Your articles have helped me approach fantasy baseball from a whole new direction—they are the Moneyball of my generation. I thank you for them.
I am the commissioner of a fantasy baseball league, and my biggest pet peeve is when the owners come up with ridiculously stupid names. Last year we had Silly Daddy (as named by the owner’s daughter), and B2TW (a feebleattempt at a witty acronym for Balls to the Wall). What would be an appropriate penalty for these owners? Loss of draft picks? A 10 percent penalty in their weekly scoring?
By mentioning my articles in the same breath as Moneyball, I have three reactions: (1) blushing like a schoolgirl circa 1989, upon catching a glimpse of Donnie Wahlberg or Jordan Knight; (2) blushing like a homosexual schoolboy circa 1989, upon catching a glimpse of Joey McIntyre or Jonathan Knight; (3) blushing like a confused schoolboy circa 1989, while watching Danny Wood shake his moneymaker on a VHS copy of Hangin’ Tough Live. Either way, I thank you.
The naming of a fantasy baseball team is a task to be taken seriously. Anyone who does not take great joy in flexing their creative muscle a little to come up with a succinct yet hilarious entry does not belong in your league. Boot them with Xena: Warrior Princess-like gusto. When they repent and do come up with a decent name, accept their return with Xena: Warrior Princess-like zest. She’s so great. Ferocious, yet forgiving. If only she wasn’t so goddamn fictional.
A list for your perusal:
My Fantasy Baseball Team Names for 2004
William Hung’s Wang—because the only thing funnier than dick jokes are pop culture Asian dick jokes.
Royce Clayton Fan Club—because there isn’t one, rightfully so.
Mr. Zero’s Heroes—in honor of the ChiSox new stud closer. He’s just so gosh-darn cute.
Jim Rome Is My Dad—because he’s not.
Rick, if you were a Playgirl playmate, how would your bio read, including hobbies, turn ons and turn offs. Please try your best to relate them all to this baseball season in your patented witty and jocular way.
Troy in Cleveland
Turn ons: Meg Ryan (1990-1995); Jack the Ripper conspiracy theories; Albert Pujols’s batting average; celebrity home-sex videos; getting dealt Pocket Cowboys during Texas Hold ’Em; and hot women.
Turn offs: Mean people (they do, indeed, suck); Cleveland; the University of Michigan; NASCAR; Jose Valentin’s fielding percentage; paparazzi photos of Ugly Britney Spears; and hairy men.
(If that’s not witty and jocular, I don’t know what is. Especially that part about being turned off by Cleveland, when Troy from Cleveland is, presumably, from Cleveland. See what I did there? Pretty clever, eh?)
Subject: Speaking of former Japanese baseball player pornstars …
Would you grace us with a fantasy team based on who you would NOT want to see in an amateur porn flick, gay or otherwise?
As long as Kirk Rueter’s not in it, and Ichiro is, then I’m watching it. I’d also watch one, gay or otherwise, that includes Vlad Guerrero. Just because his current nickname is so pornorific.
Who am I kidding? I’d watch any porno flick. In today’s society, you have to if you want your finger on the pulse of the nation. The current pulse? _Survivor_’s Jenna Lewis.
Your zombie piece in McSweeney’s is informative and hilarious. Edutainment, I’d call it. How do you think Chipper Jones’ play would be affected if he was infected by Zombieitis?
Chipper’s year-to-date stats: .226, 13 HRs, 39 RBIs, 30 Rs
That’s not so much Zombieitis as much as it’s a small, but easily overcome, slump for Chipper. Look for him to get back on track shortly. The track to success. Or maybe failure. Either way, he’s going to be on some track heading in some direction. Movement; that’s the key.
If you want Zombieitis, take a gander at Ben Davis’s stats for the year. He contracted the virus somewhere in Seattle. If you live there, be wary; the disease seems to be spreading rapidly. Only Ichiro is immune. Examine his blood for clues.
Not entirely sure when your Midseason Awards piece was written, but, as I’m sure you’re well aware by now, good ol’ Junior Griffey did not disappoint. It just took him a little while longer to land on the DL this year.
This has to be my highlight of the year. I did, in fact, write it about a week earlier, when Griffey was healthy and the All-Star conversation was based around the Greatest Collection of Outfield Talent in All-Star History, which included Griffey, Barry Bonds, and Shammin’ Sammy Sosa.
(That Sosa even makes the All-Star team still baffles me. Has anyone lived off of a single accomplishment as long as Sosa has? I mean, his home-run race with Big Mac, when you think about it, wasn’t really much of an accomplishment at all. He finished second. Who cares about second? Does anyone remember the team who lost to the Mighty Ducks? Or to the California Dreams in the Battle of the Bands? And does anyone remember Sosa’s corking incident? Or his consistently horrible fielding ability? Or his knack for striking out often and in huge situations? Or, even more recent, whiffing during the Home Run Derby? Sosa’s been getting more leeway than Jessie Spano following her addiction to caffeine pills.)
(Yes. That’s two references to Peter Engel productions in the same paragraph. To be honest, it kind of surprised me too.)
I’d like to think that it wasn’t Griffey’s fragile body that put him on the DL, but was instead the posting of my article, ransacking the Internet on its way to becoming the latest sports jinx. SI, the greatest sports jinx? Please.
(Peter King holds his face, reeling from his virtual bitch-slap.)
Who’s your daddy now, SI? Who’s your daddy now?