OVERHEARD:

“And the sun, it set; a dull orb in the sky like a hateful cyclops caught, grimacing at a child’s birthday party, its mouth full of cheap cake, in the flash of the over-eager aunt’s pocket camera–it was the red-eye of despair. The great flying vessel soared through the greenish haze, its four massive steam engines thrumming as it fought its dirigible body through the damp ocean currents that impeded its progress. They saw no ground beneath them as they looked out the mist-dampened portholes, nor ocean, nor cloud. Just an emptiness rivaled only by the feeling in the captain’s mechanical heart. The end.”

“Christ. That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard. My ears hate you.”

“What? You think it needs reworking?”

“If by reworking you mean shredding the manuscript, feeding it to weasels, gathering the resulting feces and burning them, then taking the ashes and compressing them into a diamond, then paying a migrant worker to smuggle said diamond back into the DeBeers mines in his anus, simply so that it could be hidden in the depths of the Earth, never to be seen or heard or  felt by man for all eternity, forever, for life everlasting, amen, then yes. I think it needs to be reworked.”

“So what part did you like best?”

“The part where the gouts of blood pumping out of my ears from the incredulity-induced embolism your story caused created a roar in my head loud enough to drown out the weedy tones of your reading.”

“Come now, it wasn’t that bad. I think it rather fetching for a first draft.”

“No, it wasn’t bad. Bad is not what it was. Bad is something reserved for children who lie about going to school and then go to the movies instead. Bad is when a dog, rather than barking at the back door, decides to discretely defecate behind the couch. Bad is forgetting the lyrics to the national anthem at a ballgame and deciding to freestyle instead. That’s not what this was.”

“So you saw its merits?”

“This was your child skipping school to take a shit on the 50-yard line at the Rose Bowl.”

“I see.”

“Look, I can see you’re crestfallen. I just didn’t want to give you any false impressions. Or hope.”

“Well, can you not at least say something pleasant?”

“This is very nice paper. Heavy bond. You clearly spared no expense in the printing. Of course, putting lipstick on a pig doesn’t make it any less awkward when someone walks in on you fucking it.”

“Maybe you just didn’t understand it.”

“I understood it perfectly. I don’t think the pig did, but he didn’t complain.”

“I…what? I meant the story. Maybe you didn’t get the layers of subtext. There’s a very deep analogy buried in there.”

“Buried where? In the 16 pages of expository internal dialog where your protagonist ‘Goodguy McWorkingman’ tells himself about the coming apocalypse, brought about by Angus Von Steampower and his flying ship, The Industrial Revolution? No, I must have missed it.”

“I see your point. Dear god, what am I to do now? I’ve been advanced a lot of money for this manuscript. Money I’ve already spent!”

“Really? On what?”

“The printing! That paper isn’t cheap!”

“Yes, I noticed the filligree.”

“All right. I need to calm down. I still have some time–I’ve made sure to bring this in under the deadline.”

“Well, even Hitler made the trains run on time.”

“I know! I have the answer!”

“Normally, I’d say alcohol wasn’t the answer. I may change my mind in this instance.”

“No, not alcohol. Plagiarism!”

“I think they’ll notice if you turn in a rough draft of a book named ‘Hamlet’.”

“No, I’ll just steal something off the Internet. It’s chock full of great writing. Why, look at this site…it hasn’t been updated in months, but it pertains to some fantasy baseball league.”

“…on second thought, let’s take another look at that manuscript of yours.”

It is thus that I begin this, the triumphant return of The Week That Was. As follows:

MOVERS AND SHAKERS: Draft-0-Matica

Okay. Since this is the first (hopefully of many) TWTW’s of the season, I had thought of possibly writing up a little draft wrap up for every team , including statistical breakdowns of who won, who lost, and who drew, and offer valuable insight into ways each team could be improved. Then I chuckled condescendingly, adjusted my turtleneck and my beret, took a drag off my Gauloises, and thought “what in the blue fuck am I dressed like a Frenchman for?”

And then I didn’t do a wrap up.

Haha! Just kidding. Of course I did a wrap up; how else would I reach my 6000-word minimum? But! It is without any of the aforementioned “statistical breakdown” or “valuable insight.” No, what you’ll get here is pointless whinging about how badly I fubar’d the draft. Also: some potshots at the uglier players.

And awaaaay we go…

Team: Zombie Killas

Manager: Yours Truly

Reasons for Hope: Look at that pitching. It’s beautiful. You see, I think of the Fantasy Baseball Season as a chariot race, like in the old The Chuck movie, I think it was Double Indemnity. Anyway, it’s both a sprint and a marathon, with some hand-to-hand combat involved. I honestly don’t know why they don’t bring it back as a sport, kind of an equine MMA. Just think about how awesome that would be, you got these guys being pulled around a track by a pack of horses, and they’re whipping the horses and whipping their opponent, and then one guy will grab a hold of the other guy and the next thing you know they’re punching each other in the junk for 4 laps.

