Chris Davis is completely worthless and his production is worth, literally, negative baseball players, while he is compensated for being worth multiple baseball players. Again: Chris Davis, who will never want for material goods nor share any aspect of the plight of a regular modern person, while simultaneously being totally incompetent at the job affording him such freedom, produces an output that can be measured in multiple piles of baseball antimatter. He got his deal and promptly forgot how to play baseball. He bristles at the suggestion he might try to earn his keep, despite being compensated in eight figures to generate negative seven figure value. If someone possessing shame or self-awareness were in his shoes, he would be doing anything to justify his existence. Perhaps the clubhouse chalkboard erasers need to be clapped, or maybe everyone in the locker room would like their cocks sucked? Or maybe he could just sit in the fucking corner and shut the fuck up, forever, and just not make his presence known until we're all dead of old fucking age and his last check has cashed. Instead, he is going to pick a fight with someone who is still fucking trying. Fuck you, my man.