If I ever start rambling on to you about the pleasure of drafting a team, the joys of rooting for players on every major league roster, or the incredible male bonding that comes along with being in a fantasy baseball league, it's time to take the back of your hand right across my cheek.
The baseball season's over now. And that means that it's time to count up all the numbers and dole out the prize money. Since I always seem to volunteer to tally up the stats, I get the pleasure of knowing the standings before anyone else.
Which means that I get to know just how far out of the money I've finished this year.
This was my third year in a fantasy league. The first year, I was in a lame, experimental three-team league -- the SFL (Stupid, Fake League) that used just National League West teams. I finished last. The second year, I was in an 8-team all-NL league called the RAFL (Ron A. Fairly League, named after the San Francisco Giants' lame radio announcer). I finished sixth.
This year I improved even more. I was in a 10-team league (the Bush League) that used all 26 major league teams. And I finished in the first division, in fifth place. But I was still way out of the money.
It's not the money. Well, maybe it is the money, a little. Spring Training should be a time of joy, of happiness, a time of renewal and all of that romantic baseball crap that everyone -- including myself -- talks about every March.
But for me, Spring Training is a time to gather up my team fee, to give money to someone and know that I'll never see that money again, except maybe in the winner's wardrobe. On top of that, rather than enjoying the new players and making guesses as to how my favorite teams will fare, I'm more worried about assembling a draft list.
Then the season starts, and I'll go to a game with friends who aren't at all involved in my fantasy league. When the first Padre comes up to bat in the inning, I'll be cheering him on. Then the second guy will come up, and I'll be shouting him down, hoping he gets out. And I'll root for the third guy.
My friends will raise their eyebrows at my irrational behavior. "Fantasy league," I'll tell them. Then they'll glance away in embarrassment.
I'll say this for being in a fantasy league: I've become a data entry god. I've made computer spreadsheets that calculate on-base percentages, ratios of baserunners allowed per innings pitched, and more arcane facts necessary for running a baseball league. Entering stats for hours into a spreadsheet is not my idea of fun, but if I'm in a league, I've got to be the one to compile the stats. Why? Simple.
Other people cheat.
Seriously. You think I'm paranoid, don't you? I know you. You do. You think I'm like that guy in "GoodFellas," looking out for helicopters circling my house.
Perhaps the helicopters are manned by some of my memorable draft picks, like Sid Fernandez (broken arm) or José Offerman (who tore it up in Albuquerque) or Jim Clancy (who, when I picked him up two years ago, managed to earn a 5.00 ERA).
But other people do cheat. Saturday night I spoke to a person, who must remain anonymous, who admitted to me that as his league's statistician, he managed to fudge his team into the money. He didn't tinker with his team's stats, no -- he fooled with the really bad teams, so they took points away from his competition.
People cheat. I don't trust 'em. When I keep the stats, I don't cheat. No, sir. When I'm statistician, I end up finishing fifth, or eighth, or dead last. But other people... they finish second, the weasels.
So let's mix in horrific number-crunching and evil distrust along with a perversion of the natural peace of watching a baseball game as reasons why fantasy league baseball is evil, evil, evil.
But at least I've learned some other good things from this experience.
I know that Jack Clark is someone you should never have on your team, at least not until June or July, when the weather warms up. I've learned to regret drafting Shawon Dunston, but I exulted at picking up Tom Glavine out of the free agent pool.
And I've learned just how hard being a major league general manager must be. The art of making trades is one which escapes me. My history of trades is legendary... and infamous. I once traded Jack Clark for Alfredo Griffin -- trust me, there was a reason for it. I had basically clinched last place in my league's home run category (and that's all Jack Cluck is good for, kiddies) and desperately needed stolen bases.
So, in my infinite wisdom, I traded for Fettucine Alfredo, figuring he'd give me some stolen bases.
Oh, yeah, he gave me more than Jack. Sure he did.
In one month, he managed to swipe a grand total of two.
Good trade. And, you're saying to yourself, I might as well have picked up Gerald Young, the hitless speedster from Houston.
What, you think me an idiot? I couldn't have picked up Young. He was already on my team. You could say I have something of a history of terrible fantasy sports teams. (I did win one fantasy league -- but it was an NFL league, and we all know that it really takes a brain trust to figure that sport out, don't we?)
Then again, this year I managed to trade Rickey Henderson and Eric Davis to Phil Gruen for Felix José and Andy Van Slyke. It was a great deal for me. Didn't matter. Phil -- the guy who picked the Padres to win it all -- finished in the money. I sure as hell didn't.
And at least I know some people who finished even lower than me. Our dear Guardian Sports Editor and Columnist Pete Ko finished eighth. Yikes. We got beaten by three guys from famed on-and-off-and-on-campus-again fraternity Beta Theta Pi: the aforementioned Phil, who finished second, and two guys named Steve and Dan, who are going to cackle all the way to the bank. But I beat Pete. There's some solace in that.
Hey, I'm improving at this baseball league game. From last to in the bottom quarter to in the top half. And my trading's getting better. Maybe when I draft next year, I can...
Slap.
Thanks... I needed that.
Goodbye, Baseball. I'll see you next spring. You'll know me - I'll be the one pulling for the San Francisco Giants.
And I'll be pulling for all of them this time.