â†µPound it, B.J. Pound my fist with all your 140-pound might. You deserve it. This old man hipster terrorist fist jab I've got coming your way ... it's all for you, budding superstar. We had our doubts about you, B.J., during the regular season, when we were forced to bench you twice for refusing to hustle. But now we know the truth: You were just saving up your awesomeness for the playoffs. Our bad. Pound it, bro. â†µ
â†µWe know you don't care about personal accomplishments, but please allow us to praise thee for you. You're a man-child out there. A beast. Meastly, even. You're like Bernie Williams circa 2003, or somebody, with your totally average offensive numbers during the season that suddenly shoot through the roof in the playoffs. You've hit five home runs in eight games so far. Five. That's one knuckle in this fist pound for each homer. Do you know how many you hit in the regular season? Nine. But that doesn't matter. Double quarter pound me with cheese, Bossman Junior. â†µâ†µ
â†µOf course, this pound is also in recognition of your .400 OBP in this ALCS. And your .889 SLG in the ALDS. And your 10 total RBIs. We are totally kicking more ass than this FIST POUND in these playoffs! And it's all thanks to you. Look at us, out here, you and I; we're like knights of the pound table and you're the king to Boston's court jester. You're my dog, B.J. Dog pound me. â†µ
â†µAnd your defense. My goodness, your defense. We will never knock your hustle again. You were like a gazelle out there last night, effortlessly gliding to every ball in your vicinity. A gangster ass gazelle, ruthlessly catching and killing everything in sight: that's you, Bossman. Shane Victorino thinks he'll be the breakout star of these playoffs, but you, me, and this fist know better. This is your October, B.J. Pound it. â†µâ†µ
This post originally appeared on the Sporting Blog. For more, see The Sporting Blog Archives.