.’ Because that would be immediate social exclusion.” She described a
+commonly reported reason that people give for staying in cults: the sunk cost
+fallacy. “People can’t leave because they’ve spent so much time and money and
+energy,” she explained.
+
+I thought of Boyd, the jersey-throwing Cowboys fan, who described the NFL
+offseason to me as though talking through an obvious, yet completely
+irresistible, con. “Let’s say your guys get knocked out in January,” he said.
+“You’re pissed. You’re mad. I would guess that for the average fan it’s free
+agency when most of them start getting invested again. That piques the
+interest.” The seasonal reset creates a void. Optimism quickly fills it. The
+fan thinks, Maybe I’ll be a better member of this cult if I only believe
+harder, give over more of my money and my time. “Then roster cuts happen.
+Players get traded. It’s almost like a mind game, right? ‘Okay. This could
+work.’ And God forbid you have a good preseason.”
+
+━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
+
+In November, DeCoux texted me to say she’d been pondering my case and she
+regretted likening it to extraction from a cult. The situation, she said, had
+more in common with addiction, the high highs, the low lows, the swearing-offs,
+the shame-inducing returns to the cookie jar. I was nodding. Could we talk?
+
+“There are a couple of ways I know of looking at addiction,” she said. “One is,
+you [follow the spirit of] a 12-step program. You go totally sober. You aim to
+be sober forever. A lot of people in addiction would say this is the only way.
+There are other branches of treatment, known as harm reduction, where a
+therapist meets a person where they’re at. They try to reduce the harm that a
+substance is causing.” The idea, she continued, is to help a client use less,
+with greater control and greater awareness. “I would ask you, when you feel the
+out-of-control feelings, what do you believe about yourself? I would want to
+know: Which feeling comes up strongest? Give me an ‘I am’ statement.”
+
+Smallness, I said.
+
+“ ‘I am small,’ ” repeated DeCoux. “So it’s really about feeling like a child.
+Completely out of control of your destiny. Powerless.” She considered this. “I
+would say, maybe, your connection is linked to old childhood beliefs that need
+to be examined. When did it become clear that this was an identity for you?
+What were the experiences that made you form an identity around this team?”
+
+I pondered it and told DeCoux that I found it hard to remember a time when it
+didn’t feel like a part of my identity. I couldn’t remember choosing tribes. As
+children, she said, we make a lot of meaning: “But if you don’t remember the
+meaning that was made, how do you even shift that? You have to go back. Find
+the meaning you made around the team.” There was always a rivalry dynamic, I
+said, between Tottenham and Arsenal, our North London rival. A sense of us and
+them; a big sibling/little sibling vibe. At my school there were Jewish kids
+and Greek kids. The Jews ended up in one class and the Greeks in the other. We
+were Tottenham, they were Arsenal. For seasons-long stretches at a time, all
+through my teenage years and into my 20s, Arsenal were the more successful of
+the teams. It was bad luck. It was agony.
+
+As an adult, I always lived in flats and houses in enemy territory, within
+earshot of Arsenal’s stadium. The schools in these neighborhoods are Arsenal
+hothouses. The babysitters get busy indoctrinating your kids as soon as the
+front door shuts. On match days, main roads chock up with Arsenal fans,
+identifiable beneath their colors, I always think, because of a smugness of
+bearing that must come from their being part of a fan base that’s had a nice
+time of it over the years—that expects more glory as its due. (American readers
+will be unconsciously balling their fists picturing the Belichick-era
+Patriots.) No Tottenham fan of my generation thinks of glory as a right.
+Tottenham fans take nothing for granted and they are keenly aware of the
+entitlement of other fan bases. Whenever Tottenham play Arsenal, a starved
+chippiness smacks up against spoiled lordliness.
+
+DeCoux would often talk about going back, in psychological terms, to the scene
+of the crimes. Had I ever been to a game in Arsenal’s stadium, for instance? In
+all these years, a lifetime, I hadn’t. And so, on an apocalyptic weather day
+that November, the sky dark with clouds, as if in judgment over a travesty, I
+went to sit among the home fans at Arsenal.
+
+━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
+
+There will have been so many Red Sox fans who died in October 2004, only days
+or hours before the team turned the tide in its American League Championship
+Series against the Yankees, setting up a first World Series title in 86 years.
+During darker times, their optimism gravely tested, the frightened fan wonders:
+Why did this team choose me? Why the post-Aikman Cowboys? Why the Tottenham
+team that contracted mass food poisoning in 2006 on the eve of its most
+important game in years? Why wasn’t I chosen by Steph’s Warriors, Schumacher’s
+Ferrari, Messi’s Barca? Winning fans never ask themselves such questions.
