That seems to be the underlying theme of the day when it comes to discussing Mets’ second baseman Daniel Murphy and his decision to miss TWO WHOLE GAMES to witness the birth of his child.
The collective bargaining agreement in baseball allows players to take paternity leave, the length of which is three games. Even more, the timing was good: It was early in the season and there wasn’t a pennant race or something else that could make this seem like a contract ploy. Thus, when he decided to miss 1/81 st of the season, the Mets were fine and sent him off with their blessing.
Of course, that’s not good enough for the assholes who run talk radio. Mike Francesca, a sports talk radio guy whose playing career spans his time on the high school JV team, ripped the hell out of Murphy for his choice.
“What are you gonna do, sit there and look at your wife in the hospital bed for two days?” Francesa said.
Some of the dumbest stuff ever came out of Francesa’s mouth, including blaming this paternity movement on a “natural child birth movement” where the guys were in the room to witness the birth.
He also noted that, “your wife doesn’t need your help in the first couple days.”
He said he worked up until a half hour before the kid was born, then he went to work.
I’m also assuming he never actually witnessed anything like it as he then noted, “I don’t know why you need three days off… You witness the birth and you get back.”
I know that when The Midget was born, my wife would have been totally fine with me saying, “Hey, great job! Do I need to stick around to watch you get stitched up or can I get back to the newsroom?”
I don’t begrudge the people who can’t stick around after a birth or in some cases who aren’t able to be there. However, if you are afforded that choice and you want to take that choice to be, oh… I don’t know…, a decent and loving human being… you shouldn’t have some asshole ripping you for making that decision.
I wish I had been his boss: “Mike, whaddaya need three days for? You’re a fucking fat ass. Stop eating out of the vending machine. Y’know. Get back to work.”
It’s easy enough to blow off Francesa, as all he does is bitch and moan about things. This is what happens when you get a sports talk show in New York and you have to out-prick the pricks who think the Mets owe them a Snickers bar.
The guy who really bugged me was Boomer Esiason. Boomer argued that Murphy and his wife should have scheduled a Caesarian-section birth before the season, so this could be done with and Murphy could play all of the games.
Don’t worry about Obamacare dictating your health care coverage. We have “Dr. Boomer” now who can set up your birth plan for you!
Let’s skip the moment here where we go past the “Who the fuck are you to tell me how to birth my child?” moment that Murphy’s wife must be having and skip past the “Great idea to create a lot of unnecessary risks so a kid can be born on Boomer’s preferred schedule” issue.
Of all the people who should understand what Murphy’s going through, it should be Esiason.
Boomer’s son Gunnar was born with cystic fibrosis. In 1993, he was diagnosed and the next year Boomer set up a foundation that raised money for the research needed to find a cure. He has spoken often as a parent who was scared and worried about the life of his child and he has done everything in his power to make life better for CF kids and their families. This is a guy who, apparently unlike Francesa, sees his child as more than something you give to your wife when you want to shut her up and you can’t afford decent jewelry. He’s also someone who lives with the issue of how a child is such a fragile thing that even in today’s day and age of medical technology, there’s no such thing as a sure thing.
When The Missus was pregnant, she was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. Despite the doctors telling us that everything was going to be fine, over and over and over again, we were petrified. When the child was born, the tests and the heel pricks and the blood work and more were more than a bit stressful. When everything turned out fine, we were drained.
Who knows what could have happened to Murphy’s child? Even more, how was he supposed to keep his mind on a game (which baseball is, by the way. A fucking game.) worrying that there might be a problem with the delivery and the first day or so?
In the end, the Mets defended Murphy, Murphy spent his time with his child, an 8-pound, 2-ounce little boy named Noah, and life moved on. Interestingly, the Bible’s story of Noah is a pretty good one. People criticized Noah for his actions (building the ark), but in the end he did the right thing for himself and his family, while a flood came through and washed all the assholes away.