Hi. We have to talk. I . . . I don't know how to say this -- this is harder for me than it is for you -- so I'll just say it:
(Long, dramatic sigh)We need to take a break. I just need to be alone for a while. I need some space. Things are moving a little too fast. You gave me gonorrhea. Okay, I lied about that last one. (I don't care how clever a hacker you are, it's damn near impossible to send someone an STD via email.) But, still, I'm breaking up with you. Because, sadly -- for me, anyway (you might disagree) -- this is my last MCI column of the season.
I never planned to bail on you before October. Honestly. But sometimes, life throws you a Beckett-esque power curveball and, to quote
Gunny Highway, you have to adapt, improvise, overcome. And while my exit strategy from Rotoworld might be worse than Vietnam, Iraq and Caruso-leaving-NYPD Blue combined, right now, adapting means moving my family to lovely Boulder, Colorado and starting a great new job. Meaning, unfortunately, I'll have to ditch some of the things that, believe it or not, take up ungodly amounts of time that I no longer have . . . like this column, fun though it is.
Hey, come on, now -- don't cry. And put that tiny, razor sharp lobster fork and male genitalia-sized shell cracker thing down. I don't like that crazy look in your eye, the same one Left Eye had when she burned Andre Rison's house down, and Erin Andrews has every morning when she boots up her laptop and sees the latest "Here's another site we missed. Oops!" email from her attorneys. (I know, big whoop, Erin Andrews naked – call me when they have John Clayton spycam hotel room footage! See? We still think alike. Practically finish each other's sentences. That's what I love about us. But this still has to end.)
This doesn't mean I don't love you. I do love you . . . but I'm just not
in love with you. I don't want to get too serious and jeopardize our friendship. It's not you, it's me.
Okay, well, it
is kinda you, now that I think of it. You
have been a little needier lately than when I first met you four months ago. So many players you need to know about every single week. AL. NL. Mixed. 5x5. 7x7. Head-to-head. Rotisserie. Keepers. Salary dumps. Minor league prospects. I mean, did you seriously demand -- on July 12th no less, before the 2009 season was even half finished – that I list ten thorough and distinct reasons why Washington's 2009 5th round pick (#142 overall) Miguel Pena will or won't make it to the Majors by 2013? And remember when you got all angry after I decided that this email wasn't on the "rush to answer" list, and you emailed again and again, calling me filthy names because I hadn't yet addressed your selfish, personal needs, even though I'd answered literally hundreds of other more time-sensitive emails? (True story.) That was fun.
And by fun I mean DeNiro-in-"The Fan"-ish. But I
will treasure the sepia tone, Old West-style novelty photo we got at the carnival that one time. You looked so funny in that Wyatt Earp outfit!
More importantly, I'm leaving you because you're a savvy bunch of fantasy sports readers who (A) deserve weekly articles that are thorough, well-researched and well–written, and (B) can sniff out when someone's mailing it in. Which I've never done, mind you. (Well, except for that one time I was too busy on my job search and paid a local homeless guy $10 to answer some emails – sorry to all the people who, based on his replies, may have outright dropped
Jose Reyes, sent UNICEF envelopes filled with spare change, or been offended by his incoherent, white supremacist ranting.) But, due to recent circumstances, I can no longer give you the attention you need and deserve.
You're too good for me right now. You deserve better.
(Crickets)
(Crickets)
(Crickets)
Hi. We have to talk. I . . . I don't know how to say this -- this is harder for me than it is for you -- so I'll just say it:
(Long, dramatic sigh)We need to take a break. I just need to be alone for a while. I need some space. Things are moving a little too fast. You gave me gonorrhea. Okay, I lied about that last one. (I don't care how clever a hacker you are, it's damn near impossible to send someone an STD via email.) But, still, I'm breaking up with you. Because, sadly -- for me, anyway (you might disagree) -- this is my last MCI column of the season.
I never planned to bail on you before October. Honestly. But sometimes, life throws you a Beckett-esque power curveball and, to quote
Gunny Highway, you have to adapt, improvise, overcome. And while my exit strategy from Rotoworld might be worse than Vietnam, Iraq and Caruso-leaving-NYPD Blue combined, right now, adapting means moving my family to lovely Boulder, Colorado and starting a great new job. Meaning, unfortunately, I'll have to ditch some of the things that, believe it or not, take up ungodly amounts of time that I no longer have . . . like this column, fun though it is.
