Failing that, a flat-out release would’ve been just fine, thanks. The sensational September incident with Harper had fans in and around D.C. The gesture resulted in a seven-game suspension, the same length as the ban Papelbon served last fall after choking teammate Bryce Harper. When things don’t work out, he has been known to whack out, like when he grabbed his crotch in response to hometown Philly fans who booed him as he walked off the hill after a rough 2014 outing. Like any pro wrestler worth his salt, when things go Papelbon’s way in the arena, he rejoices unapologetically, such as when he recorded the final out of the 2007 ALCS and then proceeded to dance an Irish jig right there on the mound at Fenway Park. I’m not Dad or anybody,” said the 35-year-old father of two toward the end of last season, when he could be seen palling around the Washington clubhouse with his 5-year-old son, Gunner. “When I come into the game and the music’s blaring, it’s like I’m stepping into the ring and I’m Ric Flair. Although he’s not planning on keeping the thing in the clubhouse like he did in Philadelphia (“it started getting beat up a little bit”), Papelbon does have a vintage Nature Boy action figure, complete with turquoise shorts and matching boots, that he keeps in his locker wherever he goes, including here in Viera. “When I was a kid, he was the man,” says Papelbon, who’s such a big fan that he bought Flair’s championship belt. Although the rapper has become something of a go-to choice for big leaguers lately, Papelbon uses it not because of Meek Mill, but because of Ric Flair, the pro wrestling legend whose voice is sampled in the song’s intro. Papelbon’s is “Bout That Life,” by Meek Mill. These days, every closer has a walkout song. The way that, within 60 seconds of entering the room, he simultaneously flaunts both his political views and physique, changing out of a snazzy teal polo and into a simple gray tank top that reads, “Obama can’t contain these guns.” The way that he clowns, telling a mangy-mopped Gonzalez upon arrival that he looks like a cartoon character, then piling on a couple of days later by taping a color printout of Prince Ali from "Aladdin" on the narrow strip of wall that separates Gonzalez’s locker from Papelbon’s. There’s the way that Papelbon struts into the clubhouse on the first day of camp with bro hugs and handshakes for all, preceded by the scent of cologne, rocking designer cowboy boots. Says Gonzalez: “When he walks around, there’s a presence.” Which is kind of like saying that when Amy Schumer talks, there’s laughter. Just ask Gio Gonzalez, whose spring training locker is located beside Papelbon’s. Say this much for the Nationals’ closer: The man knows how to stir the pot.Įverything about Jonathan Papelbon screams swag. Only this time, Papelbon dials up Justin Bieber’s “Sorry.” The following morning, the scene essentially repeats itself. He leans back to the receiver and cranks it up.įour measures of twangy power chords, followed by two simple lines of poetry, courtesy of Cole Swindell: A moment later, country music fills the space. He moseys back over to his locker, picks up his phone and starts tinkering. “Does this thing work?” Papelbon says to no one in particular. On the top shelf is a Sony boom box with a wireless receiver. The bottom two shelves are stuffed with spray bottles and various cleaning supplies. Sensing the overwhelming need to change the energy, Jonathan Papelbon saunters over to a humble, black plastic cleaning cart with three shelves that sits in the middle of the room. At the long white table on the other side of the room, reliever Shawn Kelley and outfielder Matt den Dekker use plastic utensils to methodically transfer scrambled eggs from paper plates into their mouths. Across from him, in the opposite corner, pitchers Tanner Roark and Blake Treinen engage in an impossibly quiet conversation that sounds like it escaped from the local library. In the far corner, veteran infielder Danny Espinosa sits on a stool in front of his locker and strokes his overgrown winter beard. Inside the Washington Nationals' clubhouse at Space Coast Stadium, a bunch of grown men who are used to going to sleep in the wee hours of the morning and waking up in the wee hours of the afternoon pretend they’re not comatose. It’s way too early on a Saturday morning. No choke, er, joke: Jonathan Papelbon an early leader in Nationals' clubhouse You have reached a degraded version of because you're using an unsupported version of Internet Explorer.įor a complete experience, please upgrade or use a supported browser
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