As you can see from these standings, my fantasy baseball career has been less than successful. Just twice in five years, my team Broad Street Butter finished in a position that wasn't last place or second-to-last -- but in both cases the last place team owner died midway through the season and, therefore, stopped playing.
Not me. Death won't stop me from checking my lineup, making bad trades, researching endless baseball sites, dreaming about Peter Gammons and otherwise doing as complete as possible a job as a fantasy baseball owner. Nonetheless, I fail. (I also finish in last place in fantasy football every year, but I actually understand baseball.)
It doesn't make sense, and it has the potential to ruin my marriage. News that another fantasy baseball season is around the corner (draft in 10 days! already one bad trade my belt!) left Deborah's eyes rolling yesterday. My sheer shittiness at managing Broad Street Butter genuinely seems to disturb her, as if my inability to run a fantasy team says something larger about my luck, my business acumen, my earning potential, my ability to produce strong male offspring and my general lot in life.
Unfortunately, I tend to agree with her. As Broad Street Butter goes, the theory goes, so does Matt Katz. That's why the best part of every baseball season is now, before the season begins, when my record is still .500. Hope is unlimited, and the bitter failures of yesteryear don't mean shit.
3/12/08
Let's Hope The Marriage Thing Works Out Better Than The Fantasy Baseball Career
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1 comment:
First, "sheer shittiness" is splendid alliteration.
Second, how can you claim to "know" baseball when you're idea of the "best" infield in "baseball" is, in a word, wrong?
Third, Broad Street Butter is a good team name. I ran a team called the Boston Bagels back in the day. They played at Lox Field. The stud pitcher was a rookie named Tim Wakefield.
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