By Jeff Moss
DetroitSportsRag@GMail.com
August 26, 2013
I swear to you, I didn’t want to write ANOTHER Terry Foster article, but it was inevitable after the latest sequence of events. And we do need some closure on the DSR “Catfishing” of the travesty of a talk-show host.
This past Friday, I started getting bored with the continued conversation between DSR intern Matt Pierson and this dolt Fraudster via Twitter Direct Message. It appeared that after 72 hours and TWO articles on the DetroitSportsRag main page detailing the prank, Foster STILL DID NOT know that he was being goofed on.
Now, we all know Foster is an imbecile but this was remarkable behavior for even him. How could the grammatically-impaired sports writer from the Detroit News not know that we were fucking with him?
Forget the two DSR articles. Pierson was getting more over-the-top with his missives and was seriously attempting to give Foster clues to the hoax so it would just end on its own. Yet, “Bonechip” still couldn’t unravel this mystery.
Also, consider that Foster (according to his Twitter account) attended the Lions exhibition victory over the Patriots on Thursday evening at Ford Field as a reporter. There were several journalists in the press box that night who follow me on Twitter and were alerted to the scam, including at least one who works with Foster at the News.
Not ONE of the DSR followers in the media thought it might be a good idea to call Foster over and tell him, “Hey pal, you might want to stop talking to that DSR Protest account. It’s really Moss’s people.”
Does his media brethren think so little of him that NOBODY bothered to give this doofus a heads-up? I think we definitely know the answer to that question at this point.
Anyway, on Friday morning I became dubious as to whether or not Foster actually knew he was being tricked. When “Five-Tool Loon” Pierson sent me the latest direct message conversations, I figured that Foster had discovered the charade and was now going along with it just so he could tell us that he was in on it all along and that we could go fuck ourselves.
Since I am sure you want to see the end of this trilogy for yourself, I give you the last of the @Terry Foster971/@DSR Protest DMs from Friday ….
Well, I guess I should be grateful that in a 48-hour period Foster downgraded me from the worst genocidal murderer in the 20th Century (Adolf Hitler) to just your average run-of-the-mill “skinhead.”
Where is the crime, Fraudster? Where is the crime? Did you ACTUALLY ASK THAT?!?!?!!?! I mean, where do I EVEN begin?….
Well, you falsely called me a racist on Twitter and continue to propagate that myth to this day with blatant lies. You’re an abomination on the radio and have played a major part in killing the sports talk radio format in the Motor City for anyone who … ya know …. likes sports.
Your Twitter feed is diarrhea of the keyboard and you constantly dumb-down the discourse with horrid jokes, aweful™ (Terry Foster) takes and general idiocy.
You’re a bad guy and the biggest opportunist I have ever met in my life. You say the DSR is run by a man you compare to Hitler, yet you had no problem attempting to join forces with me years ago when I was doing the same thing to people like Drew Sharp and Rob Parker that I am currently doing to you.
In fact, you couldn’t wait to throw your colleagues under the bus with phone calls and emails to me (some of which I have published) in an effort to join the DSR’s “Aryan Nation” because you thought it could line your wallet.
You will do anything to get ahead in this world, even if it includes trampling all over the BEST MEN at both of your weddings.
You’re seriously a horrible human being. You have a sense of entitlement because of the success of your radio show (which you have VERY little to do with, and could be replaced in a nanosecond without a blip in the ratings) and have convinced yourself you are some sort of celebrity.
Now, you are knee-deep in this travesty of a restaurant in Fraser in which you supposedly haven’t invested any of your own money. What did you bring to the table in this botched endeavor? 38,074 Twitter followers whom you have spammed and annoyed with your constant Tweets about this hell-hole since your idiot partners decided to name the restaurant after you.
You are no different than these awful conglomerates like Verizon and Sprint who sell their clients’ personal information to telemarketers. You view your 38k Twat Box base as nothing more than a financial opportunity and you treat them with the utmost disrespect.
You think you work hard? Everything you do is done in a half-assed fashion. Just because you have more jobs than a freshly-arrived Puerto Rican in New York City doesn’t mean you put effort into any of them.
