It has been truly magical five months. We got engaged, making the first of so many wonderful promises to each other. I am so thankful for you, your energy, and all you bring to my life. Which is what makes this is so hard...
You see, fantasy baseball has started again, and I wanted to let you know in this letter that it's not you, it's me. I heard the siren song after my fantasy football seasons, sans fanfare, thudded to an end. I started quietly, in the dark corners of my days, reading a little here and there about the prospects...mulling over keeper selections...going there in my mind's quiet moments.
You must have known.
You know me. And you know this about me, but I can't help but feel guilty that you know that, despite the gift of your lifetime of love, I won't hear a word you're saying when one of my dudes hits a ding-dong. When you're practicing your graduation speech, I'll half listen, because Yovani Gallardo will be going against the Reds, who look pretty good this year (what else is new). And that, your smile will continue to be a goal of mine, but not as high a goal as being the high man in my weekly league where I could win $25 if I play the right dudes.
Oh, my love, my fantasy...how can you challenge my wife in my heart like this? Your numbers, performance, nerdery!!
I am the Jennifer Hudson of fantasy baseball. Okay, that's a bit dramatic. But as I am struck down, I rise to higher heights...last year's 'First to Worst' has inspired me (and hopefully Josh Hamilton and Carlos Quentin, both available in drafts for SO cheap!!) to rage against the dying of the flight. Of the ball. Trying to be literary.
SO, my darling, let's plan a trip for this November. To reconnect. Because sadly, it's going to be a bit of a bitch until then...just saying. I love you dearly. But Go Vurpsharts, The Armo Army, and Face First Cat Eaters!
Waiver wire darlings for week one? WHY THE FRICK NOT?
This dude Tyler Colvin on the Cubbies apparently went Braveheart all over Spring Training this year. Dude hit .468 this, forcing the Cubs to make a roster move to free up space, thus inviting him up to the show. Extra base hits aplenty, this guy should also force a trade of Kosuke Fukudome, or Shin-Soo Choo light...if you're being called Shin-Soo Choo light, you should be traded. He's the 4th outfielder right now, but Soriano's old, Fukudome stinks, and Marlon Byrd has never 'taken' in the bigs. *(Mr. Choo is a bad man, and should be on all rosters this season, if he's out there on the wire, grab him now)
Randy Wells-Another Cub, as a rookie last year the guy posted very respectable stats for a wobbly Cubs team. He won 12 games and had an ERA of 3.05. Struck out just over 100 in 165 innings, which projects favorably over a full season. I remember him having said he's modeled himself after Chris Carpenter, who is obscenely concise, I think he threw a shutout last year in under 90 pitches. The Cubs look good coming out of spring, and the back of their rotation is better than the front end of lower-tier teams.
Edinson Volquez-if you have a DL spot, this guy is rehabbing right now and should be a great stash until he returns, which would likely coincide with your stretch run.
KEEP AN EYE on such dudes as Seth Smith, the fourth OF in Colorado, who is one of those 'strikes out as often as he walks' guys throughout his career, and in 335 AB's last year, went .293-15-55, with an OBP of .378, and 4 SB's. COL's OF is pretty crowded, with former binky Ryan Spillborghs also fighting for time, but keep an eye out there. Flag Seth Smith.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Monday, October 19, 2009
The Infuriating
In case you weren't with us, the crack team here at FUN IS AWESOME first broke the story on Friday that the Balloon Boy, Falcon Heene, was the focal point of a conspiracy to draw the prayers of many millions of us the world over. And, of course, page views on Youtube. And possibly a reality show. (Furious typewriter sounds! Ding!) The Larimer County Sheriff's office claims it now has hard evidence that this was, in FACT, a hoax perpetrated by the young man's father. His name is Nutbag McRuinousDad. His name has been changed, albeit slightly, to protect hi-oh who cares. You know they're considering jail-time and protective custody for the kids? I think this family deserves the vitriol of the masses, sin duda, but things get very, very serious when you talk about removing a child from their home and parents.
But we won't be doing that here, so whatever. Apparently, the authorities will use a crane to crush a fly if that fly makes them look gullable and/or silly.
One time in college, my buddies and I duct-taped a passed-out friend to a chair, put him in the elevator, and pushed all the buttons. Dying laughing all the time. We stumbled down the seven flights of Washington Tower at UMass-Amherst, waiting for him to appear, slurring and laughing a few minutes later, but when his elevator reached the ground floor, it was empty. We were pretty shocked. But then we really got to thinking...I get it, Drunky McPassemOuts might have met up with different friends, or-holy crap-a girl, or group of girls. But where, pray tell, was the chair?
The next day we saw him, and eyes lowered, he offered nothing about his whereabouts or his savior. Months later, we'd find that these lovely girls from the 'milk and cookies' floor (number 22 if memory serves, which it probably doesn't) undid his binding and he just said thanks and hoofed 22 flights and another couple of miles or so to his dorm. We were soon reunited with our chair, and all was right with the world.
I tell this story not because I wish to speculate on consequences, but because it was funny. This is the only reason why you pull a prank. These people? These people are idiots.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Falcon idiots in Fort Collins
From Fort Collins:
This morning, The Heene family of Fort Collins was on the Today Show. Last night, Larry King. And the father seems to be getting more pissed off. I could tell because he said something like 'I'm getting pretty pissed off being asked if this was a hoax over and over...!'. While yesterday's stuntwork was pretty awesome, the writing fell way short. Local news reports that the Heene's have been fielding requests for interviews all over the world. And the cost? However much it costs to buy and stitch a bunch of 'It's a Girl' balloons together inside-out.
SO funny, the guy's all: 'after it rose to twenty feet, the electronics were supposed to kick in...'. ???? 'I was so afraid that the high-powered batteries in that compartment would electrocute my son!' Really. And the UN allowed this facility to operate unabated? None of us are safe.
It's really quite smart. Papa Heene understands how to manipulate the minds of people. Hijacking the entire media was a good start, but he had all our hearts gushing for his kid. I do think he'll be the coolest kid at school though, when he gets home from Ellen and Bonnie Hunt. Go on youtube.com and search Heene. Overnight, they have become the buzziest buzz family ever. That is no accident.
And I'm writing about this because I think 9news' website's 4 million hits might have a few readers to spare. So, if this story pays me, am I a huge douchebag? I say no. There are better stories all day long in Fort Collins, but nothing that'll make you pull over and pray. But at least those stories are true.
This morning, The Heene family of Fort Collins was on the Today Show. Last night, Larry King. And the father seems to be getting more pissed off. I could tell because he said something like 'I'm getting pretty pissed off being asked if this was a hoax over and over...!'. While yesterday's stuntwork was pretty awesome, the writing fell way short. Local news reports that the Heene's have been fielding requests for interviews all over the world. And the cost? However much it costs to buy and stitch a bunch of 'It's a Girl' balloons together inside-out.
