What's that largely arbitrary and incalculable number of hours that Malcolm Gladwell assigned to the achievement of greatness in a particular field? Ten thousand, was it?
Well, I guess we owe Salvador Perez a congratulations for easily surpassing that checkpoint as a professional catcher of baseballs, it's just a shame that it had to come at the expense of his expertise as an individual. Poor guy was too focused on keeping his eye on 92 MPH breaking balls in as their bottom dropped out into the dirt while squatting in the most unorthodox of positions that he forgot how instinctually dodge discomfort when it's not an occupational hazard.
Seriously, the only way that transporting luggage could possibly be anymore convenient is if they invent hover suitcases. I'm pretty sure the last piece of baggage that was manufactured without rotating wheels was released during the steroid era and recalled by the time the MLB choose integrity over entertainment. Accidents happen, but they are more likely to happen when you're carrying heavy shit that, by name, is meant to be lugged and not lifted.
I want to say this is one of many freak injuries experienced by finely tuned professional athletes over the years. Unfortunately, outside of the inopportune timing that is the eve of Opening Day, I see nothing all that crazy about someone that puts an ungodly amount of stress on his lower body tearing a ligament while haphazardly walking up slippery stairs with his hands full. I'm not nearly hypocritical enough to not be able to see myself doing something just as stupid/clumsy, but - as someone that doesn't have a 162 schedule to worry about - there's less asked of my knees than those of the average gold digger.