Bill Plaschke is ostensibly a sportswriter for the L.A. Times, but really he’s a ceaseless campaigner for TV time on those ESPN wind-tunnel laboratories like Around the Horn. I would give him credit for coming across as smarter than Jay Mariotti, but that’s akin to giving credit to someone for not eating his own feces.
Anyway, last week Plaschke wrote a column for the Times in which he asserted that Paul Pierce was faking the knee injury he suffered in Game 1 of the NBA finals. I think Plaschke’s assertion was callous, juvenile, and insensitive. The well-meaning lads at Perk is a Beast think Plaschke is a “fat, pathetic, miserable, would be metro-sexual d-bag” with a “simian brow and matching intellect.”
Now Plaschke is complaining that he got even worse treatment than that in his email inbox. One Celtic fan wished Plaschke would shuffle off to the great sportswriter’s buffet in the sky:
“I hope you . . . get cancer and die,” he wrote. “Why don’t you just die or quit, you ugly fat (bleep). I’m going to find out where (a relative) is buried and me and my buddies are gonna dig (the) skeleton up.”
Then — just one day after questioning the integrity of a man who collapsed in a heap of pain after hearing a popping sound from his knee — Plaschke calls upon the Gods of decency to save him from the barbarians at the gates of his email inbox. After contacting the sender of the email — and not receiving an apology — Plaschke sums up the episode thusly:
In an age when an e-mail has no conscience and anonymity knows no fear, that passion can quickly get personal.
I’m sorry, but was there an age when e-mail had a conscience and anonymity was scared of stuff? Was there a bygone era when passion kept to itself and refused to get personal? When sportswriters of yore wore powdered wigs and were permitted to publish all sorts of jackassery without fear of being called on it and, yes, being subjected to hyperbolic vitriol from those who disagree?
Then it’s settled. We shall build a time machine post-haste and return to that age. In the meantime, Bill Plaschke can return to his normal schedule of saying stupid stuff and whining when people get mad about it.
Nasty attacks should be banned in Boston [LAT]
If Shit Were Electricity, Plaschke Would be a Powerhouse [Perk is a Beast]