THE ROAD TO PERDITION
Another year, another spin down the toilet.
I thought you might be interested in how a perennial 10th place finisher
approaches the draft. Trust me; this doesn't change much year to year.
Frantically search for last
year's draft and player rankings.
Blame wife and kids for
throwing away important papers that I knew were laying on my
desk a year ago.
and go to bed mad.
Wake up, secretly hope
Denny found his important papers.
Wife says good luck, and then laughs.
Pick up Denny. He's mad at wife and kids for losing his
Ask Denny if Dickie Thon is still the shortstop for the Astro's.
He's not sure but thinks so; good enough for me.
Ask Denny if he remembers how to get to Dave's office. "Dave
who?" he replies.
Miss turn and end up at Penney's in the Westroads.
Walk into the draft room and proclaim that this is the year of the
Get in car; ask Denny what the hell happened.
Arrive home, blame wife and kids for shitty draft.
Lay important papers on desk.
Another year, another miserable draft. But
things are looking up. At least this year I got out of there with some
Gaines Mullen pens, a stapler and the picture of some guy's family.
This year I decided to look back on last year's draft
to see where Itchie iced it. But know matter how many times I analyze
it, I just don't get it. And I consider myself a very intelligent,
baseball savvy, good looking, Renaissance man. At least that's the way
I describe myself in the internet chat rooms.
The rule of thought seems to be that this league is won
between rounds 10 and 20. Obviously, I haven't faired well in those
rounds in the past. You know the old saying: Fool me once, shame
on you; Fool me 16 more times, shame on me. So this year I backed off
the free Runza's and beer long enough to address my attention deficit
problem and focus on those important rounds. My focus lasted exactly
one round. Then my attention drifted over to the color of Denny's pen,
Magpie's uneven flat top and Stretch's two different colored socks.
Fortunately, Ted raised my level of consciousness with an untimely outburst
of laughter long enough to pick Jason Varitek in the 13th round. Then
my mind started doing a mental inventory of what food was left.
Evidently Shamu was doing the same calculations, because our eyes met and he
immediately bull rushed the food table. During that little melee, I
guess I went up to the board three more times and selected a flat tire, a
cracked engine block and what I'm sure will be an anchor around my neck.
So fool me once, shame on you; Fool me 17 more times, shame on me.
But I'm not the only one with an APB out on them.
you gone, Rick Drews?
A nation turns its lonely eyes to you
Where have you gone Big Guy? The Tigers have literally dropped
off the radar screen. This once proud franchise was mentioned in the
same breath as Kiwi Shoe Polish, Hi-Gain CB Radio's and Gold Bond Foot
Powder. Names synonymous with success. Now they've fallen faster
than Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. They've got a good chance of
turning up three feet underground next to a beer tab at Carter Lake on
someone's metal detector screen.
What a long strange trip it's been. Down, that is.
you say Mrs. Robinson, joltin Bone Daddy has left and gone away."
What does Big Guy and Jim have in common other than the fact that both their
faces are on every milk cartoon on the planet? Jim is also AWOL,
missing in action, flew the coop, Hasta La Vista Baby. His career shot
off like a Hollywood rocket. Three consecutive 2nd place finishes.
He was on the cover of Rotisserie Weekly, women wanted him, and men wanted
to be him. (Wait, that was Austin Powers.) OK, he was like
Marilynn Munster; he just didn't fit in with the rest of us non-winners.
Now he's starting to resemble a 5'6" Lurch. What sent you down that
spiraling soap opera road to ruin, Jim? Was it the beer? Was it
the wild women? The beer? The total lack of preparation?
Or not enough beer?
I am surprised by the Senators team. I had it
from good sources that Skip was spending every free minute he had out back
in the Bargain Barn bending pipecleaners into squirrels and gluing seashells
onto cigarette lighters. The fact that he can multi-task his two
favorite hobbies is impressive indeed. Isn't crafts like baseball
cards for women? You know, "I'll trade you a wooden woman bending over
for your garden, for a plastic pig and a coffee mug with a flag painted on
Memo to self: Don't use up all the craft jokes at
once. Spread them out over the next 20 years.
Last year, BT experienced only the joy a father could
feel as he took his hands off the bars of Screech's bicycle and watched his
fledgling wobble off to a respectable 5th place finish in just his first
Only, BT went back into the house too soon. Ole
Screech wobbled right off the road into the ditch. That old sophomore
jinx. If you're looking to find your way back home, it's 1313
Mockingbird Lane. Herman Hurlbut and Grandpa Bontrager will be waiting
Does Pete Rose belong in the Hall
of Fame? Does Shamu's hand belong in the cookie jar? Damn right
it does and damn right he does.
Sure, the guy's a grifter and I'm not sure where he got that hair color
from, Just for Orangutans I suppose, but that's beside the point.
I'm not going to spend a lot of time dwelling on the hypocrisy of past
selections based on judging a player on today's moralities. Using that
criteria, many of the players who played at the turn of the 20th century all
the way through the 50's probably would not get in under today's code of
ethics. Although, I'm sure that those same biases and racial
prejudices were held by the very people who voted them in. Would it be
right to go back and throw them out of the Hall knowing what we know now?
Of course not. For the most part they made their cases for the Hall
between the lines. One thing that has held true through time is the
consistency of the inconsistencies. There have been, and there are
now, players who were voted in that probably didn't deserve to be in the
Hall of Fame.
Did Rose bet on baseball when he coached the
Reds? Probably, so judge him as a manager, not as a player. Ban
him from working in any baseball-related jobs, if you like. I'm not
interested in whether Pete can find employment or what his status is today.
His character is obviously suspect, but his accomplishments while he
played are undeniable. If you took your son to a Reds game I
guarantee you that at some point, if you love the game, you would have
leaned over and said "Son, that's the way the game is suppose to be played."
You don't have to respect the man, but you do have to respect his game.
You don't get 4,256 hits trying to tank a game; you get 4,256 hits trying to
I'm much more offended by the stream of good
players who feel they belong in the Hall of Fame -- the Gary Carters, Lee
Smiths, Bruce Sutters, and Goose Gossages of the world. Merely playing
the game well is not enough. It's the Hall of Fame, not the Hall of
Good Players. That being said, let Pete in the Hall and let Shamu have
And a Coo-coo-ca-choo.
If we ever expand to 15 teams, I
want to be the first to nominate Linda to fill one of the slots. She's
done an INCREDIBLE job on this web-site. Plus, anyone who can look at
a picture of Jeff and immediately think of Jerry the dentist from the
Newhardt show is definitely a gal I can appreciate. At the very least,
we need to come up with a nickname for her.
After looking at the group picture of last
year's winter meeting, I've decided that if I go on this year's league trip
I definitely want to be in front of Itchie and Scratchy in line at the
airport. I don't see them getting on a plane any too soon, at least
not without a full body cavity search. And how does that damn letter I
wrote to Mom from Egypt keep popping up?
In closing I would just like to make these
TRIBE WILL WIN BY
SENATORS AND REDS
XAVIER NADY WILL
SET HSL POINTS
If my new job as Minister of Information for the
Iraqi army has taught me anything, it is the joys and rewards of positive