Zantac Fantasy Baseball League
So my fantasy team is in the shitter and it's like day 8. I know, I know - only a week has passed.. be patient.. it works out. Sod off. This sucks. My team's performance thus far is so abysmal that it actually hurts my feelings. How can they treat me this way? I mean... I had so much faith in them. I believed! Following painstaking research and analysis, I found these players to be the best candidates for my Team of 5x5 Dreams. Something about this is quite criminal... isn't it? Hell if I know.
The thing is, I can get over the hurt feelings, bruised and damaged though they may be, but what about my pride? My opportunities to gain respect? As the only girl in my league, I represent the whole of female-dom .. from our butch, East German counterparts to the complaining, whining, non-sports-understanding twats that have the nerve to schedule a wedding in the middle of the Final Four [Alexa Kellogg: I'm speaking to you] and every girl in between. I had high hopes... my draft went well, I got the majority of players that I wanted from my lists, and my final round fillers were solid.
But then the comedy of errors and unforeseen madness began.
Lance Berkman and Eric Gagne went straight to DL-town, followed soon by the dizzy, discombobulated, Justin Morneau. Chase Utley was moved into a platoon with a $4.6 million contract drain whose name sounds more fitting for Desi Arnez's band at the Tropicana than 2nd base. Johan Santana and Joe Nathan did well while Mark Mulder and David Wells got shelled like a bushel of peas. Edgar Renteria started the season 0/8 and has since managed to improve to a mere 5/28, batting .179 with 1 run and 4 RBIs. Thanks, Edgar. Ass. Adrian Beltre is picking things up, as is Javy Lopez, but JD Drew? I think you might find his skills outside Turner Field, having fallen out of his arse somewhere between the Braves clubhouse and his car. Nice .074, big guy.
AAHH!!
Needless to say, I'm bitter. I'm angry. I want justice. But having gone through multiple Serenity Nows and chi harnessing routines, I know that I must remain calm. It is only week 2, after all, and my team is comprised of players sure to prove themselves worthy over the long haul. (right?) I should remember to have faith. I should remember that this is a marathon, not a sprint. I should remember any other applicable cliches that you've thought of and I have not. Besides, this whole rage thing probably isn't too attractive anyway.
This is a fitting moment for a sigh. Not one one of the melodramatic, all-hope-is-lost sighs.. just the kind where you tip your head back, shout a powerful obscenity or two, scowl at the heavens (ceiling, whatever), and go back to watching tv. I think the best thing for me to do right now is to take a walk to CVS and fill that Zantac prescription.
23 weeks left.
The thing is, I can get over the hurt feelings, bruised and damaged though they may be, but what about my pride? My opportunities to gain respect? As the only girl in my league, I represent the whole of female-dom .. from our butch, East German counterparts to the complaining, whining, non-sports-understanding twats that have the nerve to schedule a wedding in the middle of the Final Four [Alexa Kellogg: I'm speaking to you] and every girl in between. I had high hopes... my draft went well, I got the majority of players that I wanted from my lists, and my final round fillers were solid.
But then the comedy of errors and unforeseen madness began.
Lance Berkman and Eric Gagne went straight to DL-town, followed soon by the dizzy, discombobulated, Justin Morneau. Chase Utley was moved into a platoon with a $4.6 million contract drain whose name sounds more fitting for Desi Arnez's band at the Tropicana than 2nd base. Johan Santana and Joe Nathan did well while Mark Mulder and David Wells got shelled like a bushel of peas. Edgar Renteria started the season 0/8 and has since managed to improve to a mere 5/28, batting .179 with 1 run and 4 RBIs. Thanks, Edgar. Ass. Adrian Beltre is picking things up, as is Javy Lopez, but JD Drew? I think you might find his skills outside Turner Field, having fallen out of his arse somewhere between the Braves clubhouse and his car. Nice .074, big guy.
AAHH!!
Needless to say, I'm bitter. I'm angry. I want justice. But having gone through multiple Serenity Nows and chi harnessing routines, I know that I must remain calm. It is only week 2, after all, and my team is comprised of players sure to prove themselves worthy over the long haul. (right?) I should remember to have faith. I should remember that this is a marathon, not a sprint. I should remember any other applicable cliches that you've thought of and I have not. Besides, this whole rage thing probably isn't too attractive anyway.
This is a fitting moment for a sigh. Not one one of the melodramatic, all-hope-is-lost sighs.. just the kind where you tip your head back, shout a powerful obscenity or two, scowl at the heavens (ceiling, whatever), and go back to watching tv. I think the best thing for me to do right now is to take a walk to CVS and fill that Zantac prescription.
23 weeks left.
posted by Flash at 4/13/2005 05:40:00 AM
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