Dana White talks Twitter
“You seem just like a regular person,” one girl tells him as he signs her T-shirt. Another guy chokes up…
“You seem just like a regular person,” one girl tells him as he signs her T-shirt. Another guy chokes up while telling White about losing his job: “These tickets are the best thing that’s happened to me in two years.” White doesn’t know what to say to that. He gives the guy a strong soul shake followed by a hug.
Now he lifts a spoonful to his mouth, savoring the tangy taste. “Lemme tell you when I started goofing around with Twitter,” he says. “Lemme fuckin’ lay this out for you.
“I’m in New York City. It’s 10:30 on a Monday night in midtown Manhattan. It’s raining. And it’s a Jewish holiday, okay? As you know, I’m a Pinkberry freak. I like to have my Pinkberry. I have this one store in midtown Manhattan that will stay open for me late. I just have to call and let them know, and after I have dinner, I always go there and eat Pinkberry, right? So this one time I’m like, ‘Let’s just fuck around here and try something.’ I Twitter my people. I say, ‘Meet me at Pinkberry in midtown Manhattan. I got tickets to the fight if you guys want to go.’
“So you’ve been to New York enough, right? People don’t give a fuck about anything in New York. I’ve never seen a city where people just don’t fucking care — Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie can be walking down the street holding hands and people could care less, you know? They take shit in stride.
“I’m twenty minutes late showing up to Pinkberry. The fucking place is packed. There’s people everywhere. I get out of the car and everybody starts cheering and going crazy. I look at the police and I’m like, ‘Are you guys mad?’ And they’re like, ‘We didn’t believe you were coming.’ I get out, I sign autographs, take pictures. We hand out like a zillion tickets. We’re there for two hours.
“And this is the craziest fucking thing about this whole story: Not only is it Monday night, raining, in midtown Manhattan on a Jewish holiday, I’m giving away tickets to a fight in fucking Los Angeles.”
He shakes his head abashedly — Shit, man, I can’t believe it either. “Look at my arm,” he says, offering up his big, stubbled salami of a forearm. “I get chills just talkin about this.”
