Baseball Is For Fatties, and Always Has Been
Baseball has never been about good nutritional choices or Herculean physiques. A 2010 Harvard University survey analyzing body mass index (BMI) found that more than 55 percent of professional baseball players are overweight.
Admittedly, BMI may not be the best gauge, because many professional athletes have huge BMIs, due more to muscle mass than fat.
But take a long, honest look at the bodies in the typical MLB dugout, and it's pretty clear there are more beer guts than six-pack abs. Like it or not, the fatties of baseball are in the majority. 
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As one Twitter user pointed out, "I'd like to see the average BMI for the folks who mock Prince Fielder." It's funny because it's true.
No sports fans are fatter than baseball's because no other sport insists on being watched while eating so poorly.
Sure, football has its tailgating, which is hardly the most heart-healthy of recreational activities.
But baseball encourages consuming things like the D-Bag Dog, an 18-inch corn dog stuffed with cheddar cheese, jalapeños and bacon, a new addition to Arizona's Chase Field. And The Choomongous, a 24-inch Asian beef sandwich introduced to Texas Rangers fans this year.
That connection between players and fans, at least when it comes to body type, is what makes baseball so special. Nothing against basketball or football, but none of my friends is 6-foot-9. And every 300-pound guy I've ever met has trouble getting out of bed, never mind scoring 50-yard touchdowns.
Most of the males I see on a regular basis—from Gary my neighbor, to Clint my mailman, to whatever the wine guy's name at Trader Joe's is—are built like Bartolo Colon.
A unique disconnect has always existed between baseball success and skinniness. In 1930, Chicago Cubs centerfielder Hack Wilson set a still-standing record while standing 5-foot-6 and weighing 1 pound less than the number of runs he batted in that year (191). In 1981, his rookie year, the hefty Los Angeles Dodgers southpaw Fernando Valenzuela led the National League in complete games, strikeouts, and innings pitched. The late San Diego Padres right-fielder Tony Gwynn, who once joked that he had a body "built by Betty Crocker," never batted below .309 in his 20-year career.
And the greatest baseball player of all time is a guy that John Goodman didn't even need to diet to play in a movie. Babe Ruth—who would have celebrated the 100th anniversary of his major-league debut last week—achieved a record-shattering 714 home runs, 2,214 RBIs, a .690 slugging percentage, and 29.2 consecutive scoreless World Series innings.
Ruth's weight, which fluctuated between 215 and a reported 265 pounds, actually helped him pelt the ball.
Even though he once reportedly downed 12 hot dogs and 8 bottles of soda between games , nobody called him "a fatty cow" at the time—at least nobody rooting for the New York Yankees during his stellar years there.
Just to be sure I'm not being a complete moron here, I asked a baseball authority. "You're not," says Peter Gollenbock, the author of seven best-sellers about the New York Yankees.
"If you're a fat guy and you can hit or pitch, then you can play. If you have one really outstanding skill, they'll forgive the others. Wilson didn't have to be fast to drive in lots of runs. Sabathia, being in the American League, doesn't ever have to bat or run.
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I'll keep positing the same handful of players over and over and over and over. T-T-That'll show 'em baseball players are fat 
