Brian Roberts is resilient.

You may read that as one of those positive-from-a-negative compliments, the equivalent of “she’s got a great personality.” And it is in a way, but there is still something to be said about the resilient Roberts.

If anybody in the game of baseball has been consistently knocked down, it has been Roberts, whose career injury report reads more like one of a car accident victim than a baseball player. His concussion symptoms that lingered for two years drained his personality and his energy, jailing him in the darkest of places for months.

Ken Rosenthal a week ago replaced fan images of Roberts enjoying his time off, collecting a paycheck in his beautiful home with his beautiful wife, with the images of an energy-sapped former All-Star spending months sitting on the couch, unable to properly function on a daily basis, staring through people in conversations, but still hearing the ill-informed whispers about a milked-recovery:

“I had so many people say, ‘You looked like you were looking right through me,’” Roberts says. “From the outside looking in, the brain is such a complicated thing, people just don’t understand. I don’t blame them for that. There are a lot of things in life, when you look from the outside, you don’t understand. “But when people are questioning whether you want to play the game, that’s really hard. It’s hard enough going through it with support. It’s even worse going through it with people questioning you.” Roberts’ wife, Diana, says that she, too, heard the whispers about Brian – and that she, too, understood the source of people’s doubts. Initially, she and Brian didn’t know much about concussions, either. But Diana knew what she saw – her once-vibrant husband, the Orioles’ energetic leadoff man, lying on a couch in the dark for “months and months,” unable to function normally, much less play baseball. “If you were in our home every day,” Diana says, “you definitely would not have doubted him.”

Just as the 2012 season was for the Orioles, just as he did in 2006 after dislocating his elbow, and 2010 after herniating a disc in his back, and attempted to do in 2012 after conquering his concussion symptoms, the 2013 season was slated to be the year of redemption and resurrection for Roberts, who finally was able to fully participate in Spring Training and make the Opening Day active roster.

He fielded well, hit well, reclaimed his second base position, and was content with batting ninth instead of his usual first because, hey, he was healthy and playing baseball. The regular season rolled around and he was still fielding well, hitting even better, excelling in the nine hole, and hey, still healthy and playing baseball, aiding the Orioles in rejuvenating their never-say-die mentality for the 2013 season.

But, instead of seeing a smiling Roberts talking about how it feels to finally be back and healthy with a series victory to begin the year, we are left with images of the second baseman being carried off the field after a fluke base running leg tweak.

If I were Roberts, unable to walk off the field under my own power, I would be crying, and not because of the pain. I would cry because of the hard work and progress that disappeared in under 27 innings. I would bawl because I would have to do it all over again, with those whispers of the “always injured” Roberts “being hurt again” as loud as ever. “Shocker.”

Roberts’ resiliency compares to mine as much as an ocean compares to a raindrop, an outfield to a blade of grass. But when asked after the game where he was mentally, Roberts stated he was “not too great,” and, painfully added, “I don’t know.”

If Roberts somehow takes a stroll to the Eutaw Street Report and sees this post, I hope he knows that Birdland is behind him. The negative whispers will always remain whispers, for whispers are nothing more than false statements of those afraid to speak up. The Birdland majority hopes him the speediest of recoveries, not for the added boost in the line-up or the win total, but for him as a person. Resiliency deserves support and we are too far down the road – too far removed from the dislocated elbow, the groin strains, the concussions – to give-up mentally, to “not know.”

Whether negative MRI or positive, whether next week or 2014 return, Birdland is behind you, Brian.

Not for the Orioles. For you.