Let’s just pile on the hate Red Sox Nation!
Nothing like a Friday to get my blood pressure rising and ready to boil over.
It’s already the end of the week, I’m looking to move and have begun the exhausting process of looking for a new pad (seriously if you live in the Brookline area and aren’t a serial killer email me), and of course March Madness has begun which means no one is reading the site.
I could literally say anything I wanted in this article and only a handful of readers would notice, in part thanks to my alma mater Holy Cross making it to the March Madness bracket for the first time in, like, a hundred years (not exactly, but sports weren’t our thing when I was there).
What was I writing about?
Right, Pablo Sandoval has done it again, this time he went into a sugar induced rage at a reporter after questions about his sh*tty performance in Spring Training.
Was told that Pablo Sandoval blew up at reporter yesterday for citing declining defensive stats in article. Slammed table w/ bat during rant
— David Laurila (@DavidLaurilaQA) March 16, 2016
You want to know how I think this all went down?
Just like this:
Seriously Sandoval, this is your f*cking job.
You’ve been making errors left and right (literally), been slacking at the plate, and all the while saying that you’re in tip-top athletic shape and ready to take on the season. I don’t know about you guys but something just doesn’t sit too well with me.
And I know there are the Pablo-apologists out there who think I’m “immature” and “don’t know anything about sports” and have “thin privilege”–but if you want to try to tell me that a morbidly obese man can put up one of the worst seasons of his career, underperform in the following spring after appearing to gain weight, and be fit to play–well you’re just crazy.
Pablo obviously is struggling, and while he may get into a groove come September, it’s becoming painfully obvious the kind of player, and person, he is. He doesn’t hold himself accountable nor does he act like an adult. Instead he eats himself into a food coma over the winter, and throws a hissy fit like a high school girl who was just told she couldn’t date the creepy college guy down the street–the bottom line is he’s not acting like an adult, he’s acting like a child.
If anything Pablo could stand a talk that goes like this:
God I hope we trade this slob.