SO funny, the guy's all: 'after it rose to twenty feet, the electronics were supposed to kick in...'. ???? 'I was so afraid that the high-powered batteries in that compartment would electrocute my son!' Really. And the UN allowed this facility to operate unabated? None of us are safe.
Falcon, who had us all praying yesterday, was climbing all over cars, ladders, and whatnot for the cameras. VERY pleased with himself and remarkably fearless only minutes after allegedly hiding in the attic for FIVE FULL HOURS yesterday (which was a totally gorgeous day) because he was afraid his dad would yell at him. I can't believe that kid would sit silently for any amount of time, for any reason. But, originally, the story was that his dad DID yell at him, which caused him to go hide. I can just picture his dad now, yelling at him to 'KEEP THE STORY STRAIGHT!'
This morning, he puked on his dad (sadly, off camera) during his Today Show interview, drew gasps and guffaws from his siblings and cameramen. Do you think that maybe he's sick because his dad is making him lie all over the world? This guy WITHOUT QUESTION force-fed ME a bunch of crap for breakfast, and I feel a little sick too. They are shipping their kids all over the country, keeping them up all hours. They have already showed us that the integrity of their family comes second to the spotlight, and it seems they'll ride the wave of their recent stardom as far as possible, puking kids notwithstanding.
It's really quite smart. Papa Heene understands how to manipulate the minds of people. Hijacking the entire media was a good start, but he had all our hearts gushing for his kid. I do think he'll be the coolest kid at school though, when he gets home from Ellen and Bonnie Hunt. Go on youtube.com and search Heene. Overnight, they have become the buzziest buzz family ever. That is no accident.
And I'm writing about this because I think 9news' website's 4 million hits might have a few readers to spare. So, if this story pays me, am I a huge douchebag? I say no. There are better stories all day long in Fort Collins, but nothing that'll make you pull over and pray. But at least those stories are true.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Win some, Lose some, Either way Boras gets silly rich.
Well, here we are, only a couple of posts during the whole season that started out with so much promise. Guess running 9 teams (some straight into the ground) pretty much takes up all of my 'sit in front of computer and contribute nothing' time each day. And its kind of a lot as it is.
Here's whaaaaaaaaa
Well, of the 9 teams, three are locks for the playoffs, two are on the cusp, and the other four are WAYYYY out. The team for which I have 'consulted' is a long shot to make the last spot of the playoffs. I like to pretend I'm an athlete and say canned athlete things about the up-and-down nature of fantasy, including but not limited douche:
'You know, at this time of the year, everyone's got bumps and bruises, but you've really got to deal with it the best you can and go out there and do your best'
Well, that's great, but in my biggest money league, BOTH David Wright and Hiroki Kuroda sustained concussions after being hit in the head last night. Bumps and bruises, okay. Day off here and there? Grand. Traumatic brain injury? Come on. Hoping Ian Stewart can heat up (or at least play more than two consecutive games) with Wright on the bench, and I dropped Kuroda for Jeff Baker at 2nd. Sorry, we've only got room for one concussion on the Face First Cat Eaters.
Plus, Stephen Strasburg, who apparently has ten elephants for a throwing arm (in the good way) was offered a record-breaking contract to sign with the Nationals who have been really very good lately. Great bats in that lineup no doubt, but their bullpen is horrifying. Strasburg is rep'd by Scott Boras, who also has ten elephants but that's just for conversation. Strasburg went 3000-0 in college with over 17 thousand strikeouts. No one has ever hit anything he has thrown. He's thirty feet tall. And apparently, without ever throwing a pitch, he'll be a 7-figure signing. Great! I'll give one roster spot to him, in hopes that he signs by tomorrow midnight. If he doesn't, he's an asshole, Boras is an asshole, and I drop him because he won't be eligible to keep if he doesn't pitch for me this year.
I have pulled a 'First to Worst' in the league that I commission. er. Whatever the verb is for this. And strangely, the guy in first has pulled a 'Worst to First'. Terrible. Well, I SO dominated last year (on the backs of Josh Hamilton, Carlos Quentin, Ian Kinsler, Nate McLouth, Justin Morneau, among others), that I kept them all (Kinsler's hitting .246 right now, though on pace for a 30-30 season, if he doesn't pull his spleen like he did earlier this season causing him to miss a few weeks-Quentin missed 50 games with Plantar Fasciitis, Hamilton missed about 6 weeks before his relapse and subsequent indiscretion at the bar with the young girls, McLouth, though traded to more favorable Atlanta, has had a couple good weeks, but recently left a game with a hamstring injury, and Morneau, well, he's still as awesome as ever). Plus I drafted Jake Peavy, who sadly developed cabbage on his uvula and has missed a million years. So in all, the VurpSharts are chalking this one up to bad luck. Rome wasn't built in a day, and Jim Rome isn't entertaining. Better than Dr. Laura, but really, who cares about your horse racing company.
Leading in the 'guys I used to work with and some other guys in Philadelphia' league, but the team has been tailing off, and I've been employing the 'pick up a two-start pitcher with a favorable matchup once in the next week' strategy, due to the loss of, again Jake Peavy. Here's the good news/bad news on Peavy. Good news, he'll be back in a couple weeks, just in time for the playoffs! Bad news, instead of pitching in quadruple A (NL West), he's in the AL Central (pretty nasty, actually). He hasn't thrown in a game in two months-ish, and do you really want to put him in there for a start, with the money on the line, in this situation? I probably will, but I'll grind my teeth every night that week.
'You know, it's a marathon, not a sprint'
Surprise, now it's a sprint! There are probably 3 weeks left in the regular season in most fantasy leagues, and it's getting mad hot, yo. I put a little more value on 2-start pitchers in weekly leagues, and less value on, say, my back up middle infielder. If there are some mid-season call-ups (your Bud Norris-Gio Gonzales types), or fourth starters on winning teams (Joel Piniero, Jason Marquis, Kuroda-wait until his concussion clears up) out there, definitely take a look. Chasing wins with your fifth starter ain't a bad call, but only if they're on a contending team with big balls in their lineup (Piniero represents the best-case of these, what with his WHIP under 1.2 and Mr. Bignuts (Pujols) himself, and the leagues' hottest hitter BY FAR (Holliday, .484-8 HR since the All-Star break) backing him up). He might blow up here and there, but he'll win more than he loses.
Plus I just got a whiff of football season. So there's draft prep for that, including mock drafts (I like to do maybe 15), reading all kinds of websites' info, and then of course pretending that their info is mine and posting it here. Holy shit, I've just used up all of my 'useless' time today. But it's Sunday! Whatever, Meg's still in bed. I'm hitting a mock.
