“Okay. Well … the other two options would be content that focuses on you as a player or you as a person. Both of those would require us to … talk a lot more than we have so far.”
“We can talk,” he said, shrugging.
“Really?” I gaped. “For this to work, I’ll actually need to get to know you, like know more than your favorite color. It’ll essentially be an interview and I know for a fact you don’t do those. Are you really okay with that?”
“With you getting to know me? Yeah, that’s all right.” He leaned farther into his seat, sinking so he was curved into it.
“Really?”
“Is it that really so hard to believe?”
“Well … yeah. You aren’t exactly what I’d call … extroverted. Or even friendly.”
Kean just shrugged in response. I waited a beat to see if I’d get anything more out of him. But when it was obvious that wasn’t going to happen, I reorganized the notes on my desk.
I’d been so sure Kean would take the easy way out that the plans I made for the other two options weren’t as thorough as I’d like. Though given his lack of social media knowledge, I doubted he’d notice.
“Okay, so we’ll do a more traditional profile for you. Next step is username.”
“Can’t you just use my name?” he asked, sitting up straight again.
“Oh, no. Your name’s already taken by a fan account.”
“Okay, can’t you just take it back? It’s my name. And what’s a fan account?”
“Oh, boy. Okay, so we could contact a platform’s staff or even the user to get that name back, but it can be complicated and make you look like an entitled prick.”
“For wanting to usemyname?”
“Yes. And a fan account is somebody that posts about one topic. In this case, you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” I laughed. “You might have shit presence online, but there are still a few people who love you as a player. I mean, not as many people as I think you could have, but still.”
“Me?” he repeated, brow furrowed as he looked down at the floor.
I flipped my laptop back around and pulled up the fan account. But before I turned it to Kean, I set up my mini tripod and phone to film his response. The lighting in here wasn’t the best, but I’d rather havesomethingto work with, even if only the audio is usable.
“I know it’s hard to believe your grumpy ass has fans, but check it out.” I clicked on the most recent post and turned the screen to Kean. He leaned forward, eyes glistening as the fan went on and on about the last game. This guy, Liam, has followed Kean’s career since he was first signed to Huntsville. And since then, he’s decided to be Kean’s champion, proclaiming he was an underrated player and deserved more attention if only because his stats were so good.
“If you hit the right arrow, you’ll go to the next post.”
Kean did and a video about a game from a month ago played. The Bustas’ center forward pulled off this crazy feint and curveball that Kean just barely saved, having to jump and stretch his whole body to block it. It was absolutely insane to watch and this fan was rightfully singing Kean’s praises.
“I was scared shitless when the ball started to curve like that, I didn’t think I’d make the save.” His voice was low, full of wonder as he watched someone care about his playing.
“But Liam believed you could.”
“Yeah. That’s …” He sat back and ran a hand over his face. “That’s incredible.”
There was a softness in his voice I hadn’t heard before and it warmed my heart. Yesterday, Kean said his track record spoke for him, but hearing somebody elsesaythat probably hit different.
I turned off the recording and set my phone aside.
“That’swhat social media can do. And imagine how much that guy would like to know more about you. Nothing big, just little things, like how you train, your thoughts on different strategies, stuff like that.”
“Yeah. I … uh, I think I get it now.”
