When I was 6, the role of class clown in Mrs. Ludwig's first grade class was left unfilled until October. Seeing this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I dedicated myself to filling that position. Seeking out the proper material, I sorted through various knock-knock jokes, classic lines like "I know you are but what am I" and even researched prices on fake vomit. But then one day, my older brother, wise sort that he is, took me under his wing and taught me the key to any budding Henny Youngman:

Elbow farts.

After several days of Miyagi-esque guidance, my brother showed me the perfect technique to unleash a thunderous bomb of an elbow fart (inside elbow, 45 degree angle being the keys). Armed with this new found weapon, I waited until the perfect moment to debut it. And when poor Mrs. Ludwig went to pick up a dropped piece of chalk, I executed a bass-filled elbow fart the likes of which hadn't been seen since Brad "Stinky" Sanderson walked the hallways. Of course, the class went into hysterics. Mrs. Ludwig was irate. And I was crowned king of that class.

So why do I go into this story today? Because picking on Abreu is the elbow fart to the morons among the Philadelphia phans. A cheap, easy way to always get attention and noticed. A thoughtless way to trigger a reaction and appeal to the lowest common denominator. Analyst John Marzano seems to be the latest to discover this, as he now pollutes both the broadcast and radio airwaves with regular thrashings of Abreu. However, before he went big time on TV, Marzano wrote a tiny blog, one that featured a gushing post about Abreu, tagging him "The Next Big Star in Baseball" just last July.

Why would cause such a quick change of tune? Elbow farts, man. Elbow farts. Shouldn't we have outgrown them by now?