Here's whaaaaaaaaa
Well, of the 9 teams, three are locks for the playoffs, two are on the cusp, and the other four are WAYYYY out. The team for which I have 'consulted' is a long shot to make the last spot of the playoffs. I like to pretend I'm an athlete and say canned athlete things about the up-and-down nature of fantasy, including but not limited douche:
'You know, at this time of the year, everyone's got bumps and bruises, but you've really got to deal with it the best you can and go out there and do your best'
Well, that's great, but in my biggest money league, BOTH David Wright and Hiroki Kuroda sustained concussions after being hit in the head last night. Bumps and bruises, okay. Day off here and there? Grand. Traumatic brain injury? Come on. Hoping Ian Stewart can heat up (or at least play more than two consecutive games) with Wright on the bench, and I dropped Kuroda for Jeff Baker at 2nd. Sorry, we've only got room for one concussion on the Face First Cat Eaters.
Plus, Stephen Strasburg, who apparently has ten elephants for a throwing arm (in the good way) was offered a record-breaking contract to sign with the Nationals who have been really very good lately. Great bats in that lineup no doubt, but their bullpen is horrifying. Strasburg is rep'd by Scott Boras, who also has ten elephants but that's just for conversation. Strasburg went 3000-0 in college with over 17 thousand strikeouts. No one has ever hit anything he has thrown. He's thirty feet tall. And apparently, without ever throwing a pitch, he'll be a 7-figure signing. Great! I'll give one roster spot to him, in hopes that he signs by tomorrow midnight. If he doesn't, he's an asshole, Boras is an asshole, and I drop him because he won't be eligible to keep if he doesn't pitch for me this year.
I have pulled a 'First to Worst' in the league that I commission. er. Whatever the verb is for this. And strangely, the guy in first has pulled a 'Worst to First'. Terrible. Well, I SO dominated last year (on the backs of Josh Hamilton, Carlos Quentin, Ian Kinsler, Nate McLouth, Justin Morneau, among others), that I kept them all (Kinsler's hitting .246 right now, though on pace for a 30-30 season, if he doesn't pull his spleen like he did earlier this season causing him to miss a few weeks-Quentin missed 50 games with Plantar Fasciitis, Hamilton missed about 6 weeks before his relapse and subsequent indiscretion at the bar with the young girls, McLouth, though traded to more favorable Atlanta, has had a couple good weeks, but recently left a game with a hamstring injury, and Morneau, well, he's still as awesome as ever). Plus I drafted Jake Peavy, who sadly developed cabbage on his uvula and has missed a million years. So in all, the VurpSharts are chalking this one up to bad luck. Rome wasn't built in a day, and Jim Rome isn't entertaining. Better than Dr. Laura, but really, who cares about your horse racing company.
Leading in the 'guys I used to work with and some other guys in Philadelphia' league, but the team has been tailing off, and I've been employing the 'pick up a two-start pitcher with a favorable matchup once in the next week' strategy, due to the loss of, again Jake Peavy. Here's the good news/bad news on Peavy. Good news, he'll be back in a couple weeks, just in time for the playoffs! Bad news, instead of pitching in quadruple A (NL West), he's in the AL Central (pretty nasty, actually). He hasn't thrown in a game in two months-ish, and do you really want to put him in there for a start, with the money on the line, in this situation? I probably will, but I'll grind my teeth every night that week.
'You know, it's a marathon, not a sprint'
Surprise, now it's a sprint! There are probably 3 weeks left in the regular season in most fantasy leagues, and it's getting mad hot, yo. I put a little more value on 2-start pitchers in weekly leagues, and less value on, say, my back up middle infielder. If there are some mid-season call-ups (your Bud Norris-Gio Gonzales types), or fourth starters on winning teams (Joel Piniero, Jason Marquis, Kuroda-wait until his concussion clears up) out there, definitely take a look. Chasing wins with your fifth starter ain't a bad call, but only if they're on a contending team with big balls in their lineup (Piniero represents the best-case of these, what with his WHIP under 1.2 and Mr. Bignuts (Pujols) himself, and the leagues' hottest hitter BY FAR (Holliday, .484-8 HR since the All-Star break) backing him up). He might blow up here and there, but he'll win more than he loses.
Plus I just got a whiff of football season. So there's draft prep for that, including mock drafts (I like to do maybe 15), reading all kinds of websites' info, and then of course pretending that their info is mine and posting it here. Holy shit, I've just used up all of my 'useless' time today. But it's Sunday! Whatever, Meg's still in bed. I'm hitting a mock.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Current sports headline commentary, Papi, Josh McDaniels
Oh my good god. The Bachelorette goes 'full retard' and I want to fully embrace David Ortiz in a tear-filled craze. OH PAPI!!! PAH-PEEEEE!!!!!!
The poor guy must be totally out of his mind. Yaz. Jim Ed. Papi. 2004 ALCS, best sports thing ever, Papi wins it all. 2006, he hits 54 bombs. What a blessing this guy has been. $80,000 diamonds in each ear. A mink coat. And most deserved, the pure love of literally millions of Sox fans from four generations. My Papi story-I was at Buff's Pub in West Newton in June 2005, with a few close friends. I had just gotten back from 9 days in Kau'ai, a most transformative trip, with this surreal amount of confidence. Papi's over there, and I give him the shaka (make a fist, extend your thumb and pinky, now shake it) with an abalone bracelet on. He looks at me flatly for a second, and without changing expressions, he turns away. Whatever Papi, I'd pay for your honey-hot wings (truly a masterpiece among wings) if you punched me in the face. For HUGE reals.
Now? 49 games in, he's got precisely 1 HR. I love the guy, seriously. But as I watch him swing, I feel sorry. Even late last year, I'd stand up during every one of his at-bat's. Honestly, the Sox made it to game 7 of the ALCS last year with him in the middle of the lineup. LAST YEAR.
Mike Lowell went through a season-long slump the year before he came to the Sox. 2007 with the Sox, he hits .324 and drives in 120 runs. World Series MVP, even! Only 2 years before, in his last year with the Marlins, Mike Lowell hit .236 with an On-base Percentage of .298. 50-something RBI. Currently, Papi has negligibly the same OBP as Lowell did in his crap year. I'm not advocating for Papi to stay in the middle of the lineup, but he could hang at 7 or 8. I might smell a 60 day stay on the DL. Christ, Dontrelle Willis was on the DL for Social Anxiety, and Joey Votto is on the DL for 'personal reasons'. I get it, people need time off and can spend 15 days off the roster because of it. Could Papi cite 'general malaise' as a reason to go on the 60-day DL? 'Yo mang, I got Big Papi malaise; you know...sungtin lie dat'. My prayers are with you, big dog, get right and swing de bat good lie before. IN THE MEANTIME, Manny Delcarmen is a fine price to pay for Nick Johnson. The Sox only have him for another year or two at the league minimum, they have a glut of young nasties in the bullpen, and you could double your production in the 3 hole. Let me get this straight, the JUNKees land Tex and you're going to answer with Jeff Bailey? That's a 'we deserve to lose' kind of move. JOS LIE BEFORE, MANGS.
