Shame on you, Baltimore, for bashing Brian Roberts

January 14, 2012 | Drew Forrester

You know it’s a slow off-season for your baseball team when the most exciting news is the return of a cartoon character to the team’s hat and the biggest controversy is whether or not the club’s most popular player is attending FanFest or not.

Welcome to Orioles 2012.

The Brian Roberts saga reached new heights this week when the club announced he wouldn’t be attending next Saturday’s FanFest due to his continuing battle with post-concussion syndrome.

Orioles fans everywhere – well, not everywhere, but the 1,691 who still really care – were outraged.

Most people couldn’t understand how Roberts, headache and all, isn’t able to “just sit at a table and sign stuff”.  Some have even gone as far as to suggest the popular 2nd baseman might be jaking it.  That makes sense — I can just hear Roberts and his wife at their Thanksgiving feast now.  “If I can keep having these headaches for two months, maybe I won’t have to go to FanFest.”

Why on earth would Brian Roberts want to submit himself to this scenario next Saturday…

“Hi Brian, we love you.  We can’t wait to see  you on the field again.  When you comin’ back, hon?” (Roberts: “I’m not sure, whenever the doctors say it’s OK and my head stops hurting and bright lights don’t bother me and I can listen to James Taylor on my iPod without throwing up.”)

“Brian, it’s great to see you.  You gonna play this year?” (“I hope so.  I want to.  But I have to feel better first.”)

“Brian, my Uncle Cliff had a concussion once and we made him drink a bunch of V-8 tomato juice and do a handstand and it helped him like you wouldn’t believe.” (“Wow, that’s really interesting.  I might have to try that.”)

“Oh, Brian, we miss you so much.  Can’t you just play two or three games a week?”  (“Well, I’m not sure.  I’m trying to get better real quick for all of you though, so I’ll get back in there as soon as I can.”)

“I don’t understand.  I played high school football back in 1983 and I got a concussion in the state quarterfinals but I came right back and played the following week in the semifinals, headache and all.  I just decided to tough it out.” (“Wow, that’s really inspiring.  Your school must have been really proud.”)

“We bought tickets to opening day just to see you, Brian.  Don’t let us down.” (“I don’t want to let you down, believe me, but I have to listen to my doctors.  But thanks for buying those tickets.”)

“You still gonna collect that $20 million the team owes you?” (“I’m just trying to come back and play baseball…”)

“Can you and your wife still have sex when you have those headaches?  I got a concussion a couple of weeks ago when I got drunk in Canton and fell in the street as I was leaving Looney’s and I just don’t feel like being intimate with my girlfriend anymore.” (“Well, umm…that’s sort of private.”)

“Why didn’t you answer that guy’s question about having sex with your wife?  We pay your salary, remember.” (“I think I’m gonna throw up.  I’ll be right back.”)

Let’s all admit this.

We wouldn’t want those questions if we were right of mind, let alone if we were battling our way through a concussion that has somehow lingered for the better part of 18 months. (Please see next page)