Hey, come on, now -- don't cry. And put that tiny, razor sharp lobster fork and male genitalia-sized shell cracker thing down. I don't like that crazy look in your eye, the same one Left Eye had when she burned Andre Rison's house down, and Erin Andrews has every morning when she boots up her laptop and sees the latest "Here's another site we missed. Oops!" email from her attorneys. (I know, big whoop, Erin Andrews naked – call me when they have John Clayton spycam hotel room footage! See? We still think alike. Practically finish each other's sentences. That's what I love about us. But this still has to end.)
This doesn't mean I don't love you. I do love you . . . but I'm just not
in love with you. I don't want to get too serious and jeopardize our friendship. It's not you, it's me.
Okay, well, it
is kinda you, now that I think of it. You
have been a little needier lately than when I first met you four months ago. So many players you need to know about every single week. AL. NL. Mixed. 5x5. 7x7. Head-to-head. Rotisserie. Keepers. Salary dumps. Minor league prospects. I mean, did you seriously demand -- on July 12th no less, before the 2009 season was even half finished – that I list ten thorough and distinct reasons why Washington's 2009 5th round pick (#142 overall) Miguel Pena will or won't make it to the Majors by 2013? And remember when you got all angry after I decided that this email wasn't on the "rush to answer" list, and you emailed again and again, calling me filthy names because I hadn't yet addressed your selfish, personal needs, even though I'd answered literally hundreds of other more time-sensitive emails? (True story.) That was fun.
And by fun I mean DeNiro-in-"The Fan"-ish. But I
will treasure the sepia tone, Old West-style novelty photo we got at the carnival that one time. You looked so funny in that Wyatt Earp outfit!
More importantly, I'm leaving you because you're a savvy bunch of fantasy sports readers who (A) deserve weekly articles that are thorough, well-researched and well–written, and (B) can sniff out when someone's mailing it in. Which I've never done, mind you. (Well, except for that one time I was too busy on my job search and paid a local homeless guy $10 to answer some emails – sorry to all the people who, based on his replies, may have outright dropped
Jose Reyes, sent UNICEF envelopes filled with spare change, or been offended by his incoherent, white supremacist ranting.) But, due to recent circumstances, I can no longer give you the attention you need and deserve.
You're too good for me right now. You deserve better.
(Crickets)
(Crickets)
(Crickets)Not buying it? Yeah, I wouldn't either. Anyone who's ever broken up with someone knows that 99.973% of the time, you just want to escape alive (even if it means dropping the cowardly, rote, trite breakup material like all of the drivel above) and scurry off without being screamed at, scratched, junk-punched, maced, tasered or otherwise physically assaulted, regardless of the quiet, 5-star restaurant to which you've strategically taken your latest victim so there'll be less chance of a scene, not to mention plenty of witnesses should something go awry and a testicle (probably yours) get ruptured.
Come football season, once the smoke clears and we've settled in the Rockies, I'll hopefully be writing my MCI column for someone, maybe even Rotoworld again, as messrs Rosenthal & Gleeman have been cool and given me plenty of editorial leeway, often turning a blind eye to my Tolstoy-esque word counts (like right now) and occasionally less-than-PG 13-content.
Meanwhile, I'll still be
Tweeting about sports/fantasy sports/inane stuff, and you can hit me up there or email me with any questions – baseball or football -- and I'll try my damndest to answer back. Though, again, please, no Miguel Pena-esque questions. (I wish I had a sultry female intern who also happens to be a roto baseball dork and can answer such lengthy inquiries, but I don't, considering Alyssa Milano never filled out that job application I tried to personally drop off at her house several times before some lanky, smug, mortician-looking dork and an NBC film crew confronted me in her kitchen, as documented
here. I thought Alyssa Milano was like 37! And I only brought the Cuervo, duct tape and chloroform for, um, arts and crafts!)
So, my sincere apologies for leaving you high and dry down the home stretch. No more player write-ups. Just a heartfelt goodbye. Hopefully you had as much fun reading the column these past four months (and last football season) as I did writing it. And remember: if you love someone, set them free. If they come back, you were meant . . . okay, I'll quit while I'm ahead.
