I used to hate Jonathan Papelbon. I hated his stink of Red Sox overexposure, the Trachselian breaks he took between pitches, his suffocating semiliterate meathead overconfidence.
Then came the Crotch Waggle Heard Round the World. Then he went on College GameDay, as sober as I am willing to get sued for libel for suggesting otherwise, resplendent in the maroon of his native Mississippi State Bulldogs, and while brandishing an unlit cigar so large it would’ve made Sigmund Freud blanch, traded barbs with Lee Corso and shook Mississippi State’s live bulldog mascot in front of a national television audience.
