Got off the phone a few minutes ago with a lovely man who played in the USFL. He was fantastic, and enlightening, and funny. But, late into the conversations, he had an exchange with his wife about whether he was sharing too much information.
He explained that he looked me up and saw some of the things I wrote.
I took a stab. “Sweetness?” I said.
“No,” he replied. “More the John Rocker thing …”
This happens once or twice a year, and I find it frustrating. A. Because the story came out 17 years ago; B. Because when the guy you’re profiling goes off on gays, blacks, Hispanics, well, what are you supposed to do?
Alas, I explained it to the man, who understood.
Still, it sucks.