In other sports news, The New-Denver Broco-Patriots are looking like fun times this year. I like Josh McDaniels. How could you not? This is three turds' worth in a happy Santa bag for all the bitchy Broncos fans out here that STILL cannot believe 'They traded Cutler!'. I heard some guy the other day say he asked his grandkids to get him a Bears' Cutler jersey for his birthday. GRANDKIDS. He's been a Donkeys (that's Broncos for you out of towners) fan forever, and JAY CUTLER's TRADE has ruined this man fandom? I am a Pats fan, thank you, and we have been educated by the master his-self, Bill Belichick. We have learned that you cannot allow your sentimentalities to get in the way of creating a winning team. How does this translate? I don't really know. I have my ideas, but I'm not eating this stuff every second of my life. You know who is? Josh McDaniels, the new head coach of your Denver Broncos, and the guy who traded DrewJay BledsoeCutler. But Bledsoe had TONS of class. Took out an entire page ad in the Boston Globe after he left town, thanking all us fans. Cutler? Barking into his hands all red-faced and stompy into Chicago. All not returning phone calls and being a big baby (not to be confused with Glenn Big Baby Davis, who I wish to have lobster with one day. I just picture him laughing his ass off with a mouthful of lobster, face all buttery with a two-by-two foot bib on...LOVE that guy!)
Cutler thinks it's 1987 and he's the second coming. He plays low-percentage, albeit exciting, football. Half his passes go for more than 20 yards in the air, which, of course, all but guarantees he throws into double-coverage, and yes, more interceptions than necessary. Then, all puffy-chested, he barks into his hands on the way off the field, blaming everyone else for his dog shit performance. Then everyone blames the defense. Which, admittedly, was pretty horrendous, especially against the run. But you know what? You keep the defense off the field if you throw shorter passes, maybe look at your tight end, run a few screens...you know, Jay, HIGH PERCENTAGE plays that not only move the chains, but it limits your team's obvious weakness on D. But NO, Bignuts has to throw it DEEP. It's like backyard football all over the country...how many times have I yelled 'GOIN DEEP!' playing backyard football? Ten thousand times. Even when I'm not throwing the ball, or playing. Jay Cutler probably still stands like McGwire when he plays wiffleball. Douchebag. Please piss Urlacher off in practice...please...
Here's the thing about Josh McDaniels. He not only served as Tom Brady (and Matt Cassel for that matter)'s quarterback coach, and later the Offensive Coordinator for the most productive offense in NFL history (never hurts to have Brady-Moss-Welker on your team), but he started in New England YEARS ago, shadowing BB, and doing everything he could to learn football. He did so in one of the most successful organizations (nod to Pittsburgh, tho...for sure) in modern sports. He learned that you must protect the football in order to win. My guess is you'll see half as many turnovers from the Donkeys this year. Kyle Orton will throw accurate passes to his tight end, they'll run screens with Moreno, the best running back in this year's draft. OOH! Let me comment on this-
OVERWHELMING ANGST in BRONCO COUNTRY at the drafting of Knowshon Moreno. 'We need defensive help! WHAAA!'. True, though they did sign Brian Dawkins who will provide some much-needed leadership on D. However, the best way, as I've said, to boost your defense is to keep them off the field, and the best way to do THAT is to have a nasty-nasty running the ball for you. The Broncos O-Line was SO great in every way last year. You put someone behind it who isn't just picturing their own boner in every huddle, and you win the AFC Central EASILY. Patriots defenses were always tough, on all fronts, but they rarely showed the individual statistics one might expect from a dominant force. Why? Because they weren't on the field very much. When they were, they were rested. I love the Moreno pick, I think trading Cutler was absolutely necessary to reel in the turnovers and give the Defense a shot, and my prediction is that you'll see Brandon Marshall out of town by next off season. Why? He's the last douchebag on the shelf.
End all-McDaniels learned in an environment that ONLY won. So he doesn't know any different. He's made unpopular moves, but the Broncos will surprise. Who else will surprise? Big Papi, who, though he is just so sad up there right now, will come back to have a reasonable second half. You don't just fall off like this. Something's wrong, and he'll figure it out. From the 8 hole, or the bench, he'll figure it out.
Apparently I will NOT figure out my fantasy teams, who are a collective disappointment. I'll write more when I have something to say on that. My first retraction-Zack Greinke is SO FOR REAL. In keeper leagues, I deal for Josh Hamilton right this second. Now do TEN PUSH UPS!!
The poor guy must be totally out of his mind. Yaz. Jim Ed. Papi. 2004 ALCS, best sports thing ever, Papi wins it all. 2006, he hits 54 bombs. What a blessing this guy has been. $80,000 diamonds in each ear. A mink coat. And most deserved, the pure love of literally millions of Sox fans from four generations. My Papi story-I was at Buff's Pub in West Newton in June 2005, with a few close friends. I had just gotten back from 9 days in Kau'ai, a most transformative trip, with this surreal amount of confidence. Papi's over there, and I give him the shaka (make a fist, extend your thumb and pinky, now shake it) with an abalone bracelet on. He looks at me flatly for a second, and without changing expressions, he turns away. Whatever Papi, I'd pay for your honey-hot wings (truly a masterpiece among wings) if you punched me in the face. For HUGE reals.
Now? 49 games in, he's got precisely 1 HR. I love the guy, seriously. But as I watch him swing, I feel sorry. Even late last year, I'd stand up during every one of his at-bat's. Honestly, the Sox made it to game 7 of the ALCS last year with him in the middle of the lineup. LAST YEAR.
Mike Lowell went through a season-long slump the year before he came to the Sox. 2007 with the Sox, he hits .324 and drives in 120 runs. World Series MVP, even! Only 2 years before, in his last year with the Marlins, Mike Lowell hit .236 with an On-base Percentage of .298. 50-something RBI. Currently, Papi has negligibly the same OBP as Lowell did in his crap year. I'm not advocating for Papi to stay in the middle of the lineup, but he could hang at 7 or 8. I might smell a 60 day stay on the DL. Christ, Dontrelle Willis was on the DL for Social Anxiety, and Joey Votto is on the DL for 'personal reasons'. I get it, people need time off and can spend 15 days off the roster because of it. Could Papi cite 'general malaise' as a reason to go on the 60-day DL? 'Yo mang, I got Big Papi malaise; you know...sungtin lie dat'. My prayers are with you, big dog, get right and swing de bat good lie before. IN THE MEANTIME, Manny Delcarmen is a fine price to pay for Nick Johnson. The Sox only have him for another year or two at the league minimum, they have a glut of young nasties in the bullpen, and you could double your production in the 3 hole. Let me get this straight, the JUNKees land Tex and you're going to answer with Jeff Bailey? That's a 'we deserve to lose' kind of move. JOS LIE BEFORE, MANGS.
