Catch A Falling Star.

On l'affaire Middlebrooks.

Lately we have learned that not only does Will Middlebrooks have the attention span of a rabbit but he also has all the intelligence of an amoeba. A month ago, Will outed his relationship with Ms. Dell and, as a not unpredictable result, got his girlfriend demoted.

When you get that much stupid in a relationship, especially when one of the participants has a voice that would work effectively on parmesan, you can't help but marvel at the fact that they aren't regularly murdered.

I'm not sad that she's gone. I dislike the slut-shaming aspect of the whole mess but I very much doubt that there's anyone who would consider her to be a journalist. Even the most ardent Hazel/Heidi/Jenny supporter couldn't say with a straight face that her job was anything more than being a pair of breasts in a tight shirt and occasionally trying to read a promo so that they would have a reason to show said breasts on television.

More than my dislike of the double standard, I hate that her job exists. I hate that we encourage women to define themselves and their worth as human beings by the amount of fat that grows on their chest. And I hate that no one ever taught Jenny/Heidi/Hazel that they had no value beyond their bra size. Almost as importantly, I hate that the job is called sideline reporter, baseball doesn't have sidelines.

Hey, NESN, why not get rid of the job entirely? It adds nothing to the broadcast. And Don could do a much better job of reading the promos.