In Defense of Ellsbury.

I'm probably going to regret this. My life is a much more pleasant place when I do my absolute best to avoid the Globe in general [Aside: You know that ad, the one that seems to run constantly, where one of their writers claims "We're truth-seekers"? Yeah, it bugs. Because, you know what: No. You're not. You're looking for a story, the more sensational the better, truth be damned. And don't get me started on the pop-up ads on Boston.com.] and I am most definitely not a fan of Tony Massarotti. But what the hell, right? If his goal was to rile, then he accomplished it.

Today he writes that Jacoby Ellsbury is not only a bit delicate but also condemns him as a terrible, greedy soul because of it. He also contends that Ellsbury is a fame-whore, who's only interested in playing baseball because it'll put his face out there and money in his pocket. Look, I'll give him that Ellsbury is a wimp; I think that that's pretty well accepted. And personally, I find him boring; personality-free, dull, and empty. And it is unfortunate that because he has high cheekbones, dark coloring, and could be featured on the cover of Non-Threatening Boys magazine, it's hard to take him seriously as a ballplayer. But that's a little bit harsh, no?

Massarotti's rant was brought on by the quote Ellsbury gave Edes, "I think they downplay it because they misdiagnosed it. They said you treat it all the same way. Remember that comment? How do you treat a bruise the same as a break?" In his piece Massarotti seems to imply that because of Ellsbury's looks (and presumably because Massarotti bears a striking resemblance to a mouse) no one made a fuss about the comment. Here's the truth: I started a post about the quote but abandoned it because beyond "He's wrong" there was nothing more to say. All fractures are treated the same as bruises, you sit around and wait for the bones to re-knit; there is no legal way of speeding up the process.

Massarotti also writes that Ellsbury made a stink about moving to left field; which, publicly anyway, is untrue. Maybe he had a private snit that Tony was privy to but outwardly he was fine with playing left. Rather, he is, by all accounts, a nice, polite young man; painfully self-aware and about as interesting as an amoeba, but still a decent human being.

And then Massarotti brings up Ellsbury's agent, Scott Boras, as if that explains the whole imaginary issue that he's made up. According to Massarotti, under Boras' orders, Jacoby is complaining of rib trouble and refusing to play because he doesn't want to go out and stink it up, thereby weakening his position when it comes time to collect his money. This stance is, of course, completely contradictory to the quote he's responding to but that's not going to stop a Globe journalist. It doesn't follow that if Ellsbury didn't want to play, he would accuse the medical staff of malpractice. If he wanted as much time off as possible, why imply that he could be playing by now if it wasn't for the lousy medical staff? It seems more likely that he'd go the Carlos Beltran route and do his best to disappear until he was 100%. It also ignores the fact that Ellsbury earned his reputation as a pansy long before he joined Scott Boras' stable of stars.

Perhaps realizing that his Boras argument is weak, Massarotti then backtracks and says that Boras is not, in fact, Mephistopheles to Ellsbury's Doctor Faustus but rather that Ellsbury is responsible for his own demise. According to Massarotti, Ellsbury isn't playing because Ellsbury doesn't care to play. He doesn't have the heart (because all you really need is heart) to play. He holds up the example of Mike Cameron, who is playing through a sports' hernia, and says that Jacoby Ellsbury is no Mike Cameron. I would completely agree with that assessment. But Mike Cameron is a tough, tough man and a helluva ballplayer. Massarotti ignores the fact that they all ache. They all wake up bruised and beaten, with crunchy knees, and unable to lift their arms above their head; lovely Mike Lowell needs a hip replacement at thirty-six, for God's sake. It is a physically punishing game. Dollars to donuts, Tony Mazz catches a cold in the winter and finds himself laid up for a week.

You see what reading the Globe makes me do? I find myself defending not only Jacoby Ellsbury but also Scott Boras.