Your work in the Detroit News is laughable for even that paper. You clearly don’t do any show prep for the radio program — which has been Mike Valenti’s complaint for YEARS. Your personal blog is so bad that it would appear a second-grader is doing the writing. Have you ever gone over one of those pieces and ACTUALLY EDITED?!?!?!??!
But, I digress. Like I wrote earlier, by Friday morning I figured someone had tipped Foster off to Pierson’s shenanigans, and I wanted Nutty Matt to end it before Foster could get over by telling the DSR emissary that he knew all along and was “clowning” the DSR.
Unfortunately, the dude System of a Down had in mind when they wrote “Psycho” had less of an exit plan in this matter than George W. Bush did with the war in Iraq.
So I advised “@DSR Protest” that he should just send Fraudster this YouTube video, which would clearly alert the jackass to the prank …
Of course, that didn’t even work as Foster somehow has the one Smartphone in the world that doesn’t have access to YouTube videos. Like, is this goof still rocking a StarTAC?
Even though it would now appear that this lark could have gone on forever, I just wanted my life back. I instructed Pierson to flatly tell Foster that he was fucking with him, knowing full well there was STILL a slight chance that “T-Fos” wouldn’t get it.
As you can see in the above photo array, Foster confirmed that he had NO IDEA that he was the butt of this joke. This dumbfuck spent THREE DAYS going back and forth with one of my fans bagging on me in private messages. It all seems a little bizarre, since I am a non-entity according to Foster ….
@shadyrockdtown if a tree falls in the forest
— Terry Foster (@TerryFoster971) August 20, 2013
It is possible that Foster simply doesn’t understand the meaning of that phrase. Maybe — just maybe — he is under the delusion that if a tree falls in the forest, you are supposed to spend the next 72 hours discussing that tree with a TOTAL STRANGER — including conversations that occur when you are on the radio and supposed to be doing your JOB.
You guys are really desperate. Grow up
We are desperate? Desperate for what? I didn’t even know that one of my minions was planning on doing this. If ANYONE is desperate it is Foster, who so BADLY wanted this DSR Protest to be a real thing he spent days conversing with and advising our man behind the curtain.
On the DSR Facebook page, I insisted that Foster at some point discovered the ruse and was continuing the conversation so he could “Punk” us at the end. It became the prevailing thought on the websight™ (Terry Foster) in the last hours of the debacle.
There was one holdout among the DSR Elite who correctly predicted Foster was absolutely clueless to the fact he was being Catfished — reigning SuperLawyer and Crain’s “40 Under 40” honoree, Dirtdog. I felt it would be appropriate at this time for Dirt McGirt to explain his rationale behind his spot-on theory.
(First of all, there isn’t an appellate attorney named “Dirtdog.” He wouldn’t let me use his real name for fear of professional repercussions. Also, I asked him to give me two paragraphs on this topic. He gave me like a dozen. And most weren’t even about Foster. FUCKING LAWYERS, I tell ya.)
Despite committing the unforgivable fandom sin of risking a whopping $50 on the 2011 White Sox to win more than 84 games, I have always been a die-hard Tigers fan. Because the major league team was so awful during the vast majority of my adult life, I pinned my hopes on 18-year olds with funny names, religiously following the minor league system desperate for a glimmer of future hope.
Had I not been living out of state at the time, I would have jumped at the opportunity to spare Moss’s now-wife, Melissa, of the Toledo mission to witness the hairless sinkerballer, and accompanied Jeff myself. Having typed that sentence and finally grasping the full significance of Jeff dragging his then-girlfriend to a meaningless AAA game to catch a glimpse of Nate Cornejo, I do not blame Gregg for recommending that Melissa leave Jeff — providing her with a mental reverse-Underground Railroad to Florida.
