... the gilded halls of the Bleacher Report headquarters and await our national assignments, Oliver Twist style.

Please sir, may I have some more? We inquire in our best cockney accents as the powers-that-be ladle out our "gruel" from great steaming pots. And like the grateful sports orphans that we are, we gladly accept our tasks and then feverishly compare notes, using 1920's-style sports reporter lingo as we address one another:

"So champ, what'd you get?"

"I get to rank the Top 120 Baseball WAGS from the past decade."

"Oooh, really? That's the bee's knees!"

"What about you, sport?" 

"I get to write a blow-by-blow analysis of UFC 793," Scoops Callahan announces as he proceeds to jitterbug across the sol...

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