Where was I going with this? I have no idea. But I like my pitching, and I like watching guys punch each other in the love muscle. Does that make me a bad person? Possibly.

Reasons for Despair: Just look at that pitching. Keep looking at the pitching. Because to look into the face of the offense is to look into the empty pit of despair. Sure, I’ve got Mark Reynolds and his 40+ HR. But that means that I also have Mark Reynolds and his 220+ K’s. It’s entirely probable that he alone would be enough to garner my team a last-place finish in grabbing some bench meat*.

But really, it’s not the infield that’s the biggest problem, even though it’s mostly constructed of make-believe cryptids**. It is the outfield that really brings the pain. Carlos Gonzalez is either an outfielder or the 2010 winner of “Most Generic Hispanic Dude Name”. It’s possible he’s a good player, but I may be thinking of one of the 30 other Carlos Gonzalez’s that are currently in the minor leagues. And what about Drew Stubbs? Exactly. That’s even what his momma says. And finally we have The Fons and his 2/3rds of a meniscus. He has to decide before each game which leg he wants to favor and move the kneecap to the other leg. But hey, at least the Cubs have him for another 12 years at $40mil per.

Dapper Dan Man: Dan Uggla and his midget arms. Seriously, can the man even buckle his own belt without bending over?

Team: The LTOs

Manager: Mr. Esposito

Reasons for Hope: This is a veritable All-Star team. He’s got three former ROY winners, a former MVP, an All-Star Game HR contest superstar, former Cy Young frontrunners, and a current ROY favorite. What could possibly go wrong?

Reasons for Despair: This is a veritable All-Star team. For 2003. The ROY winners are Jeter, ICHIRO(!), and…wait for it…Kerry Wood. The possible ROY candidate isn’t even making his club out of camp.

On the plus side, his team has the makings of a great WWII movie. He’s got the tough, wizened captain with the scars of past battles drawing a map of pain over his physique (Wood). He’s got the young, impressionable, charismatic private, eager to prove his worth (Alex Gordon). He’s got the bear-like, gentle giant of a first sergeant (Fat Elvis). He’s even got the skilled, laconic sniper with icewater in his veins and a Boba Fett name (Houston Street). Unfortunately, he’s only got 2 DL spots, because this particular platoon never made it off the beach at Normandy***.

PS: I’m warming up a DL spot for Woody once Ryan drops him.

Dapper Dan Man: Jonathan Broxton. What is it about the LA Dodgers that all their minor leagues can produce are Japanese guys and 8-foot-tall mongoloids whose heads are just extensions of their neck muscles?

Team: Cornucopia of Filth

Manager: Hi Western

Reasons for Hope: You know what coaches love to preach? Balance. There’s no “I” in “TEAM”, everyone has a role, and if we all execute and stick with the game plan then, Jesus willing and the creek don’t rise, we’ll walk away with the golden cup. Coaches that preach this ethos love West Side’s team.

Reasons for Despair: You know what else is pretty balanced? Placing 7th in a 14-man league. Because while there is no “I” in team, there is “WIN” in “SUPERSTAR PLAYERS”, and Westy don’t got none. Oh sure, if Miggy keeps his BAC under 1.0 and Matt Kemp doesn’t regress you have two stars on your team. But the rest of his team looks like Gene Hackman’s team from Hoosiers, and while they may have won the championship in the end, they had to rely on a short white kid that shot freethrows like my grandma. On Westy’s team, that short grandmama is a multi-headed hydra of team-derailing suck, composed of Brian Roberts, Nate McLouth, Todd Helton, Mark Teahen, Roy Oswalt, and Tim Hudson. Half of them are going to wind up on waivers, and the other half are DL bound.

Dapper Dan Man: Wandy Rodriguez. Sure, I couldn’t pick him out of a police lineup, and if I passed him in the street I probably wouldn’t notice unless he was wearing the throwback Astros jersey with the orange-tint rainbow across the chest. But come on. Wandy. If that doesn’t get you slapped around on the playground, nothing will.

I think I’ll stop there for now. I need to have a reason to write another one of these things next week, and let’s face it, nobody’s even reading this far down anyway.

BASEBALL, RAY

OPENING DAY BITCHES. I love this part of the season, when every team is still in first place, except the Yankees, who lost, and are now dead last. Eat it, Steinbrenner.

FIN

Once again, folks, this is hopefully the start of something beautiful. Or, failing that, something interesting. Or, failing that, something that you can’t take your eyes off of, no matter how hard you try. May this, at the very least, be the fat man in purple spandex of the Internet.

And that…was The Week That Was.

GLOSSARY

*This may not be the proper use of the term. Must confirm with any resident SF Giants fans.

** Seriously, what is an “Asdrubal”? Is that the Dominican version of the Mexican goat vampire?

*** I’m proud of myself that I managed a WWII analogy without mentioning that he’s even got the guy (ICHIRO!) with the white headband and a katana, jumping around screaming “TORA TORA TORA!”