Anyway, with so much emotion invested in the Tigers as a tortured fan™ (Sports Guy), I lacked the objectivity necessary to evaluate the two people most responsible for the Tigers’ turnaround from 119 losses to the World Series in three seasons. For Dave Dombrowski, this was an especially impressive feat since he took over a franchise headed by baseball’s version of Matt Millen and a scouting director who was so awful that he accepted a demotion to Scouting Director for the hotbed of talent — the Pacific Rim — because his horrific track record left him without any other job opportunities.
The team had done such a lousy job with player development that the best prospect Dombrowski inherited was Preston Larrison.
The franchise was on life support and the other DD more than doubled the team’s win total in three years — a ridiculously good accomplishment — through a combination of good draft picks (Justin Verlander), shrewd trades (Carlos Guillen) and a decrepit owner willing to spend whatever it took to win a World Series before he croaks (Ivan Rodriguez, Magglio Ordonez).
Taking an organization this devoid of talent to the World Series so quickly would be like Gordon Ramsay stepping in to save Foster’s Smokehouse on next season’s Kitchen Nightmares and leaving the place with a Michelin star at the end of his week-long visit.
There is a reason I suggested “Dombrowski” as the God word censor at the old DSR Forums. Instead, Moss went with Tiger Woods. How did that work out?
I was also a sucker for Jim Leyland for many of the same reasons, buying hook-line-and-sinker the narrative that his early-season dressing down of the team turned around the season, morphing his collection of losing players into “winners.” Seeing the players hoist his 78 pound body onto their shoulders to parade him around Comerica Park after the least exciting pennant-clinching walk-off home run in the history of the game was the icing on the cake. I loved Leyland and defended him for years.
Likewise, I thought Dave Dombrowski was a genius. When, as a thirty-year old man, I bumped into him at a spring training game in 2007, I asked him for an autograph. I was so enamored with the reversal of the team’s fortunes that I failed to appreciate how lucky Dombrowski was to have an owner willing to spend whatever it took to field a winning team, to piss off Bud Selig by repeatedly going overslot on the draft, netting talent that dropped due to signability concerns, and by directing a team that play in a God-awful decision. Yes, Dombrowski has done some things well, but I was so giddy about the only professional sports team I care about doing well that it never registered with me that Dombrowski was also one lucky motherfucker.
If you’re wondering what any of this has to do with Matt Pierson getting over on Terry Foster, well, while many others thought Terry was in on the joke, I insisted that his hatred of Jeff Myst was so strong that it prevented him from seeing what was so obvious to everyone else. Just as I chalked up Alexis Gomez’s World Series home run to a brilliant manager knowing how to push the right buttons, despite overwhelming evidence that starting the guy was a colossal mistake, Terry’s emotions got the best of him. He was so desperate to see a counter – group forming to bring down and expose the DSR that he failed to detect what was so obviously a hoax and actually initiated conversations with the fake account, offering support and encouragement.
No one is going to confuse Pierson with Sacha Baron Cohen or James O’Keefe, and unless William Stern intends to include tree-lifting into his Intelligence Quotient, I don’t think MENSA will be sending “The Resume” a membership package any time soon. It was a sort-of-well-designed prank executed kind of decently. Anyone with a brain would have seen the account and either ignored it or blown it off. But not Terry.
He so badly wanted the DSR Protest group to be real and functioning that he failed to recognize that everything Rafael Nadal was saying to him was phony and designed to simply embarrass the guy. Terry liked the idea of an insurgency against Jeff so much that he reached out to Pierson not just to bash Jeff by claiming he was mad about not having a job on the radio, but to also make fun of one of his co-workers.
So to put a bow on this Foster story, I figured I would quote the man himself from his own atrocious blog. This is Bonechip’s take on the Manti T’eo situation from January 17th of this year:
I’ve thought about Manti Te’0′for a while now and I am beginning to believe he did fall for an online hoax. I of course reserve the right to change my mind again.
Te’o did not try to deceive. He is just a dumb ass. Really. Really dumb.
So what does that make you, TERRY?
Now you will have to excuse me as I have some fireworks to watch and Ewoks to dance with. And look over there, it’s the ghosts of Andy Kaufman, Joe Falls and Hitler joyfully reminiscing.
The End.