Yadier Molina is a man. He is a complete and total person. He is the face of the St. Louis Cardinals. He is the only player currently in a Cardinals uniform that will even sniff the hall of fame. Also, he is correct. If my boss stands in front of a gaggle of reporters and cameras and tells all of them that I don’t look right rounding the bases, and insinuates that I am worn down, you know what I do? I respond in kind.

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If you’re the manager, you’re the boss. You’re the one who is supposed to set precedence for your squad. So, when you set the example that it is fine to point out perceived flaws and the disintegration of a player to the entire public world, hasn’t that player got the right to defend himself in the same forum in which you insulted him?

Molina didn’t stand up, self-righteous, full of bluster and speak to the health of his teammates, or bad mouth fans disappointed in another lackluster, poorly managed club. He simply defended his own honor. He is a human being. A proud, accomplished, 8 Gold Glove having, 2 World Series Ring wearing, never back down kind of man. And now, after almost a decade and a half of answering the bell every single round, a thousand little nicks, half a million foul balls to the head, shin, groin, fingers, and face, we want him to lay down and take insults from a manager he has carried on his back since the departure of Albert Pujols? Well, I for one don’t.

I want that same tough as nails, getting in Manny Ramirez’s grill at 21 years old, stone cold killer. Is this what we do in today’s society? We say, “He’s making a lot of money. He just needs to shut his pretty little mouth and take whatever the boss dishes out. He needs to squat down night after night, carry the pitching staff, carry a clueless manager, and carry a poorly built squad for 162 games…but curse him to hades if he ever speaks out to defend himself. Now that is a true sin!”

How dare a man publicly defend himself against publicly given insults. That’s a completely proportional response. But, I guess when you’re a lowly worker, beholden to the grace, wisdom, and power of your almighty manager above, your dignity and pride matter not.

I’ve always believed that there are two kinds of people; Bosses and workers. I’ve been both, but I’ve always had someone to answer to. I’ve had terrible bosses. Managers that made poor decision after poor decision, leading to the ruin of my work team, huge setbacks in my career, and the careers of people I cared about, and that I was trying to lead. Once I spoke out against a manager. Possibly the least apt and most idiotic of the bunch. One week later my position was suddenly eliminated.

So, that’s what I am. I’m a worker. I don’t jump to the defense of the guy in charge like he’s some wounded little fawn who can’t handle an Instagram post. An Instagram Post. One more time, an INSTAGRAM POST. I don’t assume he is right because he’s the boss. I’ve carried managers on my back. My hard work being praised as their victory because they “let me work” every single day. They received “atta boy’s” and pats on the back because I was a work horse, because I carried the load. I know the feeling Yadi. I know it too well.

You speak your mind, you’re correct in all your assessments, then management, the press, and all these fellow workers outside of your profession want to slap you on the nose with a rolled-up copy of the Post-Dispatch like a dog who forgot his place. Well, I for one know your place. It’s at the head of the table. It’s as the face of the St. Louis Cardinals. And I for one always have your back. From one work horse to another, do what you do my man. Do what you do.