Wait -- you know what? Screw it. Since you're looking at me with those teary doe-eyes, I'll throw in a few Risers and Fallers. Call it one last sympathy quickie before we break up for good. (And with that, this whole "We were dating" metaphor is now officially, grossly inappropriate.)
RISERSJimmy Rollins: Last ten games: .291 (positively Rogers Hornsby-ian for him) with 3 HR, 11 RBI, 10 R. By far the most confounding roto player this year because just when you think you can deal him away, he pulls you back in with a game like July 25th's 2-5, HR, 2 R, 5 RBI explosion. Damn him.
Damn him to roto baseball hell for all eternity!Timmmmmmaaaaaaaayyyyyy!: 15 Ks last night. Just Kardashian-level filthy.
Cliff Lee/
Victor Martinez: Word is that it's a "1,000 percent" certainty that they both get dealt prior to the trade deadline. And all signs point to either one (or both) landing on the Red Sox, Dodgers, Angels, Phillies, Yankees or some other powerful contender. Could make for a verrrry nice final two months. And VMart's game-tying 3-run bomb last night only helped his value.
Josh Beckett: Last night's victory – he tied
Matt Cain as only MLB pitchers with 12 wins -- was his first double-digit K game since April 7th. But he's outright dominated over his last ten starts, going 7-2 with a 64/12 K/BB rate.
David Aardsma: I've been horribly remiss in not, to my knowledge, mentioning him once this season, so it's high time: he's got an amazing 24 saves, playing the role
Joel Hanrahan was
supposed to have played for many owners this season, i.e. difference-making closer on a suspect team. He's cut down on his traditional high walks and been very effective.
Paul Konerko: On March 27th, while wrapping up my pre-season MCI column, I provided a list of mental stability-retaining tips for the recently downsized, the fourth of which was (and note the italics):
"4) Keep the faith. If you're kind to people and work hard, Karma will pay you back. Your $1 middle-reliever will vulture six April saves. Your 24th round Paul Konerko will have one more 32-HR season. The boss who fired you will be crushed by an escaped rhino. And you will get work again. But when not job-hunting, just do what I'm doing – kick back, enjoy the fact that your old company is paying you severance to watch/think-read-write about baseball all day, and then have a nice, long laugh."While my old bosses were not crushed by marauding jungle beasts, Konerko, with his 30-HR/100 RBI pace,
has proven me quite prescient. And by prescient, I mean lucky, considering I also predicted big things for
Mike Aviles,
Joel Hanrahan and
Lastings Milledge. Ouch.
Dexter Fowler: Kid's climbing back onto the roto radar with 9 steals in July (after only 3 in June). If you need speed, he's probably still fairly cheap right now.
Bobby Abreu: Speaking of steals, Abreu swiped two last night and now has 22 SBs, and boasts the highest number when his steals are combined with his age (22 + 35 = 57) in MLB, just ahead of
Juan Pierre's 23 + 32 = 55. That stat has no discernible value, other than being proof that Abreu's pool has giant cocoons in it, and
these guys have been hanging around in his bushes lately.
Nick Markakis: A certain sage roto scribe whose name rhymes with Stark Rain Vermont wrote this before the All-Star break while recommending Markakis as a second half surprise:
"Maybe we expected too much (only 8 HR and 2 SB, along with a sub-.300 AVG), but he could be had relatively low and his career .798 to .913 OPS second-half surge could be yours." Yup, Markakis is off to his trademark second half surge, going .368/4 HR/10 RBI/8 R since the break.
A.J. Burnett: Ask most of his owners and they'll probably tell you that Burnett has been a disappointment this year. Why, I don't know. Maybe because he's not blowing people away like last year (9.4 K/9 in 2008, 8.1 this year). But he's reeled off eight straight quality starts -- 7-2 in his last 10 games -- to bring him to 10-4 with a 3.53 ERA and 113/63 K/BB rate. As quietly effective as a bigtime Yankee free agent signing can be.