+Winning fans are amnesiacs. They forget the random flights of ball or puck, the
+bad-breaking weather, the dumb injuries that must have caused them misery in
+the past. They ascribe their better times to tactics, organization,
+culture—whatever, to “championship DNA” or “winning mentality” or a dozen other
+press-conference clichés. Uh-huh, thinks the Mariners fan, 48 seasons and
+counting without a maiden World Series appearance, hearing about championship
+DNA. Oh sure, think fans of the Knicks, the Kings, the Hawks, decades without
+an NBA title. Why didn’t we think to have a mentality that prioritized winning
+when it would matter instead of losing when it would hurt the most?
+
+Fans are pitiable if they try to ditch a team and damned absolutely if they
+ever try to swap. And yet players, coaches, even owners are permitted to drift
+between teams as opportunity or profit dictate. Magic Johnson, always a Lions
+fan, cheered on that team’s recent playoff defeat by the Washington Commanders,
+of which he owns a minority stake. Presidents have been quick to pardon
+themselves for straying. Nixon supported one NFL team while playing footsie
+with another. (You understand that I’m a Washington fan, he told Don Shula, the
+coach of the Miami Dolphins. “But I’m a part-time resident of Miami and I’ve
+been following the Dolphins real close….”) At around the same time, in the
+early 1970s, a young Bill Clinton, besotted with his college girlfriend, added
+Hillary’s Chicago Cubs to his own St. Louis Cardinals (bitterest of rivals) as
+the baseball teams he rooted for. Jimmy Carter switched from the Yankees to the
+Braves in the mid-1960s after they relocated to Atlanta and never looked back,
+though the exchange left him in the championship red over the rest of his long
+life—two World Series titles to the Yankees’ seven. As a boy, the director
+Spike Lee gave up the Mets for the Yankees. Again, those many, many titles.
+
+Most fans stick, and if they don’t, they stay quiet. The Carpos, that family in
+Michigan who ditched the Lions, made the news because they’d elected to support
+the Kansas City Chiefs instead. Of all the eras in Taylor Swift’s life, one
+remains creatively underexplored: the time before she was a Chief, when she was
+an Eagle. There is a fascinating page on NamuWiki, the Korean-language
+Wikipedia, that outlines the philosophical case against abandoning one’s team.
+The act is known in Korea as 팀 세탁—team laundry—and it is understood to
+involve a paradox. You care enough, you want to put an end to your suffering.
+You care enough, you can’t. “If you have blue eyes,” said Shaughnessy, the
+sportswriter, “you have blue eyes.”
+
+From my own empirical research, it does seem the body understands if denial is
+in play, that a sacrament is under threat. Sitting in the chilly stands at
+Arsenal, I fidgeted and sweated, feeling well beyond the pale. Next to me there
+was another displaced fan, a woman named Liubov Liushnenko, from Ukraine.
+Liushnenko’s swings in team allegiance had been so intense, I soon felt ashamed
+of my own discomfort. She was raised in the Ukrainian capital, the only
+daughter of a devout Dynamo Kyiv fan. Liushnenko baffled her father by becoming
+a fan of Dynamo’s hated rivals, Shakhtar Donetsk, who played 450 miles away, in
+the Donbas region. Her dad wanted to know why she’d made the decision. “I
+couldn’t explain,” she told me “I still can’t. If you love something you can’t
+explain.”
+
+Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine changed Liushnenko’s life. She lost her job
+and lost friends to the army or migration. Before long she was persuaded by her
+parents to seek asylum in England. Staying in lodgings outside London, “I felt
+completely lost,” she said. Streams of Ukrainian football games, watched from
+her bedroom, helped. And over time it was football that made her feel more at
+home in her adopted country. She started playing for a lower-league team and
+took work as a coach for a charity called Fair Shot, which helps refugees find
+a place in English communities through football. Liushnenko took out her phone
+and showed me pictures of her parents. “I wanted to go back for New Year but my
+parents said no, not now. There’s no electricity. No heating. It’s a bad time.”
+
+In the Arsenal stadium, pre-match theatrics were underway. The Clash’s “London
+Calling” rang out with its snarling lyric about battle and war. Fireworks
+popped on the grass and the air around us filled with the sharp smell of
+gunpowder. Liushnenko said that in Ukraine, the war had brought about a shock
+truce between the fans of Shakhtar Donetsk and Dynamo Kyiv. “When part of your
+country is occupied,” she said, “you cannot be enemies with each other. You
+cannot be enemies with yourself.”