In other sports news, The New-Denver Broco-Patriots are looking like fun times this year. I like Josh McDaniels. How could you not? This is three turds' worth in a happy Santa bag for all the bitchy Broncos fans out here that STILL cannot believe 'They traded Cutler!'. I heard some guy the other day say he asked his grandkids to get him a Bears' Cutler jersey for his birthday. GRANDKIDS. He's been a Donkeys (that's Broncos for you out of towners) fan forever, and JAY CUTLER's TRADE has ruined this man fandom? I am a Pats fan, thank you, and we have been educated by the master his-self, Bill Belichick. We have learned that you cannot allow your sentimentalities to get in the way of creating a winning team. How does this translate? I don't really know. I have my ideas, but I'm not eating this stuff every second of my life. You know who is? Josh McDaniels, the new head coach of your Denver Broncos, and the guy who traded DrewJay BledsoeCutler. But Bledsoe had TONS of class. Took out an entire page ad in the Boston Globe after he left town, thanking all us fans. Cutler? Barking into his hands all red-faced and stompy into Chicago. All not returning phone calls and being a big baby (not to be confused with Glenn Big Baby Davis, who I wish to have lobster with one day. I just picture him laughing his ass off with a mouthful of lobster, face all buttery with a two-by-two foot bib on...LOVE that guy!)
Cutler thinks it's 1987 and he's the second coming. He plays low-percentage, albeit exciting, football. Half his passes go for more than 20 yards in the air, which, of course, all but guarantees he throws into double-coverage, and yes, more interceptions than necessary. Then, all puffy-chested, he barks into his hands on the way off the field, blaming everyone else for his dog shit performance. Then everyone blames the defense. Which, admittedly, was pretty horrendous, especially against the run. But you know what? You keep the defense off the field if you throw shorter passes, maybe look at your tight end, run a few screens...you know, Jay, HIGH PERCENTAGE plays that not only move the chains, but it limits your team's obvious weakness on D. But NO, Bignuts has to throw it DEEP. It's like backyard football all over the country...how many times have I yelled 'GOIN DEEP!' playing backyard football? Ten thousand times. Even when I'm not throwing the ball, or playing. Jay Cutler probably still stands like McGwire when he plays wiffleball. Douchebag. Please piss Urlacher off in practice...please...
Here's the thing about Josh McDaniels. He not only served as Tom Brady (and Matt Cassel for that matter)'s quarterback coach, and later the Offensive Coordinator for the most productive offense in NFL history (never hurts to have Brady-Moss-Welker on your team), but he started in New England YEARS ago, shadowing BB, and doing everything he could to learn football. He did so in one of the most successful organizations (nod to Pittsburgh, tho...for sure) in modern sports. He learned that you must protect the football in order to win. My guess is you'll see half as many turnovers from the Donkeys this year. Kyle Orton will throw accurate passes to his tight end, they'll run screens with Moreno, the best running back in this year's draft. OOH! Let me comment on this-
OVERWHELMING ANGST in BRONCO COUNTRY at the drafting of Knowshon Moreno. 'We need defensive help! WHAAA!'. True, though they did sign Brian Dawkins who will provide some much-needed leadership on D. However, the best way, as I've said, to boost your defense is to keep them off the field, and the best way to do THAT is to have a nasty-nasty running the ball for you. The Broncos O-Line was SO great in every way last year. You put someone behind it who isn't just picturing their own boner in every huddle, and you win the AFC Central EASILY. Patriots defenses were always tough, on all fronts, but they rarely showed the individual statistics one might expect from a dominant force. Why? Because they weren't on the field very much. When they were, they were rested. I love the Moreno pick, I think trading Cutler was absolutely necessary to reel in the turnovers and give the Defense a shot, and my prediction is that you'll see Brandon Marshall out of town by next off season. Why? He's the last douchebag on the shelf.
End all-McDaniels learned in an environment that ONLY won. So he doesn't know any different. He's made unpopular moves, but the Broncos will surprise. Who else will surprise? Big Papi, who, though he is just so sad up there right now, will come back to have a reasonable second half. You don't just fall off like this. Something's wrong, and he'll figure it out. From the 8 hole, or the bench, he'll figure it out.
Apparently I will NOT figure out my fantasy teams, who are a collective disappointment. I'll write more when I have something to say on that. My first retraction-Zack Greinke is SO FOR REAL. In keeper leagues, I deal for Josh Hamilton right this second. Now do TEN PUSH UPS!!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
My Colorado Half-Marathon experience
Dang. The alarm goes off, but I'm awake already, anticipating this unnatural series of tasks for days. It's 4:20 AM, and that joke was just about the only thing I was smiling at. The rest of the focus was on getting my race clothes on, padding to the fridge while guarding my eyes from all this GOD DAMNED LIGHT. Thinking about stubbing my toe on purpose. Hard. WHY am I doing this, again?
Twenty minutes later I'm pouring Gatorade into a saucepan and heating it up, because I think it'll deliver the sweet electrolytes that I'll need to continue standing upright until Dean gets here at 5:15am. Stretch this, exercise that. Meg and I exchange dumb looks. Guh. Tucker, our dog, is thrilled that we're all awake despite looking ten kinds of confused and tired. He's extra snuggly in the morning which makes stretching almost impossible. And I'd really rather just let him bury his giant white face in my outstretched arms than focus on the fact that, in about two hours, I'm going to start running, and I won't stop for what seems like forever.
Months earlier, friends convinced us to run in the Fort Collins Turkey Trot, a Thanksgiving morning race that goes for four miles. That run totally absolved me from any guilt at gorging myself for the rest of the day. So I had a nice association with running. I surprised myself, running the entire thing without any training. And if you never run, four miles seems substantial. Hooray indeed. So, when friends upped the ante with a little 'you guys should do the Colorado Half with us', Meg was all 'We're totally in!'. Very little thought went into this, but I am very happy she made this call. I wouldn't have done so alone.
