Pablo “Kung Fu Panda” Sandoval is only the most recent plus-sized player in a sport that’s seen its fair share of portly personalities. 

You don’t have to think too hard to name another beefy ball player: Mo Vaughn, Bartolo Colon, Kirby Puckett, Cecil and Prince Fielder, David Wells, CC Sabathia. Hell, it’s not like Sandoval’s teammate David Ortiz is a runway model. 

But that’s the beauty of baseball: You don’t have to look like an athlete to be a great baseball player. If you can hit with power, the game will feed you at-bats. If you can throw hard and accurately, it’ll give you all the innings you can eat. If you can call a good game and frame strikes, it’ll stick a dish in front of you every night.

Baseball is a sport of specialization, and, while it’s nice to have five-tool players, one-tool players who are really, really good with that one tool aren’t so bad. 

The trouble for the Red Sox is, Sandoval isn’t a pitcher or a catcher. He’s a position player. A position player who isn’t hitting, isn’t fielding, and can’t stretch a single into a double without jettisoning the warp core.

Sandoval will be on the bench to start this season with the much cheaper (and comparably svelte) Travis Shaw starting at third. If you’re the Red Sox, this is constitutes a complete disaster. Not that Shaw is a bad player, but that you've parked a $95-million investment on the end of the bench (one that will now look more like a see-saw). 

But this disaster began last year, when the Red Sox agreed to that five-year, $95-million dollar contract with the Panda. What did the Sox get for their money? One of the worst dollar-to-production payouts in baseball. In fact, some argue that Sandoval was 2015’s most unproductive player and, consequently, most regressed players. 

Despite the downhill trajectory that Sandoval has been on, his agent, Rick Thurman, had this to say on his benching, “If you want to win, why leave the Ferrari in the garage?” 

Well Rick, if the Ferrari can’t squeeze out of the garage, you don’t have much of a choice, do you? And if the Ferrari can’t drive, turn, or even look like sexy and sporty, is it really a Ferrari anymore? 

But the $95-million question is not what to do now that Pablo has played himself out of a job to start the season, it’s how the hell did he let this happen to himself in the first place? After all, did Sandoval not have 95 million reasons to be more Kung Fu and less Panda? Did he not just have a historically horrible season to atone for? 

The answer might shock you. 

There are two things to consider here. First, correlation is not causation. Just because Sandoval came into camp with more meat on the bone doesn’t mean he is in worse baseball player shape.

I’ve seen plenty of athletes in baseball try to lean up and get stronger only to regress on field. As I stated earlier, baseball is a sport of specialization. The body is a connected system. While some guys lose weight and play better, some don’t. In fact, some guys lose weight, stink, and get hurt. I’ve seen plenty of players turn themselves into the baseball equivalent of action movie heroes but fail to hit their way out of Single-A ball. 

Second, relaxing and putting on more weight may have actually been Sandoval’s way of trying to fix what ailed him last season. 

I know that, as a rational reader and sports consumer, this argument of getting out of shape to get into shape makes little to no sense to you. However, as former athlete, I also know that a lot of what passes for being “a good player” has to do with looking like you are an athlete.

I’ll be the first to tell you that during my playing days I was no physical specimen. I even rocked a 25 per cent body fat score one year in spring training, which earned me a ticket to fat camp. 

That said, my fat suit and me went on to have one of the best seasons of my career that year, 2007, when I helped my Double-A team win the Texas League championship. 

I toned up the following year, all the way down to below 9 per cent body fat. Not because I thought it would make me a better pitcher, but because if I didn’t, I’d get looked at by management as if I didn’t take my job seriously. Also, fat camp sucks.

I had to pass the eye test, even though I was passing the production test. In 2008 my numbers weren’t as good. I did, however, look like a guy who could generate better, and pitch in the big leagues. 

What ultimately got me to the big leagues wasn’t my physique. It was the fact that, like Liam Neeson, I had a very particular set of skills. But, to get to the bigs one must project like they could play there, and that includes looks, which almost always are the gauge of a player’s work ethic. 

Physique sells work ethic until you get to a point where you sign a contract. After that, it’s all about production. 

Sandoval fought a battle with his waistline all the way up to when he could sign his $95- million deal. And, let’s not kid ourselves; the Red Sox knew Sandoval's weight was a potential issue.