Bruised ribs and either a Grade-1 or 2 sprain of the AC Joint in the left shoulder. Out six-to-eight weeks. That’s the latest news on Giants starting pitcher, Madison Bumgarner following a dirt bike accident Thursday.  But before you go flipping out on the wrong person, you need to know all the facts.

You can’t blame Madison Bumgarner. It’s not his fault.

You can blame the good folks of Hickory, North Carolina. This fly-speck on a map town is best known for two things – the Hickory Crawdads, a Class-A team in the South Atlantic League, and the Hickory Motor Speedway, the apparent birthplace of NASCAR Stars. I’m sure the people are good, wholesome folk but I’m guessing there’s no local chapter if you’re looking for a MENSA meeting while you’re passing through. Bumgarner never stood a chance.

You can blame the southern drawl. It may be a horrible stereotype but when I hear those long, loping sentences that take three days to be spoken, I have a real hard time thinking that I’m currently engaged in intelligent conversation. I’m sure Bumgarner was in the middle of saying “no thanks” but it took so long to get the words out someone already had him in a helmet and on two wheels.

You can blame the writers of My Cousin Vinny. If it wasn’t for that movie, I wouldn’t have such a negative stereotype of southerners ingrained in my head. I heard the guy with the filthy screens looking through “all them bushes” was loosely based on a member of the Bumgarner family.

You can blame the faculty at South Caldwell High School in Hudson, North Carolina because clearly they do not educate their student athletes. I haven’t seen any recent test scores posted, but I’m guessing the valedictorian was neither Bumgarner nor a member of the school’s varsity baseball team.

You can blame Major League Baseball for not demanding some form of higher education be mandated for its low-level minor league ball clubs. If these kids choose to skip college so they can play ball, there should be an offseason, collegiate-level education provided for them. I’m pretty sure Bumgarner never enrolled at a junior college during his minor league days nor is he taking a physics class at SF State during the winter months.

You can blame society and the modern day sports culture for putting athletes on a pedestal and not requiring them to have a lick of sense or be able to do anything of societal value outside of playing a game for our entertainment. I’m sure Bumgarner has some amazing pig-roping skills, can whittle wood and could probably beat Ren McCormick in a game of tractor chicken, but we can probably cross off curing cancer, designing a cathedral or writing the great American novel from the list.

We can blame Bumgarner’s agent for not highlighting the clause in his contract that forbids him from partaking in any activities that could be deemed as harmful to his body or his career as a professional baseball player. Like in bold face type and red ink. Like a red tab on the page that has a giant blinking arrow pointing to the clause. I cannot say with any degree of certainty that Bumgarner can actually read, so if his agent didn’t read it to him, well, we know who’s to blame.

We can blame the San Francisco Giants organization, Bumgarner’s teammates and anyone else he was with, who let him ride a dirt bike in-season. Clearly, growing up in Hickory, attending a high school that doesn’t educate its student athletes and never getting a college degree or even taking some sort of collegiate-level classes has left him completely incapable of making a sensible decision or have a rational thought. Surely someone he was with attended an accredited university or, at the least, posted a respectable score on the SATs. Blame that guy.

Blame the guy who picked in front of you and left Bumgarner on the board for you to take. Blame yourself for taking him. Blame the fantasy gods for hating you.

Just don’t blame Madison Bumgarner. Clearly, this is not his fault.