If you’ve read this blog before, you know Jayson Werth is one of my least-favorite professional athletes. He’s one of those guys who, for some odd reason, thinks that holding an ill-fitting leather glove and wearing red-and-white pajamas to work gives him the right to crap on people. My opinion started innocently enough—a writer friend of mine once approached Werth in the Phillies clubhouse, said, “Jayson, do you have a minute?” And his response was, “Not for you, bud.” Which just oozes dickheadedness. Absolutely oozes it.
In the aftermath of blogging about, I heard one bad Werth story after another—the not-hard-to-fathom life of a guy who thinks his poop doesn’t smell. Hardly shocking, always sorta disappointing.
Anyhow, you know where I’m heading. A few nights ago Werth cursed at a Phillies fan (His words: “Get out of my fucking way!”) who caught a fly ball that the outfielder was trying to grab. The fan didn’t lean over into the field of play, and he was trying to protect his young son from being hit in the head. Fair enough. And, truth be told, Werth’s immediate reaction was also fair. He was mad, and he probably didn’t grasp the circumstance. People curse—it happens.
Yet even now, days later, Werth refuses to apologize. Why? I’m not sure, but my guess is he’s just a dolt.
What’s your take?