Made in Memphis Grizzlies blogger describes going from anonymity to total reveal

Nine years ago, I created an anonymous Twitter account called ‘Made in Memphis’ to talk about Memphis Grizzlies basketball. Three years ago today, after it had grown to become the most followed Grizzlies' fan account in the city, I told everybody who I was.

Today, I am saying goodbye.

In retrospect, Made In Memphis has been one of the most crucial parts of my identity for almost half of my life. When I created the account at 12 years old, because my middle school friends were tired of me live-tweeting Grizzlies games on my personal Twitter, I genuinely believed nobody would ever follow it.

If I was lucky, maybe I’d rack up a community of 50 or so people to banter with throughout Grizzlies games. But even if I didn’t, I didn’t care. Because I was able to talk about what I loved with an audience — however big or small — who wanted to listen.

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I didn’t initially create the account with a plan to be anonymous, either. I chose the name ‘Made In Memphis’ because of my initials, MM, and because it was true — I was made in Memphis. I think anyone else who has been born and raised in this city will understand what that means, and how it truly bleeds into your identity. I chose Tony Allen as my profile photo because he embodied that Memphis pride — grit, heart, passion.

However, slowly, as I began to forge cyber relationships with other Grizzlies fans and emerge as a voice in the local online sports space, I realized that there was power in my anonymity. For the first time in my life, I was not looked down on or questioned because of my gender or age. People respected my sports opinions — even sought them out!

As Made In Memphis’ followers grew by the day, Molly Morrison still struggled to feel welcome talking sports with her classmates. The same people who liked my tweets rolled their eyes when I eagerly attempted to join their conversations.

The funny thing is, aside from a few “man’s” here and there, my diction on Made In Memphis never really gave off the impression I was a man — in fact, I’d argue the all-caps gushing and pop culture references did the opposite. But I was an anonymous sports account who people respected, so of course I had to be a man. It was never even questioned.

Women who talk about sports online open themselves up to a world of scrutiny and backlash that men will never face. That’s just a fact. And just because I am tougher now, and the rocks that have been thrown at me have thickened my skin, does not mean it's not still something I experience and see every single day.

Just this past year, I watched a 15-year-old girl get bullied off of Twitter for sharing her love of her team with thousands. The moment she blew up, and she was no longer protected by the circle of people who she could trust, people attacked her.

When they disagree with or feel threatened by you, they try to discredit you. Suddenly, everything you do or say is stripped down to your physical appearance, or what you’re wearing, or why you don't deserve to be in the position that you are in — even if it’s just a silly comment about a basketball game.

The summer after my freshman year of college was the first time the idea of telling people who I was crossed my mind. Keeping up with every Grizzlies game from Indiana University, the school I attended at the time, grew increasingly hard and overwhelming, but I did it anyway because I wanted to.

Meanwhile, my audience had no idea I was a struggling college student who watched glitchy Grizzlies games on her laptop in her dorm room. They didn’t know because I didn’t let them. I put so much of myself into this account, but the most important part – my identity – was detached.

I confided in a few men in the local media space with my secret and asked their advice, to which I was told to keep it anonymous because “people will treat you differently if they think you’re an ‘attractive girl.’”

Though those words may have delayed my decision a couple of weeks, I’m thankful every single day that I ultimately didn’t listen to them.

So exactly three years ago, I told an entire city that I had virtually catfished them

for six years, and the love they have shown me since then has been unbelievable.

I asked the people who followed me not to treat me differently now that they knew I was a woman, because it didn’t change anything. And I can genuinely say that they haven’t.

Every time somebody who follows me on Twitter stops me on the street, or in the FedExForum, it still catches me off guard. I don’t think it ever won’t. For so much of my life, I thought that I was safer concealing a part of my identity because of how people might treat me.

A few months ago at a Grizzlies game, a little girl in a Ja Morant jersey shyly walked up to me and told me I was one of her role models, and it was the most meaningful thing that has happened to me since I told people who I was. If I was able to make even one young girl or woman feel empowered through using my account, it was all worth it.

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I want every little girl who loves sports to know that she is just as credible and capable as any man.

Three years ago, I never could have imagined that my personal account would grow from  500 followers to nearly 80,000 in the years following my reveal – nearly triple the followers of Made In Memphis.

While @MadeInMemphis1 is limited to Grizzlies content, @mollyhannahm discusses the entire league. Memphis might have embraced me, but a national audience is a different story. As I grow, inevitably, so does the hate. The difference now is that the sexist comments don’t scare me – I know they are rooted in insecurity and don’t reflect me or my capabilities.

To the city of Memphis: Thank you for treating me with respect — for treating me like family. Thank you for giving me the confidence to walk away and stand on my own, because I don’t need to tweet about the Grizzlies on Made In Memphis anymore.

Don’t worry, I’m still going to tweet about the Grizzlies just as much as I always have. But this time around, I’m only going to do it under my own name, under my own face, with my own voice.

This article originally appeared on Memphis Commercial Appeal: Molly Morrison: NBA, Memphis Grizzlies blogger talks journey