+
+We watched most of the match together, then I snuck out after halftime, feeling
+incongruous and grubby in that environment, chastened as well by Liushnenko’s
+example, trying to hear the right lessons in her story. Traveling home, I
+thought of what the therapist had said about us trying to cut certain cords
+that bound me to my team, working against negative feelings of anger, shame, or
+regret while retaining other, more positive associations: acknowledging the
+good. “I would want to see you go through a cycle of anger, then acceptance,”
+DeCoux said, “then get to some appreciation of what the team has done for you.”
+
+━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
+
+It was obvious that I couldn’t just choose another team in the Premier League
+to support. But casually, that fall—just having some fun on the apps—I started
+seeing other sports. I watched YouTube reels of the World Series–bound Dodgers
+and dabbled in a trial subscription with the resurgent Knicks. When work took
+me to Hamburg, I showed up in the city’s pungent arena to watch its much-loved
+handball team. I texted the therapist: “We’re winning 6-5, I think. There’s a
+mascot dressed as a Dole banana.” Except when balls were successfully thrown
+into goals, I had no fucking idea what was happening, why we groaned as fans,
+why we regained our faith or sensed blood. I couldn’t follow the mysterious
+waves of belief and dread that take hold of people when a team matters so much
+to them they know its every mood, all blind spots, all flaws.
+
+Around then, the Jacksonville Jaguars came to London to play an international
+game at Wembley Stadium. I showed up to sample the visiting NFL circus. Agents
+of a seductive Americana had been sent overseas to tempt in new fans. For an
+hour, I joined in with other mesmerized Londoners as we yelled locally flavored
+endearments at the Jaguars quarterback Trevor Lawrence. “G’wan, Trev! Get in,
+Trevah.” Floridan cheerleaders tried their best to look like they wanted to be
+dancing under drizzle in a stadium that’s usually configured for English
+football. Bros in tracksuits bazooka-ed T-shirts at the crowd. The men behind
+me were doggedly checking Premier League scores by phone, grumbling about the
+consequences for their fantasy teams. It was a novelty to be able to drink in
+our seats, an indulgence imported from overseas, and people got very drunk. Our
+section started to smell like a wet ashtray.
+
+As the Jags pulled away, my attention started roving around the stadium. I’d
+been here often in support of Tottenham and I found old landmarks, picked at
+old wounds. Down there. That was where I sat to watch a 5-1 annihilation in a
+can’t-lose semifinal. Up there, in the eaves. That’s where I closed my eyes
+while Lionel Messi and his Barcelona teammates ate us for dinner. The
+humiliations lingered keenly. The losses were more alive in memory than the
+wins. I realized that having begun this trial separation, having started to
+make strides toward indifference, I was starting to miss the pain.
+
+DeCoux was interested to hear it at our next session, though not greatly
+surprised. Look at the faces of people at sports events, she said. Look at what
+they do with their bodies, the tactility, the tears. Sport seems to open up a
+rare space for people, especially men, to emote in public. It gives people a
+way to indulge what they might otherwise be suppressing—grief included.
+
+Image may contain Art Cleaning Person and Painting
+
+One weekend, I traveled to Aberdeen in Scotland where my dad grew up. I had a
+ticket to watch his boyhood team. Maybe there were answers for me
+there—compatible blood. Policemen frisked us at the stadium gate, checking
+pockets, checking socks. One teenager had a bottle of beer pulled out of his
+hood. At least a hundred men were smoking in a tight, high-walled gully that
+ran between the outer ramparts and the stands.
+
+I had a place in the hard-core section. Beside me, an elderly man, about the
+age my dad would have been, ate two chocolate bars and a bag of cheese crackers
+in silence, methodically tossing the empty packaging at my shins, possibly in
+provocation. I opened and ate a KitKat, also in silence, adding to the litter
+under my feet, a bid for acceptance that seemed to work. Soon a huge
+white-and-red flag was dragged over our section. A fan with a bass drum started
+up a regular thump, about the rate of an excitable heartbeat. As enthusiasm in
+the stadium began to grow, the flag was whipped away at just the moment the
+fans around me burst into song. The drumming and the singing did not let up
+till halftime. The home team, my dad’s team, played with flair, winning
+handsomely, and the terrace chants echoed in my head for hours afterward. I
+walked away along the seafront, eating a mince-and-oatmeal pie, his favorite.
