Leave Brandon Nimmo and his undercooked chicken alone, you pampered cowards

Mets outfielder Brandon Nimmo has had a weird week. The outfielder was set to make his Spring Training debut on Wednesday afternoon, only to be scratched from the lineup because of a stomach ailment. The cause? According to Mets manager Mickey Callaway, Nimmo made himself some chicken and didn't cook the darn thing all the way through.

He was so proud of himself that he even took a picture of the finished product and sent it to his wife. Who among us hasn't snapped a pic of our kitchen creations to proudly share with our loved ones? I Instagram-storied some pasta I made last night, I just didn't have to throw up afterwards.

But despite losing a whopping four pounds overnight, Nimmo looks to be on the road to recovery. He was back at Spring Training Thursday morning, with a smile on his face, to chat with reporters about his tribulations in the kitchen.

A decent portion of the baseball world has reacted to this story with some combination of jest and scorn: "What a doofus," they say, "this grown man can't cook for himself? What in the world?" To all that I say: Back off, you cowards.

Look, it's certainly not a good thing that Brandon Nimmo ate some pink chicken, I'll give you that. But at least the guy is trying. I mean, he's probably got enough money to order in or eat out every night, or even hire a chef. Instead, this brave soul dared to try to improve his culinary skills in the difficult quest to become a self-sufficient adult, just like the rest of us. And as such, he deserves none of your ridicule.

But don't take my word for it. Here's Anthony Bourdain, from his book, Medium Raw.

"I do think the the idea that basic cooking skills are a virtue, that the ability to feed yourself and a few others with proficiency should be taught to every young man and woman as a fundamental skill, should become as vital to growing up as learning to wipe one's own ass, cross the street by oneself, or be trusted with money."

Nimmo is trying to live this ideal to the fullest, and the only way to really get comfortable in the kitchen is trial and error. Yeah, Nimmo's recent situation would fall on the "error" side of the ledger, but he'll be all the better for it when he opens up a restaurant one day.

Chances are, many of the brave Twitter warriors making fun of Nimmo haven't picked up a pair of tongs in months. They're probably on a first name basis with the delivery guy who comes knocking at the apartment door around 7 p.m. every night. Too terrified of over or under-cooking a slab of meat, the same folks who couldn't tell you the difference between paprika and cumin will hide behind their keyboards tossing "LOLs" and "WTFs" at my man Brandon just for trying to better himself.

One last point before I step off my soap box. When something embarrassing happens to you in life, you've got two choices: You can either refuse to tell anyone and spend the aftermath wallowing in your own shame or you can share your buffoonery with others and bring more laughter into the world. Nimmo is a male professional athlete -- a demographic that tends to be very concerned with maintaining an aura of macho invincibility -- and it would have been totally normal for him to have just told the Mets he got food poisoning or something. But no, he fessed up, loaded his honesty cannon with truth bullets and blasted facts -- hilarious and endearing facts -- directly into our brains. And for that we should applaud him.

Keep cooking Brandon, I can't wait to try what you whip up next.