I’m following me

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Woke up this morning to a new Twitter follower—me.

Well, not exactly me. But sorta kinda me. It was an account called “Jeff, I Truly Do” and features my photograph, post-the 1999 clubhouse encounter with John Rocker. This Jeff sent out three Tweets. Here, take a look …

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This isn’t actually the first fake Jeff Pearlman account. Back when Sweetness was released in 2011, someone started a Facebook page titled, “Jeff Pearlman is a Cackling Douche”—which was pretty funny (I mean, I certainly am a cackling douche), if not somewhat bizarre. It combined humor and anger, plus a bunch of comments like this …

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Wait. I sorta feel like Sean Hannity right now, going on and on about how much people hate me, when what you’re really trying to prove is that people care enough to hate you, thereby loving you. But that’s not the case. I swear. Actually, I wanted to make a few points:

A. Who creates a Jeff Pearlman account? I mean, seriously. I’m probably America’s 56,432nd most famous author. I spend my days in coffee shops. I write about sports. So who the hell takes the time from his/her life (though I’m assuming it’s a him) to find my photo, take a screen shot of it, create a fake Twitter account, upload the picture, upload the back screen (from a passage I wrote) and then Tweet? What sort of person A. Has so much free time? B. Cares so much about America’s 56,432nd most famous author? It makes no sense.

B. This shit backfires. Always. Because it rarely makes people mad. I know not one writer who would be offended by this. Instead, you either laugh or (RE: Hannity) take it as a perverse compliment, because people care enough to waste their time on you.

C. If you want to insult a writer, the best way—always—is to insult his/her writing. That’s the most painful route; cite specific examples of badness. Hell, they’re out there for everyone. Certainly for me. So that’s a much more impactful avenue than, say, looks or baldness or nasal hair or wardrobe.

D. I miss that hat. I really do. I was wearing it to a Dodgers-Giants game in the early 2000s, and it fell off in the tunnel (not unlike Adrian’s red beret did at the end of Rocky). That thing was money. And not money. I think it cost $8 at Marshall’s back in ’96.

3 thoughts on “I’m following me”

  1. http://mlb.nbcsports.com/2011/01/24/the-guy-jeff-pearlman-called-responds/

    Just call me Andrew Tworischuk. On second thought, don’t call me – it’s creepy.

    Ah, the old “they’re making fun of me because they’re jealous” bit. Whatever, Mr. Pantene ad.

    Google image search: check. Create dummy Twitter account: check. Tweet a few times: check. Hater account complete with time to spare while my cup of tea steeps. Big whoop. How long does it take to think about whether a whistling barista or your own boogers merit sharing with the universe? All while you’re “working” by panting, “Wanna be Quaz’ed?” at a Nazi or Tiki Barber or whoever. Guess what – you’re not wedded to hyper-efficiency, and nor am I.

    And by the way, the back screen (or whatever it’s called) is NOT from a passage you wrote; it is, in fact, from a Mets blog post calling your Mike Piazza-totally-is-a-roider-because-bacne tall tale and called it, and I quote, “a lie.”

    Cite examples of your painfully bad writing? Well, for one, how about the fact that 2 of the 3 tweets contain quotes from your own blog posts identifying your own “badness” (in this case, your unsolicited white knighting of female journalists by way of tearing down Erin Andrews)?

    How about another one: “You have a thought, you put it out there and it sticks. And then, even if you later have reservations, it’s sorta kinda too late. You’ve spoken, and folks have seen it.” This is your own critique of what you do, yet you persist in tearing down others for some alleged “insincerity” or other failing (e.g., Matt Harvey, Hillary Clinton, Hanley Ramirez, because reasons, etc., etc.) Painful enough? Bad enough?

    I mean, I could go on cherry-picking, but what’s the point? I might as well go full Trevor Traylor (or whatever) and actually insult you in a thoroughly juvenile and nihilistic manner, but what good does that do? You think that spewing forth whatever’s on your mind (you can find the metaphor “verbal diarrhea” right here on the ol’ blog) is A-OK, so here we are.

    Meanwhile, Dan Lewis, Craig Calcaterra, the guy from the Astros blog who Fire Joe Morgan’ed your Jeff Bagwell-is-on-roids-because-Deep-Throat-really-truly-told-me-so-but-totally-off-the-record-but-it’s-totally-truey-true-true nonsense, the randos from the SportsJournalists forum who vivisected your HS football gamer, and a host of other “jealous” people (sure, mostly men, let’s go with it, because women would never get invested in petty critiques, no, not at all, and never about sports – how gauche and unladylike!) will wait breathlessly for the next iteration of the Earth-shattering history of Charles Haley jerking off. Truly, we will. I really do mean that. It’s not an affectation, I swear.

    But hey: I’m just a guy who reads what guys who write about sports actually write, so I guess I’m the sucker for finding your work compelling enough to respond in an ostensibly interactive forum. Won’t make that mistake again.

    See you at Marshall’s – I hear there’s a sale on Richie Zisk jerseys.

      1. By terrific, I mean well written and informative, but also crazy creepy. You probably could have made all these points without creating the Twitter account with my face on it. But, hey, whatever works. 🙂

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