We are lucky men.  Henry David Thoreau said “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation” and indeed we do.  Everything from financial worries, to relationships with our loved ones, to the realization that some of the things we were sure we would accomplish, won’t be.  Yet, through something as simple as a rotisserie game of baseball came a comfort level that surpasses high school friendships that through time seem to drift their own separate directions and in many ways surpass the familiarity of our own extended families, which seem to be based on scattered funerals and hastily arranged reunions.

Where else could you lean across the table and proclaim you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing those pants, or voting for that guy, and not suffer the inevitable fallout of being avoided at the next funeral or be excluded from the next family reunion, that happens once every 5 to 10 years.  While after you get corralled by a distant relative, your mission is to come up with an explanation for the severity of the past winter or make a generic statement regarding the food, which only seems to prolong the uncomfortableness for a few more precious seconds until the next cousin comes by to rescue both of you. Not that this has ever happened to me…Ok, maybe once, twice at the most, you get the picture, we’ve got a pretty good thing going here.  You think picking 6 random numbers to win the lottery is rare, what are the odds of 13 guys falling so uniquely into place to form a lasting group of friends that is quietly approaching 30 years.


What do you mean my vote didn’t count?


Now I know why they predict the election results at 8:01pm Election Day night.  If 5 people vote and 3 voted the same way, it seems to be an accurate harbinger of things to come.  It only took 2 days of the season for me to get the big picture, by Wednesday, I was 0 for 4 pitching, with 2 loses and 2 no decisions to go along with my 2 for 2 blown save opportunities. I would rather my pitchers pitch against the Yankees on 2 days rest, on A-Rod bobble head day, following a night game on the West coast, with about 20 disabled kids in the stands, with 20 different Yankee players all promising to hit a home run for them, then face the Royals, anytime, anywhere.  I did a little investigating and over the past 25 years the Royals have won a total of about 70 games, all with different lineups that couldn’t crack a slowpitch team roster in the co-ed Sunday night league in Greenwood, and all 70 games came against my pitchers.  All 70 games.

Once the grenade gets to rolling, it’s hard to put the pin back in.  I’m sure something will stir up the silt on the bottom sometime during the season, but I think it’s safe to say what finds its way to the bottom early, usually got there for a reason. 

This is starting to look like a very boring season, I monitor My Watch List like a Geiger counter in Chernobyl and I can’t even get a blurb telling me what their favorite color is, let alone something that could actually help me.  The only excitement so far is all the bells and whistles Big Guy set off on my computer warning us not to pick up Mike Leake, not that I wouldn’t  try, but I think I would have an easier time trying to get some gun legislation by those Tea Party wing nuts.  At least they have a reason to get those old Ben Franklin costumes out of the closet and who doesn’t like a good paaaaaaaartaaay! Are there really that many people who have those sorts of costumes at the ready?  The Ye Ole Tailor Shoppe  is doing a bang up business.

Speaking of doing a bang up job, our own Commish comes to mind.  He’s been busier than a football Saturday traffic cop.  Between the Mike Leake and the DL confusion, he’s had to put the law career on hold and he can’t be happy about riding herd on us full time.  There for a while it looked like it was raining second basemen, talk about thrusting a carrot in our face and yanking it away. I’ve got a couple second sackers I could add to the puddle. I need a GOOD one.   Big Guy has gone far and beyond the call of duty to right these wrongs:


How much did you have to pony up for this, Big Guy?





I see you have Scott and his connections involved. OK, got it.

Don’t take Leake






Proud owner of Mike Leake

(for a day)


Mouse if you’re still in a trading mood, I think I can come up with a suitable substitute for Jason Kendall if you’re still looking to move Kinsler.

I suggest moving the easel in the War Room to the opposite side of the room next year, evidently butting in front of Ted and grabbing Sandoval in the third round isn’t going to pan out this year, so watch out next year, I’m drafting first……………………………….no matter where I finish.


After discussing the first week of the season, I think Denny summed it up best when he said “I feel like I’m trying to bake a cake without any flour or sugar.”  Well said. And on that note……….




Denny, get up off the floor and blow out your match,

you have an electric oven.