+
+It was an ideal evening of sport. As meet-cutes go, the circumstances could not
+have been more propitious for second love if the whole thing was scripted by
+Austen or Ephron. I came away stimulated, all my senses fed, glad to have made
+the pilgrimage. When I asked my heart a question, whether it could love this
+other team, the answer was unequivocal, as clear as the drum: No chance.
+
+While I was in Scotland, I texted Adam Thompson, the Wolverhampton Wanderers
+fan who’d written the divorce blog all those years ago. In the end, not only
+did Thompson renew his vows, he sealed them in ink—he now has a W.W. tattoo—as
+if in apology for straying. CJ Boyd has team tattoos of his own: massive,
+palm-size Dallas Cowboys stars on either pectoral. Try divorcing those. I would
+suggest that—with respect to Spike Lee, the Carpos in Michigan, and at least
+three former US presidents—the swappers are outliers. You can’t choose the
+team. The team chooses you.
+
+━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
+
+It was January. My team hobbled into another new year, embarking on a
+historically terrible run, oblivious as to whether I was following the endless
+carnival or not. A friend had coined the term “low-power mode” (as when your
+iPhone downshifts to suck up less energy) to describe my renegotiated
+commitment to Tottenham, and I seized on his words like serious praise. What
+would seem a blunt desertion to some, a fuss over nothing to others, felt to me
+a small, treasurable achievement. On the night of a bad loss to Arsenal, I
+wasn’t there, I wasn’t pacing in front of a screen; I was out at dinner with
+friends. We spoke of Zuckerberg and Musk, ceasefires and wildfires. Los
+Angeles’ NFL teams had lost in the January playoffs, as though making dignified
+withdrawals to focus on more important matters. Perspective, if you wanted it,
+was easily found that month.
+
+“You can never just leave something completely behind. It’s always a part of
+you,” DeCoux had told me. That was the day her son wandered in, mid-session, to
+say goodbye to her before leaving for school. The three of us fell into
+conversation. DeCoux explained that we were discussing “sport and feelings,”
+and the boy made a brilliant noise, a weary groan with a rising note at the
+end: really? He was at the outset of his own journey as a fan, with a curated
+roster of teams he loved. I asked if he followed English football and he said
+he did. He had even picked out a team.
+
+“You’re kidding,” I said, when he told me which one. “Why us?”
+
+The boy gave a few reasons. It wasn’t important. Why anyone?
+
+I notice now that I’d made unthinking use of that word us. Months later, did I
+feel the same? DeCoux had warned that, from all she knew of helping cult
+leavers, separating couples, and addicts in recovery, forswearing could be
+difficult. She suggested I might work toward a more realistic goal of peaceful
+coexistence. In her own case, she no longer felt angry toward the cult that
+raised her, only distant. In my case, I might consider it progress if I could
+walk past Tottenham’s stadium, my old Tottenham pubs, and think: Good for them.
+
+At the end of the month, I walked from enemy into friendly territory, trying my
+hardest to recategorize the landscape as neutral, scrubbing it free of tribal
+lines. I walked a few miles to Tottenham’s stadium, passing landmarks dear to
+me: Seven Sisters station; the High Cross pub; Tottenham Bagels; the clock over
+the old Whitbread brewery, the one without hands or numbers—a grimly
+appropriate symbol, I always used to think, as frustrating seasons amassed.
+Like a chain-smoking ex-lover, lingering on some significant curb, I stood
+outside the Beehive bar, remembering bouncing up and down with pure joy as
+other delirious fans ripped plywood paneling off the walls, wanting keepsakes.
+
+It was midafternoon. A match was scheduled for the evening. Stewards were
+beginning to drag fencing into the traffic-free zone beyond the
+discount-sportswear shop. A burger chef in team colors was fixing a tablecloth
+into place on the pickle station next to Chunky Chips. The keenest fans were
+assembling, hours early, muttering to one another on public benches, treating
+nerves with tinned beer. Good for them, I thought.
+
+Tom Lamont is a GQ correspondent.
+
+A version of this story originally appeared in the April 2025 issue of GQ with
+the title “Hi, my name is Tom and I’m addicted to the senseless pain and
+suffering of being a sports fan.”
