HankStein

I'm a big fan of fake Twitter accounts. They're about a thousand times more entertaining and illuminating than regular accounts, which, as far as I can tell, are simply 140-character exercises in self-indulgence. YesMichaelKay, for instance, does a great job of tearing apart Yankees broadcaster Michael Kay's annoying verbal tics. ("Hey fans! Don't expect me on day games after night games. That's the fallacy of the predetermined past a diving wormburner etiquette see ya.") 

But YesMichaelKay doesn't even come close to the genius posing as Hank Steinbrenner, son of George. HankStein is an almost pitch-perfect impression of the loud-mouthed and clueless co-owner of the Yankees. In between Marlboro Reds, Hank likes to talk to the media in clipped sentences about the insignificant goings-on within his own head. Take for instance, this little nugget Hank shared with the Daily News about interleague rules.  

I just think it's time the NL joined the 21st century. The AL, the minors, colleges, high schools, they all have DHs.

I mean, really, Hank might as well have posted this drivel on Twitter, a more appropriate forum for such verbal diarrhea. Which is why HankStein is so brilliant. It distills Hank's moxy down to its nicotine-stained essence, and delivers it straight, minus the porous filter that is the New York Yankess PR department. Take the bio, for one: "I own the Yankees. I like cigarettes." Those 102 characters perfectly sum up George's oldest son. I could spend six solid months trying to come up with a more fitting epigram, and couldn't top it. Not even close. It's like a Buddhist koan in its simplicity. 

Here are some of my favorite HankStein tweets, in all their comedic glory: 

• I love a win streak almost as much as I love 72% lean ground beef.
  
• Hey John Henry? Let's settle this like men. A case of Chivas, 2 cartons of Camel unfiltered, a yardstick & a taser. Your place or mine geek?
  
• Joba needs to get his groove back. I suggest some Crown Royal and the nearest strip club. Too much clean livin' makes the boy dull.
  
• In all seriousness, I won't fire Girardi. Hal won't let me. I owe him ever since he made that mistake disappear for me in the Vegas desert
  
• I could think of a lot better ways to blow 210 mill. Thailand for one. With that kind of scratch, they'd make me king.

At this point, it's impossible for me to imagine the real Hank Steinbrenner comporting himself in any other way. It's like the fake Hank has become, at least to me, more relevant than his real-life counterpart. He's like a tougher version of Marge Schott, and a hell of a lot more entertaining.