Our training harmlessly began in February. It was never more than 50 degrees, and usually there was some kind of moisture, but it was always bearable. Thirty minutes here, four miles there. Lose a pound here, notice a new muscle there...it was all very exciting. Proudly we'd cross another 50-minute run off our little fridge-bound calendar. And then numbers started climbing. 6 miles. 7. We started trying to convince ourselves that skiing for a day was like running 7 miles. Or that if we skipped a day it wouldn't kill us. A friend told us that all she did to prepare for her half marathons in the past was to run 5 miles four days each week. So we tried that, until Tucker plowed into my knee at full speed (a little 'joke' of his), knocking me down and pretty much rendering me incapable of running more than 3 miles without what I call 'red-flag' pain. For a month. At this time, Meg also experienced problems running, and our commitment to this race was in jeopardy. You look at the training schedule and you don't see a bunch of 3 milers leading up to the race, you see frikkin 10's and 12's. I hammered through menu after menu of Egoscue exercises (this great stuff I'm into for pain relief and functional strength...egoscue.com if you're interested), gradually getting my knee in a better place. Meg and I decided to try some PED's (Aleve), which worked pretty well. Made it 7 miles with no discomfort about ten days before the race. So I decided to quit while I was ahead and just focus on strength and so on, while doing 3-5 miles three more times before the big day.
To Tucker's delight, Deano walks in as planned at 5:15. This sends my dog into such a frenzy that you just can't resist being psyched. Dean is ever resilient and positive, so he starts with all his cheerleading. 'You guys FIRED UP?!...How you feelin'? Ready to ROCK this?!' There is an energy to Dean this morning of his trying to convince himself that this is a good idea, and we're all right there. Dean: I brought extra underwear. Meg: In case you shit your pants? Ten high-fives. Sun's coming up. When we sit in the car we're all 'Holy hell, here goes'. Dean: FUCK YES!
We meet up with Toni and Dan (the original halfers) in line in old town, to bus our way up Poudre Canyon, roughly 13 miles outside of this cutesy little pedestrian area where literally thousands of racers will end up around 9am. It's 5:30 now. More talk of 'can you believe we're doing this? Jesus I feel terrible. Ooh, bagels!' So we're standing in a line of three thousand or so people, everyone's all jumping up and down and trying to stay comfortable. There are like twenty buses lined up all over, and the smell is insulting. There are cardboard boxes with bagels in them, just sitting there all over the place, and so no matter what flavor they are, they taste like burning tires. Glorious burning tires.
Also, keep in mind, who shits at 5am? That's right, nobody. The race committee is way ahead of us though, having lined up no fewer than a hundred porto-potties at the drop off point (heh)up the canyon, so when we get off the buses at 6am (a more reasonable time to poop, don't you think? Yes, you do!), we are hit NOT with the much more favorable odor of diesel exhaust, but what you would imagine 3,000 colons might smell like. I'll hold for applause.
So then we've got another 45 minutes to kill. All us runners are meeting eyes, looking down, jumping around, and admiring the scenery. Poudre Canyon is truly magnificent and only a few minutes out of Fort Collins. They give you this 'high energy' goo, which tastes like raw soda syrup, and once you stop shaking, it gives you what you need to succeed! or something.
The racemaster corrals us to the start, and the first marathoners pass our mob. It boggles my mind that these soldiers have run 13 miles ALREADY. TOTAL props to anyone who has run a marathon. He yells 'GO!' into his bullhorn, and we're off. And I have to pee. Before I know it, we're 2 miles in and waiting at a porto. There are maybe fifty people behind us as we leave the potty. So we canter off, down the canyon, feeling pretty awesome about life and our knees. For now.
Mile 6. Small groups of REALLY cool people are collected at turns, playing cowbells and cheering, holding up posters. I can't express my gratitude strongly enough to these people. Most of them were there in support of someone in their lives, but they were also cheering for me and Meg, and it meant a LOT. Meg has a tendency to speed up a little bit whenever we pass one of these groups, which didn't piss me off until mile 9 or so. I think she just wants to be in front of me because she's got an uncontrollable competitive streak, like look at me, I'm faster than him. Whatever, it kind of makes me want to give her a good shake.
Anyway, we take a sharp right and pass a few cheering sweethearts, but that slowly fades as I look ahead and see a hill that was bigger than any we trained on. This is where I had my big epiphany. I didn't want to run any more. Boredom, often my first saboteur, creeps in, and I'm all 'no!'. Get fired up! I eventually get to facing my core issue, which has been my reluctance to dig in and bring the A game. I can convince myself to 'save it for when it matters'. But I've been saving it since maybe junior year of high school, like 15 years ago. I'm on the precipice of marriage, hoping to have a family sometime reasonably soon, and I am WAY out of the practice of bringing my A game. I don't even know if I can access my A game anymore...that gland seems to have dried up and only I am to blame.
Let me introduce, now, my co-star in this, Meg. Meg has her dial set to 'A game' about half the time. Her first year of Grad school? 4.0. Her previously crippling fear of public speaking? Engaged and dissolved. Precious few people face their core issues like this, and these are the people whose legacy is unquestionably positive. This is how I want to be, and the wanting had to translate into action right now, halfway up this hill. Booyeah. I get to the top of the hill, and there's a water station, people dressed as clowns, cheering like crazy. Okay, maybe I was hallucinating, and there was more to that goo than I know. Whatever, I was high as hell and had concluded that I must now practice this A game thing for the rest of the race.
Soon we pass mile 8. This is significant because we never went more than 8 miles during our training. Each step was a new record. And our knees were starting to bark. Since that porto at mile 2, we have been passing people, which does good things for your mind too. Around mile 10, a particular douchebag yells out 'ON YOUR LEFT' as we're crossing this narrow little bridge. We get over to the right. With the kind of tone that makes you want to neck-punch the closest person, he goes 'ON YOUR LEFT, THAT'S WHAT THAT MEANS, MOVE OVER!'. I go 'Take it easy, pal', and he waves goodbye as he passes. I swear to you I almost took out a lifetime of frustration on this man. For the next mile I'm imagining knocking him down in the street and giving him a foot bath. And not the nice kind. I'm all fired up, and start to lose Meg a little, and she's like what's the deal? I explain my feelings about this guy, and whatever, it gets me to mile 11 pretty confidently.