+
+[38]
+Image may contain Ben Affleck Advertisement Poster Formal Wear Clothing Suit
+Adult Person Accessories and Tie
+[39]Tom Lamont is a GQ correspondent. He is a frequent contributor to the
+Guardian's Long Read desk and the author of the novel Going Home. He lives in
+north London with his wife and two children. ... [40]Read more
+
+Related Stories for GQ[41]The Must Read[42]GQ Sports
+Read More
+
+  • [43]
+    The Agony of Being a Celtics Fan in New York Right Now
+    Culture
+    The Agony of Being a Celtics Fan in New York Right Now
+    By Josh Gondelman
+  • [44]
+    14 Seasons In, WNBA Legend Nneka Ogwumike Still Isn’t Thinking About the
+    End
+    GQ Sports
+    14 Seasons In, WNBA Legend Nneka Ogwumike Still Isn’t Thinking About the
+    End
+    By Matthew Roberson
+  • [45]
+    No Helmets, No Pads, Full Tackling. Is This the Future of Football?
+    GQ Sports
+    No Helmets, No Pads, Full Tackling. Is This the Future of Football?
+    By Jordan Teicher
+  • [46]
+    What Trail Running In Wyoming With Serious Pros Taught Me About Life,
+    Endurance and Competition
+    Culture
+    What Trail Running In Wyoming With Serious Pros Taught Me About Life,
+    Endurance and Competition
+    By Chris Black
+
+[47]GQ
+Since 1957, GQ has inspired men to look sharper and live smarter with its
+unparalleled coverage of style, culture, and beyond. From award-winning writing
+and photography to binge-ready videos to electric live events, GQ meets
+millions of modern men where they live, creating the moments that create
+conversations.
+
+  • [48]
+  • [49]
+  • [50]
+  • [51]
+  • [52]
+
+More From GQ
+
+  • [54]About GQ
+  • [55]Newsletter Sign-Up
+  • [56]Subscribe to the Magazine
+  • [57]Wardrobe Essentials
+  • [58]Best Cologne for Men
+  • [59]Best Beard Trimmers
+  • [60]Best Electric Shavers
+  • [61]Best Body Hair Trimmers
+  • [62]Best Loafers
+  • [63]Best Shampoo for Men
+
+Connect
+
+  • [65]Manage Account
+  • [66]Careers
+  • [67]Public Relations
+  • [68]Media Kit
+  • [69]Masthead
+
+  • [70]RSS Feeds
+  • [71]Accessibility Help
+  • [72]Condé Nast Store
+  • [73]User Agreement
+  • [74]Privacy Policy
+  • [75]Your California Privacy Rights
+  • 
+
+© 2025 Condé Nast. All rights reserved. GQ may earn a portion of sales from
+products that are purchased through our site as part of our Affiliate
+Partnerships with retailers. The material on this site may not be reproduced,
+distributed, transmitted, cached or otherwise used, except with the prior
+written permission of Condé Nast. [76]Ad Choices
+
+Select international site
+
+United States
+
+  • [78]U.K.
+  • [79]Korea
+  • [80]Germany
+  • [81]Mexico
+  • [82]Taiwan
+  • [83]Turkey
+  • [84]China
+  • [85]Italy
+  • [86]South Africa
+  • [87]Portugal
+  • [88]Brazil
+  • [89]France
+  • [90]Australia
+  • [91]Spain
+  • [92]India
+  • [93]Japan
+  • [94]Thailand
+  • [95]Middle East
+
+
+References:
+
+[1] https://www.gq.com/story/how-to-finally-divorce-your-toxic-sports-team#main-content
+[2] https://www.gq.com/gqsports
+[3] https://www.gq.com/gqsports
+[4] https://www.gq.com/style
+[5] https://www.gq.com/gq-recommends
+[6] https://www.gq.com/culture
+[7] https://www.gq.com/grooming
+[8] https://www.gq.com/wellness
+[9] https://www.gq.com/gqsports
+[10] https://gqbox.com/?utm_source=gq-online&utm_medium=edit&utm_campaign=gqb-site-global-nav
+[11] https://www.gq.com/video
+[12] https://www.gq.com/newsletters?sourceCode=navbar
+[13] https://www.gq.com/style
+[14] https://www.gq.com/gq-recommends
+[15] https://www.gq.com/new-arrivals-menswear-2025
+[16] https://www.gq.com/best-new-menswear-under-250
