I'm afraid, nowadays, my banhammer mostly sits in the corner, collecting dust. All of the blood stains are brown with age. Oh, but how I used to weild it, though! How it rocketed through cyberspace, doling out mighty cardinal and gold justice on the heathens and Hawkeyes! If I close my eyes I can still hear them pleading for mercy. A mercy that never came. Sometimes I still pick it up, and don the old executioners hood, that Chris Williams sent all of the mods for Christmas that one year. But it isn't the same as it used to be.
Perhaps banning is a young man's game? I've certainly got a lot more salt and not as much pepper in my beard than I did in the old days. Maybe that's just the way of things. You can beat every enemy they put in front of you, but in the end, the only opponent that matters is the one that greets you when you look in the mirror. And it seems that sad-eyed scarecrow has had the better of me for a while now.