Josh Willingham: When a guy goes 3-5 with 8 RBI -- two grand slams and a double -- you can't
not include him. (Granted, one of those was off
Jeff Suppan, who's averaged 27 HR per season in his career, so it really shouldn't count.) But I may have listed him anyway based on his quiet 32 HR pace and the fact that he's got a job pretty much locked up for the rest of the season, if the still relatively young (30) arbitration-eligible OF isn't traded to Philly, (one rumor), that is.
FALLERSBrandon Inge: Call it the Curse of the HR Derby. His knee is really banged up (left patella tendon tear) and, likely as a result of not being able to turn on pitches with his first-half speed and power, he's hit .137 since his Derby goose egg, with nary an extra base hit. We've loved him all season thanks to that catcher eligibility in most leagues, but I see a DL trip (or worse) in his future.
Freddy Sanchez: Lingering knee problems aren't helping his trade value -- his .128 since the All-Star break isn't helping either – and they're certainly threatening his chances for the 600 at-bats he needs for his $8.1 vesting option for 2010 kick in.
People who insist you "just have to!" do the "Mad Men Yourself" app: I like the TV series, too, but I just don't care how much fun it was finding out that you're
this character, which
is a little odd now that I think of it, because you're a dude.
Josh Hamilton: Now he's been dropped to seventh in the order, thanks to a 2-for-28 skid that's dropped his average to .223 with 7 HR and an anemic .667 SLG. Can't sell him because you'd never get close to full value, so you just gotta ride it out.
Heath Bell: All signs point to his being dealt out of San Diego. After all, the Friars, who are only paying him $1.255 mil this year, making him one of baseball's better ROIs, aren't going to pay the kind of cash it'll take to keep him after he goes to arbitration in 2010 -- and very likely breaks the bank based on his impressive 2009 stats (2.06 ERA, 1.09 WHIP, 46/15 K/BB in 39.1 IP, 3 wins, 24 saves). And if he lands in the Bronx, as is rumored, he's blocked for saves by some guy named Rivera. Talk about a major value depreciation.
That mom at the park who just sat there like a dimwit sipping her venti chai latte and just smiling an "awwww, isn't my angel just the cutest?" smile as her pudgy troll of a 6-year-old daughter lumbered over to my 3-year-old daughter, who was quietly coloring on the cement with chalk, and, for no reason, smacked her in the head with a Dora the Explorer "Swiper" action figure. Several times. That ever happens again, I'm grabbing your little princess by her cloven hooves and whispering, "Psst, you're adopted, your real parents abandoned you like a flea-ridden hound, and your fake mommy and daddy don't really love you and never will." It'll be lost on her, being six and all. But someday, when she's older, this memory of that weird man at the park will ooze from her subconscious and send her into a catatonic state of inadequacy and confusion, followed by a psychiatrist's couch and years of expensive therapy. And then, at long last, my daughter will have her revenge.
John Smoltz: Well, this hasn't exactly gone to Theo's plan. At all. 1-4, 7.53 ERA. Paging Mr. Lee…Mr.
Cliff Lee to the Red courtesy phone . . . No, Dice-K, we said "
Cliff Lee" . . . now put down the glove and back away from the field . . .
Cole Hamels: July for Hamels -- 5 starts, 1-2, 5.8 IP/4 K per start. But I still like him as a buy-low due to his high BABIP (.335).
Kevin Slowey: Likely done for the year. Department of Obvious.
People who think (A) Brady, Moss & Welker won't unleash offensive hell again, (B) Tim Hightower will be the Cardinals starting RB by Week 6, (C) Ryan Grant won't be one of the better draft day RB values, (D) D'Angelo Williams will be, what with higher-paid Jonathan Stewart there, and (E) Tony Romo won't be a top 5 QB this year: Oops. Skipping ahead to football.
Now I'm
really finished. I'm glad we decided to stay friends. Best of luck rest of season and, all joking aside, I really do appreciate all the emails and interaction with you guys and gals. And a big thanks to any of you who bought my
books and have helped "Committed" become the biggest-selling fantasy football book of all time. Which is a bit like winning one of those nerdling technical awards they hand out the day before the real Oscars™. But still…thank you.
p.s. In lieu of awkward hugging, I leave you with this 100% sincere, not-at-all-tongue-in-cheek or phony expression of my feelings for you. Nate, Michael, Shawn, Wanya . . .
take it away.