So there's a big hubbub in spring training because Prince Fielder and his man-tits announce that Prince isn't going to be eating meat anymore. Something about how he saw how a steak is actually made or something like that, and now he can't stomach the thought of eating meat anymore. (Which raises a whole 'nother issue: why in the name of God are you witnessing the meat-making process? You know when someone is talking about the unsavory, unseen aspect of something -- most often in politics -- and they say that you don't want to see how the sausage is made? They don't use that metaphor just for shits and giggles; no, they use that specific metaphor because it's the most fucking disgusting thing in the history of mankind. I threw up, just right now, just by writing about it. Seriously. I'm in a puddle of vomit because I thought about how sausage is made. So what the fuck is Prince doing taking a tour of the Jennie-O factory?)
So, anyway, Prince is a vegetarian. Fine. This label -- vegetarian -- makes me thinks Prince will be eating Caesar salads and rice and California rolls and shit like that. Great. Bully for him. Should help him shed a couple pounds and maybe downsize to a C-cup. I mean, when you switch from double cheeseburgers to tofu, that's what's supposed to happen, right?
That is not what has happened. After watching Prince's boobs smack into his face as he jogged around the bases yesterday, it's clear that the weight isn't coming off. And then I realized: this guy isn't a vegetarian; he's just eating fucking candy all day long. He swore off burgers for Rollos, chicken for Tootsie Pops. His eyesight seems impaired, so he's apparently not eating any carrots; if he was, there's no way that ball clanks off his glove yesterday when Hardy throws a perfect strike to him. (Watch the replay in slow-mo: you can see Prince begin to say "Niiiicccceeee playyyyy..." and then go "Ohhh fucckkkk" when the ball smacks off his mitt.)
I'm calling for transparency here. Out with it, Prince. Start wearing one of those candy necklaces out to the field and munch on it in between pitches. Keep a Snickers under your hat. Hide a Twizzler or two underneath the rosin bag at the mound. The world will be much sweeter (ha! candy metaphor!) when you stop living a lie.