Athletes who played after bereavement
protected when they reach the majors should be. Hopefully Jones speaking out will help spark a change. While on the topic of unseemly baseball trends that were this week highlighted by the Red Sox- Orioles series at Fenway, those two teams had plenty of reason for mutual loathing before an idiot in the stands yelled at Jones. Like, for example, when an idiot on the mound again threw at Manny Machado, one of the best players in the sport.
Machado’s perceived crime came two weeks ago, when his hard but legal slide into second base clipped Dustin Pedroia, forcing the Red Sox infielder to leave the game.
The next day, Red Sox pitcher Matt Barnes threw a 145km/ h fastball at Machado’s head, with the Baltimore man fortunate to barely duck under what could have been a catastrophic blow.
Baseball convention rather childishly allows pitchers to throw at batters if they break one of baseball’s beloved unwritten rules. Headhunting, though, should be frowned upon, and certainly discouraged by tougher punishment than the pitiful four- game suspension Barnes received.
Saga over? Not quite. Fast forward to this week, when Machado, probably still pissed about having his life threatened, had the temerity to admire a home run he hit over the Fenway fence — another no- no for the stuffy ( read: old and white) core in baseball.
So the following day, Chris Sale decided to throw at Machado again, missing his mark and sending one behind the third baseman, succeeding only in sparking the following epic post- game rant:
“F— ing bulls— t coward stuff,” Machado said. “That’s stuff that you don’t f— ing do. Getting thrown at my f— ing head, getting f— ing thrown at everywhere. It’s f— ing bulls— t. I’ve lost mad respect for that organisation.”
Machado went on to point out one of the great hypocrisies in baseball’s petty fight for revenge: only one side of the battle is allowed to use the weapon available to them.
“Pitchers out there with f— ing balls in their hands, throwing 100mph trying to hit people,” he said.
“And I’ve f— ing got a bat too. I could go out there and crush somebody if I wanted to. But you know what, I’d get suspended for a year and the pitcher only gets suspended for two games. That’s not cool.”
Not cool, indeed. Sort it out, baseball. And sort it out, Boston. Last month, the sister of Celtics guard Isaiah Thomas was killed in a car crash. Chyna Thomas’ death made basketball seem small but did throw into doubt the post- season involvement of one of the NBA’s best players. Isaiah soon made an emotional return to help Boston win their firstround series over Chicago, before exploding for 53 points on Wednesday — the secondhighest playoff total in franchise history — to lift his side to a 2- 0 second- round lead over Washington. Wednesday would have been Chyna’s 23rd birthday. “There was no way I was sitting out,” Isaiah said. “The least I can do is go out there and play for her.” Isaiah has already done plenty to honour his sister’s memory, and that will continue as long as the Celtics remain alive. He’s not the first athlete to play on after a personal tragedy. . .
Less than 24 hours after the sudden death of his father in 2003, Favre unleashed a performance for the ages on Monday Night Football, throwing for 399 yards and four touchdowns to lead his Packers to a crucial victory over Oakland. “I knew my dad would have wanted me to play,” Favre said. “He loved this game.”
Rochette had been guided throughout her figure- skating career by her mother, Therese, and the pair travelled together to the Vancouver Olympics in 2010. But after Therese died of a heart attack two days before the short- form programme began, Rochette skated on and set a personal best to claim bronze.
In the space of 24 hours in October 2012, Neshek celebrated the birth of his son, clinched the AL West title with the Oakland Athletics, then watched helplessly as his newborn died from breathing complications. Three days later, the relief pitcher took the mound in a playoff game and recorded two outs to escape a jam. “I really felt like there was someone watching over me,” Neshek said.