Meg's poor knee is all kinds of upset, but again, she's all business at this point so there will be no stopping her. My knee ain't great, and I'm running out of strength. We commiserate about how weak we feel, but how excited we are for the finish (which is less than 2 miles away!!!). We confirm that we want to cross the finish line holding hands. Cute, right? We run through Lee Martinez park, on a paved trail, towards Old Town Fort Collins. We can hear some music in the distance, and soon we see the best person all day. This 8 year old girl is banging a stick on this metal gate, just going nuts, saying things like 'THE FINISH IS RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER!!! IT'S RIGHT THERE!!! YOU'RE ALMOST DONE!!! YAY!!!". It's true, there's the gauntlet, probably a thousand supporters, a guy reading names over the loudspeaker, and this huge blue FINISH sign. A few of Meg's friends are there, cheering for us...AND SHE'S OFF! Without any regard for all of the things we literally just said. 'I'm out of strength, I can't go any faster, I'm in so much pain, I'm all done'. And I let her have it (in a reasonably good-natured way). 'SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!' She's like two steps ahead, and delirious. You ever see a four year old in a crowd? Just a blank half-smile, gawking. We find each other's hands and she says 'I just saw friends, I get excited!' And I say 'I'm sick of your excuses!, 'it's my friends, I get excited, we're going downhill'...just slow down goddammit, I literally have nothing left!! GET OVER YOURSELF!!!' Yes, things get dramatic at the end of an early morning half marathon. For SURE.
We finished together, at 2:20:27. Would have been sooner if we hadn't porto'd it at mile 2, but whatever. My stats: 899th out of 1281, 67th out of 77 dudes ages 30-34 who finished. Sick! When I ran cross country in high school (junior year only), I finished dead last in the 3-mile course...technically I did beat two people, one of whom was bitten by a dog during the race, and another who passed out and had to be taken away in an ambulance. Come to think of it, over the years I may have made two people out of one story, doubling my achievement.
The rest of the day I was ass-bound to the couch, hobbling and unable to bear any weight on my right knee. Did I mention that my knee didn't hurt until Meg's 'Sprint to the finish' took more than I had to give? In a word, yes, I blame her.
A few days hence, I sit here, with no pain to speak of. And we're going to sign up for the 'Other Half' in Moab, UT this October. Gotta blend that A game into my routine! Bring your cowbells!
Twenty minutes later I'm pouring Gatorade into a saucepan and heating it up, because I think it'll deliver the sweet electrolytes that I'll need to continue standing upright until Dean gets here at 5:15am. Stretch this, exercise that. Meg and I exchange dumb looks. Guh. Tucker, our dog, is thrilled that we're all awake despite looking ten kinds of confused and tired. He's extra snuggly in the morning which makes stretching almost impossible. And I'd really rather just let him bury his giant white face in my outstretched arms than focus on the fact that, in about two hours, I'm going to start running, and I won't stop for what seems like forever.
Months earlier, friends convinced us to run in the Fort Collins Turkey Trot, a Thanksgiving morning race that goes for four miles. That run totally absolved me from any guilt at gorging myself for the rest of the day. So I had a nice association with running. I surprised myself, running the entire thing without any training. And if you never run, four miles seems substantial. Hooray indeed. So, when friends upped the ante with a little 'you guys should do the Colorado Half with us', Meg was all 'We're totally in!'. Very little thought went into this, but I am very happy she made this call. I wouldn't have done so alone.
Our training harmlessly began in February. It was never more than 50 degrees, and usually there was some kind of moisture, but it was always bearable. Thirty minutes here, four miles there. Lose a pound here, notice a new muscle there...it was all very exciting. Proudly we'd cross another 50-minute run off our little fridge-bound calendar. And then numbers started climbing. 6 miles. 7. We started trying to convince ourselves that skiing for a day was like running 7 miles. Or that if we skipped a day it wouldn't kill us. A friend told us that all she did to prepare for her half marathons in the past was to run 5 miles four days each week. So we tried that, until Tucker plowed into my knee at full speed (a little 'joke' of his), knocking me down and pretty much rendering me incapable of running more than 3 miles without what I call 'red-flag' pain. For a month. At this time, Meg also experienced problems running, and our commitment to this race was in jeopardy. You look at the training schedule and you don't see a bunch of 3 milers leading up to the race, you see frikkin 10's and 12's. I hammered through menu after menu of Egoscue exercises (this great stuff I'm into for pain relief and functional strength...egoscue.com if you're interested), gradually getting my knee in a better place. Meg and I decided to try some PED's (Aleve), which worked pretty well. Made it 7 miles with no discomfort about ten days before the race. So I decided to quit while I was ahead and just focus on strength and so on, while doing 3-5 miles three more times before the big day.
To Tucker's delight, Deano walks in as planned at 5:15. This sends my dog into such a frenzy that you just can't resist being psyched. Dean is ever resilient and positive, so he starts with all his cheerleading. 'You guys FIRED UP?!...How you feelin'? Ready to ROCK this?!' There is an energy to Dean this morning of his trying to convince himself that this is a good idea, and we're all right there. Dean: I brought extra underwear. Meg: In case you shit your pants? Ten high-fives. Sun's coming up. When we sit in the car we're all 'Holy hell, here goes'. Dean: FUCK YES!
We meet up with Toni and Dan (the original halfers) in line in old town, to bus our way up Poudre Canyon, roughly 13 miles outside of this cutesy little pedestrian area where literally thousands of racers will end up around 9am. It's 5:30 now. More talk of 'can you believe we're doing this? Jesus I feel terrible. Ooh, bagels!' So we're standing in a line of three thousand or so people, everyone's all jumping up and down and trying to stay comfortable. There are like twenty buses lined up all over, and the smell is insulting. There are cardboard boxes with bagels in them, just sitting there all over the place, and so no matter what flavor they are, they taste like burning tires. Glorious burning tires.
Also, keep in mind, who shits at 5am? That's right, nobody. The race committee is way ahead of us though, having lined up no fewer than a hundred porto-potties at the drop off point (heh)up the canyon, so when we get off the buses at 6am (a more reasonable time to poop, don't you think? Yes, you do!), we are hit NOT with the much more favorable odor of diesel exhaust, but what you would imagine 3,000 colons might smell like. I'll hold for applause.
So then we've got another 45 minutes to kill. All us runners are meeting eyes, looking down, jumping around, and admiring the scenery. Poudre Canyon is truly magnificent and only a few minutes out of Fort Collins. They give you this 'high energy' goo, which tastes like raw soda syrup, and once you stop shaking, it gives you what you need to succeed! or something.
The racemaster corrals us to the start, and the first marathoners pass our mob. It boggles my mind that these soldiers have run 13 miles ALREADY. TOTAL props to anyone who has run a marathon. He yells 'GO!' into his bullhorn, and we're off. And I have to pee. Before I know it, we're 2 miles in and waiting at a porto. There are maybe fifty people behind us as we leave the potty. So we canter off, down the canyon, feeling pretty awesome about life and our knees. For now.
Mile 6. Small groups of REALLY cool people are collected at turns, playing cowbells and cheering, holding up posters. I can't express my gratitude strongly enough to these people. Most of them were there in support of someone in their lives, but they were also cheering for me and Meg, and it meant a LOT. Meg has a tendency to speed up a little bit whenever we pass one of these groups, which didn't piss me off until mile 9 or so. I think she just wants to be in front of me because she's got an uncontrollable competitive streak, like look at me, I'm faster than him. Whatever, it kind of makes me want to give her a good shake.
