Spider-man's Greatest Bible Stories

Welcome back, Spring Breakers. I'd like to trust that you're all returning sans police records, pregnancies, baby mamas, and featured segments on Girls Gone Wild but I'm just not that naive. To those of you who became statistics in the last week, I'm sorry and I'm sure there's a support group for it.

In other news, I'm now in a fantasy baseball league, which means that I'm now developing an ulcer. I've played in many fantasy leagues but all were for football and futbol, two topics of which I have a large amount of knowledge. Fantasy baseball, however, always seemed like the venture of the ultimate stathead... the guy that could not only name the starting lineup for every club in the game but the hot AAA prospects ready to receive the call; the guy that understands why on base percentage trumps batting average; the guy that was willing to commit 6 months of his life to the daily ins and outs of Major League Baseball because he loves the game that much. I was certainly not that guy. But Matt prodded me a little and in time, I agreed to join up. In doing so, however, I failed to consider how much this decision would change my life.

As most of you know, I have a frightful case of OCD and an addictive personality. I'm not Monk... I'm functional in regular society. But all the same, I have some issues. For those of you who alphabetize your cds and dvds and therefore think you can identify with me, just put it away... you can't compete. In any case, Matt explained everything that I need to do in preparation for MLB draft day, the most intense of all fantasy experiences. I listened intently, developed a written plan of attack, and then immersed myself in the game with maniacal researching, examining, organizing, and compiling information on nearly 550 baseball players and the sleepers in their midst. I rank ordered the players by position and then again by every applicable category before creating an overall wish list. These 20 sheets were printed, 3-hole punched, and placed in a binder. I was going to own this 25 round draft... I mean, all of that should have been enough, right? When I snapped the clasps shut late Saturday night, I felt exhilerated. It was like having a great week of practice before a huge game. But as I kicked back with my Coke and Cheez-Its, fear and doubt crept in. When have any of you had a great week of practice that fully translated into results that weekend? How many times have we heard our coaches excited about the upcoming game simply because we had a great week getting ready only to watch the basketball team or the football team embarrassed to no end. Who knows why it happens. Maybe things go so well in preparation that you get too comfortable and fail to get in the right frame of mind for competition... maybe the week wasn't as good as you thought. Either way, too much success in practice seems to often result in a mediocre product on the playing field. I remember a week of practice before the Classic junior year that was easily our best to date. Everything was fluid and crisp, the flow was strong, and frankly, I thought I'd been infused with a bit of The Force. But when the game started that Friday night, we had our arses handed to us in a shutout that still causes my brain to swell. Could this happen to me in the draft? Surely there were factors that I missed. Had I prepared long enough? Was there a website that I didn't see? A mock draft whose results I'd failed to consider? Needless to say, I spun out.

Eventually, I regained my composure and decided to engage in a little snooze. Sadly, the snoozes never came. Resigning myself to insomnia, I sat through a positively abysmal Dolly Parton movie on HBO. She was honest and straightforward Shirlee Kenyon, a small-town bird that chucked her loser boyfriend in a Jerry Springer moment and went to the big city (Chitown). In a fluke mixup (of course), she ends up hosting a Frazier Crane type call-in show and becomes the toast of Chicago. Disregarding Shirlee's objections, the station insists she call herself "Doctor Shirlee," and as her popularity grows, this smarmy local reporter (James Woods) starts digging for the truth by trying to romance her. Problem is, the more he is around her the more he fancies her. Naturally, by the time he has the whole story, he's completely in love and there's the whole ethical dilemma.. Well Lenny from Law & Order was his boss and was not down with Woods' newfound sense of ethics. It was gripping drama ... easily on the level of that crap the people on the TNT commercial are always yapping about. What is drama? Drama is Straight Talk starring Dolly Parton, James Woods, and Lenny. Interestingly enough, this craptastic nonsense took my mind off my draft concerns, as I realized worse things in the world DID exist than the possibility that I wasn't completely prepared for a fantasy draft - namely, Ms. Parton's acting career... and the shame involved in voluntarily watching Ms. Parton act... and the late night oinking on ice cream, molasses-sugar cookies, jars of Gerber's apricots, and cherry Kool-Aid... and perhaps the additional shame felt in admitting to the above activities.

In any case, draft time arrived and aside from a computer freezing incident where I foolishly attempted to open 20 Excel files at once, things went relatively well. I could use a couple closers and another starting pitcher, but on the whole, I'm pleased. I started with Johan Santana, Adrian Beltre, and Eric Gagne and finished with Erubiel Durazo and some nice sleepers. I was pleased for about 12 minutes before remembering that though the hard part was over, I have 26 weeks of 24/7 attention to give to transaction sheets, waiver wires, and box scores...

My fantasy ulcer is beginning to sting mightily.

If you see this league starting to take over my life, please confront me. If/When I yell at you for daring to suggest that I have a problem, feel free to knock me around a little. [If you are use fantasy baseball as an excuse to knock me around without consequence, I will know it and I will hurt you.] I'm also open to intervention and other methods of deprogramming... they won't work but I'll appreciate the effort. In short, please save me in the event that I cannot save myself. Fantasy baseball is a demanding mistress.

Cheers!