DATELINE: For Whom The Belt Tolls
Pablo Sandoval finally had a chance to play on Saturday. His matinee performance had everything—except an open fly. Pablo didn’t hurt a fly, or even a fly ball with his powerful swing and miss.
He took forty whacks, and all he broke was his belt.
Anyone driving a Ferrari knows when you break a belt, the engine comes to a complete stop. And, so it was for the fancy motorman of the Red Sox.
It was not breakfast that broke his belt. It was not break dancing that broke his belt. It was not breaking even that undid the zaftig Pablo.
No, alas, the mighty third baseman took a big fat swing and miss to undo the Gordian knot that holds up his pantaloons. The 48 ounce belt was too heavy for the bat boy to pick up.
That pop you heard in Poughkeepsie was not your Rice Krispies hitting the milk. It was more like the fat hitting the fire.
Pop goes the weasel, but in this case the pop top pooped out. There’s no place like home to keep your belt’s eye on the ball.
There surely is nothing more embarrassing than coming undone in front of a hostile audience. The laugh quotient hasn’t been this loud since the laugh track days of TV sitcoms.
We hate to hit a man when his pants are down, but when the belt gives way, you have only a few pounds between you and being caught with your pants around your ankles.