Anyway, we take a sharp right and pass a few cheering sweethearts, but that slowly fades as I look ahead and see a hill that was bigger than any we trained on. This is where I had my big epiphany. I didn't want to run any more. Boredom, often my first saboteur, creeps in, and I'm all 'no!'. Get fired up! I eventually get to facing my core issue, which has been my reluctance to dig in and bring the A game. I can convince myself to 'save it for when it matters'. But I've been saving it since maybe junior year of high school, like 15 years ago. I'm on the precipice of marriage, hoping to have a family sometime reasonably soon, and I am WAY out of the practice of bringing my A game. I don't even know if I can access my A game anymore...that gland seems to have dried up and only I am to blame.
Let me introduce, now, my co-star in this, Meg. Meg has her dial set to 'A game' about half the time. Her first year of Grad school? 4.0. Her previously crippling fear of public speaking? Engaged and dissolved. Precious few people face their core issues like this, and these are the people whose legacy is unquestionably positive. This is how I want to be, and the wanting had to translate into action right now, halfway up this hill. Booyeah. I get to the top of the hill, and there's a water station, people dressed as clowns, cheering like crazy. Okay, maybe I was hallucinating, and there was more to that goo than I know. Whatever, I was high as hell and had concluded that I must now practice this A game thing for the rest of the race.
Soon we pass mile 8. This is significant because we never went more than 8 miles during our training. Each step was a new record. And our knees were starting to bark. Since that porto at mile 2, we have been passing people, which does good things for your mind too. Around mile 10, a particular douchebag yells out 'ON YOUR LEFT' as we're crossing this narrow little bridge. We get over to the right. With the kind of tone that makes you want to neck-punch the closest person, he goes 'ON YOUR LEFT, THAT'S WHAT THAT MEANS, MOVE OVER!'. I go 'Take it easy, pal', and he waves goodbye as he passes. I swear to you I almost took out a lifetime of frustration on this man. For the next mile I'm imagining knocking him down in the street and giving him a foot bath. And not the nice kind. I'm all fired up, and start to lose Meg a little, and she's like what's the deal? I explain my feelings about this guy, and whatever, it gets me to mile 11 pretty confidently.
Meg's poor knee is all kinds of upset, but again, she's all business at this point so there will be no stopping her. My knee ain't great, and I'm running out of strength. We commiserate about how weak we feel, but how excited we are for the finish (which is less than 2 miles away!!!). We confirm that we want to cross the finish line holding hands. Cute, right? We run through Lee Martinez park, on a paved trail, towards Old Town Fort Collins. We can hear some music in the distance, and soon we see the best person all day. This 8 year old girl is banging a stick on this metal gate, just going nuts, saying things like 'THE FINISH IS RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER!!! IT'S RIGHT THERE!!! YOU'RE ALMOST DONE!!! YAY!!!". It's true, there's the gauntlet, probably a thousand supporters, a guy reading names over the loudspeaker, and this huge blue FINISH sign. A few of Meg's friends are there, cheering for us...AND SHE'S OFF! Without any regard for all of the things we literally just said. 'I'm out of strength, I can't go any faster, I'm in so much pain, I'm all done'. And I let her have it (in a reasonably good-natured way). 'SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!' She's like two steps ahead, and delirious. You ever see a four year old in a crowd? Just a blank half-smile, gawking. We find each other's hands and she says 'I just saw friends, I get excited!' And I say 'I'm sick of your excuses!, 'it's my friends, I get excited, we're going downhill'...just slow down goddammit, I literally have nothing left!! GET OVER YOURSELF!!!' Yes, things get dramatic at the end of an early morning half marathon. For SURE.
We finished together, at 2:20:27. Would have been sooner if we hadn't porto'd it at mile 2, but whatever. My stats: 899th out of 1281, 67th out of 77 dudes ages 30-34 who finished. Sick! When I ran cross country in high school (junior year only), I finished dead last in the 3-mile course...technically I did beat two people, one of whom was bitten by a dog during the race, and another who passed out and had to be taken away in an ambulance. Come to think of it, over the years I may have made two people out of one story, doubling my achievement.
The rest of the day I was ass-bound to the couch, hobbling and unable to bear any weight on my right knee. Did I mention that my knee didn't hurt until Meg's 'Sprint to the finish' took more than I had to give? In a word, yes, I blame her.
A few days hence, I sit here, with no pain to speak of. And we're going to sign up for the 'Other Half' in Moab, UT this October. Gotta blend that A game into my routine! Bring your cowbells!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Week 3, the blog changes tone.
Reader, you are owly in your pursuit of the voles of knowledge herein. Bloody delicious!!!
Wash your hands, potential host for whatever virus! Or stab yourself in the eye.
Hey, stabbing myself in the eye reminds me of week 3 of my 8 fantasy leagues. If you're paying attention, (and if you're reading this, you are) you're aware that there are a huge number of injuries and malperformers clogging rosters thus far this season. Cole Hamels, Matt Holliday, David Wright, Jose Reyes, Josh Hamilton, Lance Berkman, Prince Fielder, Josh Beckett, Daisuke Matsuzaka and many others are KILLING US. Sorry, you have to stick with these guys. The day you bench them, they'll go off, I promise. Last year, C.C. Sabathia's ERA did not dip under 7.00 last year until May 9th. And he ended up with an ERA of 2.70 for the entire year. Sure, being traded from the AL to the NL Central didn't hurt, but he was nigh untouchable from then on. Moral of the story? Stick with these bums, take the hit early, because you'll clean HOUSE from here on.
Stupid World Baseball Classic.
However, you may know some people in your league with particularly panicky personalities who might be willing to deal one of these uber stars for someone who is OVERperforming...ergo, your Yadier Molina's, Adam Laroche's, Zack Grienke's, and so on. I'm sure you're not getting Cole Hamels for Yadier Molina, but you could put a package together if you're really into messing with people and don't have the focus or malevolence to write the conficker virus (up yours, whoever that is).
Overall record in my leagues thus far, W-L wise, is 12-12. This blog may take on a 'mediocre fantasy performer's lament' vibe before too long, but I'll remain optimistic that the above types will start to rake soon (a few of them are notoriously slow starters), and I'll ride a mad streak through May and be very well set up by the all-star break. Now go stone a teabagger. Kidding.
Yankees-related discussion:
YOU SUCK! AND YOU'RE PAYING MORE THAN ANYONE TO DO SO! AGAIN!!!!!
Just heard that one of the people who transferred the Swine Flu virus down in Mexico was a census taker, going door-to-door. What a smart little thing a virus is.
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