For 130 years, the Sun has been covering Cornell, training journalists, nurturing writers, annihilating GPAs, assaulting livers, angering the administration, holding countless budget meetings, color-coding markers, baptizing the Collegetown Creeper, fending off lawsuits, fending off countless more lawsuit threats, uncovering scandals, listing things all Cornellians must do, killing its sports editors with supplements, keeping a chronicle of its editors' sexual conquests, particularly when it was with each other, hosting hammer fights, printing Heroes & Villains every single Friday, even though every single editor hated writing it, interviewing presidents, interviewing athletes, interviewing scientists, interviewing actors, interviewing just about anybody, really, littering the street outside CTB, journeying to China for no apparent reason, serving as the paper of record for the university, eschewing the oxford comma, asking 10 questions, encouraging potlucks where everyone just brings wine, causing nervous breakdowns, bringing Mr. Gnu to the world, producing readable Friday papers even though its editors on Thursday were somewhere between tipsy and "If the question is how drunk am I, the answer is yes," manufacturing awful bumper stickers, priding itself on being a daily, not a weekly, rankling professors, receiving accolades, receiving criticism, receiving mixed signals, forcing everyone (even the columnists!) to go to the libel lecture, proselytizing Sunstyle, forcing you to write "nine and 10," just like that, even though it looks incredibly stupid, breaking the news, not making the news, chronicling the lives of students, reviewing everything, even pornography, getting hundreds of free CDs nobody wants, giving Schroeder a second bedroom, celebrating with epic bartabs, putting out a paper every day without fail (Saturdays and Sundays excepted), celebrating midnight edit meetings, annexing Shortstop as a staff cafeteria, providing crosswords for literally thousands of people and, most importantly, giving all Sunnies a place to call home.
Happy birthday, you magnificent bastard. And many, man, many happy returns.
Now let's drink.
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