Earlier this week, during a perfectly innocent Google search for the name of Jon Lester’s fiancee, I inadvertently stumbled upon a blog. This blog, it so happens, belonged to Meryl Masterson, wife of Sox pitcher Justin Masterson.
I briefly scanned the page, smiled at a couple of the entries there–including photos of the Mastersons’ newly furnished apartment and a particularly sweet anecdote about her genuine awe at sitting near Manny Ramirez on a team flight–and posted a link to it.
Within a few minutes, I had a couple e-mails from readers, most displeased by the linkage. “Her site isn’t meant for public consumption,” was the general tone.
At first, I didn’t agree. I figgered, I found it on Google; it’s not like I broke into anyone’s Citibank account and started doling out credit card numbers. Moreover, I reasoned, Mrs. Masterson is an adult with a husband who maintains a career that puts him squarely in the public eye. Surely she’s aware that stuff she posts on the Internet can be seen by lots and lots of eyes.
But then I started wondering if, in fact, Masterson’s wife thought her blog was private–hey, my dad could never figure out the VCR after 20 years; some people just aren’t technologically savvy. And what if she dropped some personal info that I hadn’t caught on my initial scan of the site?
I debated it for about a half-hour, then, fearing the Gods of Karma, took the link down.
After that, I received about twenty e-mails from readers who bashed me for removing the link. “If it’s posted on the web,” someone wrote, “it’s fair game. End of story.”
By that point, it was moot. Meryl, perhaps hipped by a reader or alerted to a sudden boost in traffic, shut the blog down, as Soxaholix noted.
Yesterday, I talked a bit about this incident with our pal Derjue for Boston Magazine’s blog. As she points out, Meryl’s site is still cached here, but without all the pretty photos.
Honestly, I’m with Derjue on this one. While we certainly want to shield players and their families from the nutjob fans and lunatics who walk among us (Denton, Patrick Bateman, etc.), I found the tone of Meryl’s entries utterly charming, and was intrigued by the insider’s view of the life of a professional ballplayer (they buy drapes and end-tables, just like us). Hell, I’d like to see more.
Perhaps someday she’ll have a change of heart. But my glimpse into her world was pretty cool for the two hours it lasted.
