There is a MUST READ article at ESPN.com about that dude, Brian Jackson that kept posing as Steelers players and somehow (I have no idea how) got women to believe him.
Kristin* didn’t have much to go on but the pictures. The Jerame Tuman she knew had a rounded stomach that fell below his waist, and arms and legs that weren’t trim. But he was tall, so she slowly convinced herself that if he said he was an NFL tight end, then this is what an NFL tight end must look like. He had shown her a cell phone full of numbers, after all — Jerome Bettis, Hines Ward, Ike Taylor — and bragged about “his boys.”
The story has some amazing details about what Brian did to keep his charade alive. Some amazing sad sad sad details. This was a caper of epic proportions.
Also amazingly, ESPN managed to get a statement from Brian in which he says:
It all started because people told me I looked like Big Ben when I turned my hat around. I was big and white, like him. When I went to restaurants, I’d get out of my truck and people said I looked like an athlete.
An ATHLETE? At what? Fishing? NASCAR? Darts? If people are going up to this guy saying he looks like an athlete then surely … SURELY people go up to Sally Wiggin all the time and tell her how much she looks just like Whitney Houston. Or go up to me all the time and tell me how much I look like the hottest woman on the planet. Oh wait. That part is true.
So he blames “people” first.
But the women chose me. I’d be out in a crowd, and women would flirt with me, and I played along. They were convinced I was a Steeler, even though they had no clue who the Steeler was they thought they were talking to.
Has he looked at himself … ever? Does he really expect us to believe that women are walking up to him and saying, “Hi, Ben!” and he’s just going along with it? Right.
So he blames the women, second. Then he says:
Thing is, I’m not really a big Steelers fan.
Which is funny because the article states of him:
Those familiar with the case say he had an encyclopedic, nearly obsessive knowledge of the men he said he was: he knew where they were born, where they went to school, what they drove, the names of parents and wives and children and pets. And he could recall a player’s TV highlights as if living inside the moments of another man’s life.
Finally, Brian says:
If I had a favorite team, the Cowboys would be it.
Gasp! The nerve. Anybody know where he lives so I can go throw some trash on his lawn?
(h/t to reader Kevin)