JEFF PEARLMAN

Coming October 2022: "The Last Folk Hero: The Life and Myth of Bo Jackson"

Spencer Dunkley

Spencer Dunkley battles Louisiville’s Clifford Rozier two decades ago.

This week marks the 20th anniversary of Delaware losing to Louisville in the first round of the NCAA Tournament. It was a huge day for me. I was a college journalist at the time, covering the game for the student newspaper. Though the Hens trailed by 18, they cut the lead to six toward the end. It was an excellent effort.

In memory of that team, I wrote a Facebook post a few days ago, accompanied by pictures of some clips from the ol’ paper. A friend of mine wrote a somewhat snarky comment about Spencer Dunkley, the team’s center, not playing especially well.

Dunkley responded by making fun of the “pussy” of the poster’s wife.

This is where things got weird. I told Dunkley I found his words to be beyond inappropriate. Spencer and I aren’t friends, but we’re Facebook friends, and I’ve dropped his (unique) name a couple of times in Sports Illustrated pieces.

I wrote this:

I’ve been a supporter over the years. I’ve dropped your name in SI multiple times, wrote a small thing when your son was born. But this really, really disgusted me.

Spencer, are you 12, talking about a man’s wife’s vagina because he tossed out a stupid basketball insult? Really?

You should strive for better.

Respectfully,

Jeff

He responded with this:

Jeff you my man. basketball is my wife

When I was 12 I would have whoop his ass.
I wrote this:
For insulting you about a basketball game from TWENTY years ago? Who cares. Seriously, Spencer. I get called shit all the time. All the time.
He wrote this:
You dont understand. You dont get it. You can write about it, but you dont get it.
I wrote this:
I get that what you wrote was immature, pathetic and without dignity; I get that there’s a right way to handle something and a wrong way; I get that you have a daughter, and if someone spoke of her the way you spoke of this man’s wife, you’d be furious.
He wrote this:
When you talk shit, write shit about athletes you open yourself up for a ass whoopin, mama cracks, wife cracks, tell your bitchass boyfriend keep my name out his mouth and he wont get his little feeling hurt. He does not know me. You will never get it. Your a writer im a warrior.
When you talk shit, write shit about athletes you open yourself up for a ass whoopin, mama cracks, wife cracks, tell your bitchass boyfriend keep my name out his mouth and he wont get his little feeling hurt. He does not know me. You will never get it. Your a writer im a warrior.

When you talk shit, write shit about athletes you open yourself up for a ass whoopin, mama cracks, wife cracks, tell your bitchass boyfriend keep my name out his mouth and he wont get his little feeling hurt. He does not know me. You will never get it. Your a writer im a warrior.

When you talk shit, write shit about athletes you open yourself up for a ass whoopin, mama cracks, wife cracks, tell your bitchass boyfriend keep my name out his mouth and he wont get his little feeling hurt. He does not know me. You will never get it. Your a writer im a warrior.

If my daughters man was talking shit and they ceacked on her. I would tell him shut the fuck up. Its all fun and games till the dog bites back.
And now, by my choice, we’re no longer Facebook friends.
Eh, go Blue Hens!