+[17] https://www.gq.com/office-style-edit
+[18] https://www.gq.com/editor-wishlists
+[19] https://www.gq.com/watch-shop-2025
+[20] https://www.gq.com/sneaker-shop
+[21] https://www.gq.com/best-menswear-sales
+[22] https://www.gq.com/gq-recommends
+[23] https://www.gq.com/culture
+[24] https://www.gq.com/grooming
+[25] https://www.gq.com/wellness
+[26] https://www.gq.com/gqsports
+[27] https://gqbox.com/?utm_source=gq-online&utm_medium=edit&utm_campaign=gqb-site-global-nav
+[28] https://www.gq.com/video
+[29] https://www.gq.com/newsletters
+[30] https://www.gq.com/
+[31] https://www.gq.com/search
+[32] https://www.gq.com/auth/initiate?redirectURL=%2Fstory%2Fhow-to-finally-divorce-your-toxic-sports-team&source=VERSO_NAVIGATION
+[33] https://www.gq.com/gqsports
+[34] https://www.gq.com/contributor/tom-lamont
+[37] https://www.gq.com/newsletter/mustRead?newsletterId=249017&sourcecode=articleCTA
+[38] https://www.gq.com/v2/offers/gqa01001?source=Site_0_GQM_EDT_GQM_IN_ARTICLE_TOUT_0_MARCH_ISSUE_2025_ZZ
+[39] https://www.gq.com/contributor/tom-lamont
+[40] https://www.gq.com/contributor/tom-lamont
+[41] https://www.gq.com/about/the-must-read
+[42] https://www.gq.com/about/sports
+[43] https://www.gq.com/story/celtics-essay-josh-gondelman#intcid=_gq-article-bottom-recirc_95b95ccb-471e-44af-9aa8-7a57f791a3e1_text2vec1
+[44] https://www.gq.com/story/nneka-ogwumike-seattle-storm-interview-2025#intcid=_gq-article-bottom-recirc_95b95ccb-471e-44af-9aa8-7a57f791a3e1_text2vec1
+[45] https://www.gq.com/story/no-helmets-no-pads-full-tackling-is-this-the-future-of-football#intcid=_gq-article-bottom-recirc_95b95ccb-471e-44af-9aa8-7a57f791a3e1_text2vec1
+[46] https://www.gq.com/story/trail-running-in-wyoming#intcid=_gq-article-bottom-recirc_95b95ccb-471e-44af-9aa8-7a57f791a3e1_text2vec1
+[47] https://www.gq.com/
+[48] https://instagram.com/gq/
+[49] https://www.youtube.com/user/gqvideos/
+[50] https://www.facebook.com/gq/
+[51] https://twitter.com/gqmagazine/
+[52] https://www.tiktok.com/@gq
+[54] https://www.gq.com/info/about-gq
+[55] https://www.gq.com/newsletters
+[56] https://subscribe.gq.com/subscribe/gq/116729
+[57] https://www.gq.com/story/wardrobe-essentials-for-men-2025
+[58] https://www.gq.com/story/best-colognes-for-men
+[59] https://www.gq.com/story/best-stuff-beard-trimmers
+[60] https://www.gq.com/story/best-electric-shavers
+[61] https://www.gq.com/story/best-body-hair-trimmers
+[62] https://www.gq.com/story/the-best-loafers-for-men
+[63] https://www.gq.com/story/best-shampoo-for-men-for-every-type-of-hair
+[65] https://www.gq.com/account/profile
+[66] https://www.condenast.com/careers/
+[67] https://www.gq.com/services/presscenter
+[68] http://www.condenast.com/brands/gq/
+[69] https://www.gq.com/story/masthead
+[70] https://www.gq.com/feed/rss
+[71] https://www.gq.com/story/accessibility-help
+[72] https://www.condenaststore.com/
+[73] https://www.condenast.com/user-agreement/
+[74] http://www.condenast.com/privacy-policy#privacypolicy
+[75] http://www.condenast.com/privacy-policy#privacypolicy-california
+[76] http://www.aboutads.info/
+[78] https://www.gq-magazine.co.uk/
+[79] https://www.gqkorea.co.kr/
+[80] https://www.gq-magazin.de/
+[81] https://www.gq.com.mx/
+[82] https://www.gq.com.tw/
+[83] https://gq.com.tr/
+[84] http://www.gq.com.cn/
+[85] https://www.gqitalia.it/
+[86] https://www.gq.co.za/
+[87] http://www.gqportugal.pt/
+[88] https://gq.globo.com/
+[89] https://www.gqmagazine.fr/
+[90] https://www.gq.com.au/
+[91] https://www.revistagq.com/
+[92] https://www.gqindia.com/
+[93] https://www.gqjapan.jp/
+[94] https://www.gqthailand.com/
+[95] https://www.gqmiddleeast.com/