This is me putting my hands over my ears because it’s Spring Training and we all know that Spring Training brings a barrage of “where is Manny when is he coming and why can’t he just show up on time like everyone else and it’s a travesty and an insult to the game and he never really liked you fans and he’s just a money-grubbing child who is petulent and indifferent to you, the ticket buying public, and why, oh why, won’t you all just see through this and start hating on him because we write this stuff because we want you to hate on him and when you refuse to do so it gives us the feeling that we actually have no influence over how you think or act or feel and that bothers us to no end so can’t you all just see Manny for what he is — a guy who doesn’t care about you or baseball or democracy or starving kids in Africa or the importance of our space program?”
The “when’s Manny comin’?” watch has already started. In today’s Globe. And I just don’t wanna hear a word of it.
As I’ve said before, I don’t care if the shows up with two minutes of Spring Training left to go, visibly drunk, wearing no pants, and stubbing out a cigarette on my forehead.
He gets the pass. ‘Cause he’s the Manny.
