(But it's just a) sweet, sweet fantasy, baby

As a baseball fan, I've found that "fantasy" leagues diminish my enjoyment of the game. I get off plenty watching mid-June highlights of Mariners vs. Padres. I don't need to know whether Yuniesky Bettancourt went 3-4 with a double and two stolen bases to increase my appreciation of the game.

Conversely, however, I find fantasy football adds to my enjoyment. Maybe because it's a weekly phenomenon: Sunday, when I'm typically at home either relaxing or working, and require the second browser window on my computer to make games interesting. Perhaps it's because I'm a Cowboys and (marginal) Chiefs fan--not a lot to root for over the last decade. And really, why else would I care about a Titans-Browns tilt?

Anyway, my fantasy draft for this season--my fourth straight year in a league with a bunch of friends from college--was last Sunday. Last year I finished third, my best showing ever. This year, I'm enlisting the help of my blog readers to help make decisions, but you probably ought to know my team before I set out. Here's my (extremely average) roster.

First pick: Frank Gore, RB, San Francisco 49ers
Stud RB, but not sexy. Wish I'd had the third pick (I drafted fourth overall), but way better than some alternatives.

Second pick: Travis Henry, RB, Denver Broncos
So he's got nine kids with nine women. He's an all-pro playing for Denver. Nuff said if he's healthy.

Third pick: Tom Brady, QB, New England Patriots
I see a baby-daddy theme emerging, do you? Hall of Famer, though.

Fourth pick: Roy Williams, WR, Detroit Lions
Not bad for the fourth round, no?

Fifth pick: Vernon Davis, TE, San Francisco 49ers
A steal here. Gonna be watching a lot of left coast games.

Sixth pick: Andre Johnson, WR, Houston Texans
Had him two years ago. I think he's gonna be good... this time.

Seventh pick: Warrick Dunn, RB, Atlanta Falcons
Woulda been a better pick three years ago, but not bad for my Flex position.

Eighth pick: Defense, Denver Broncos
Hey, a quarter of their games will be against Kansas City and Oakland.

Ninth pick: Donte Stallworth, WR, New England Patriots
If Randy Moss is a washout, he's their No. 1, hands down. I think I'll be starting him by Week 4.

Tenth pick: Dominic Rhodes, RB, Oakland Raiders
Here's where things go to pot. He may start, he may not. Ehhhhh.....

Eleventh pick: Vernand Morancy, RB, Green Bay Packers
My worst pick. He's the only incumbent, but dammit if he's not hurt. Probably my first waiver wire drop.

Twelveth pick: Derrick Mason, WR, Baltimore Ravens
Again, three years ago this is solid. May be trade bait.

Thirteenth pick: Matt Schaub, QB, Houston Texans
I listen to too much sports radio. But I only hope to play him one week, so...

Fourteenth pick: Nate Burleson, WR, Seattle Seahawks
I don't know what I was thinking, either.

Fifteenth pick: Stephen Gostkowski, K, New England Patriots
You gotta have a kicker, right?

So there they are. It's a 10-team league, so the waiver wire is thin. Let me know where I'm lacking, who I should trade for, etc. If you give a crap.

Peace

ML

Guess Who's Back... Back Again?

Lemmon's back. Tell a friend.

While I'd like to tell you I was aimlessly wandering the highways of America, acutely lonely with only my superpowers as company, I actually never went anywhere outside the escapist corners of my own mind. Life, as it tends to do, blew up in my face entirely this month, and I'm just now finding myself with a Saturday fit for a little bit o' bloggin'. So much has happened since my last post that I want to comment on...

I'm still running: I'm up to 16 miles, only 10 from my goal. The break in the ridiculous heat has helped my stamina, as have the fancy-pants new shoes I ponied up for a couple of weeks ago (it's amazing how old shoes feel like running on cardboard.) The last week has worried me a bit, as I'm having some significant pain in my right knee (the outside portion, connecting the knee to calf. Whazat, biology majors?) So I've been cutting my weekday runs short and icing at night. We'll see how it does tomorrow morning, which is a 10 mile run.

Barry Bonds: It was with almost feverish tenacity that I watched every single Giants game until he tied and broke Hank Aaron's record. As a self-respecting baseball fan, I felt it was my duty to watch what will surely be one of the most-talked-about home runs in the history of the game. (Actually, I've been paranoid of missing big baseball moments ever since I went to bed before this home run 19 years ago.) My take on Bonds? Let it go. He broke the record, he's one of a bajillion players who juiced over the last 20 years... let it go. Prosecute him for whatever you want, but let the records stand--and cheer like freakin' crazy when A-Rod passes him six or seven years from now.

Work, work, work: Not too much to say here, but the exciting news is that I'm now Web Editor for the whole of Whitaker Publishing, Inc., in addition to my existing duties as GO Magazine editor. Exciting, or suicide? We shall see. Be sure to check out 417mag.com and springfieldgo.com early and often; exciting changes begin soon!

More corporate-export deaths in China: Suicide now. Seriously. When your government executes officials for taking kickbacks, how long until they start cutting out the middle men? Either way, I had to return my lead-tainted Dora the Explorer figurines. How pissed am I? Pretty pissed.

The Cardinals' August resurgence: It's a mirage, but a beautiful one. I was dreading a September in which baseball didn't matter to me--now I'm at least forced to pay attention. Thank you, Albert Pujols.

This makes me laugh a whole lot: dugout.progressiveboink.com.

Props: I absolutely have to give a shout out to my best friend, Nathan. He's an Ozarks Democrat who fled for the relative sophistication of the Triangle area of North Carolina (he lives in Chapel Hill). Not only does he have a rapidly growing birders' blog, The Drinking Bird, (you can't miss his "Single-Issue Voter" column, where he breaks down each presidential candidate by how birder-friendly he or she is, he's now starting a reader-driven blog called Joe America's America. Do check them out and comment often.

I've got my yearly fantasy football draft tomorrow with a group of buddies from college. Last year my team (name not safe to print here, alas) finished third. I'm aiming for even better things this year. More tomorrow (if I'm not too plowed/tired from my run to type.)

Peace.

ML

Worldwide (Running) Pants

Today I ran my first half-marathon. Yup--13-plus miles of southeast Greene County's (and some of Christian County's) finest urban sprawl. I came home and slept for about four hours, so my body feels much better, save a splitting headache. More Gatorade, please!


Ever wonder what goes through the mind of someone running 13 miles on city trails and roads? Here's a Top 10 list (I'm very good at Top 10 Lists).


10. "Those Kenyan guys would be done with a full marathon by now."
This is at, oh, mile 10.


9. "Flies love poop. Poop, poop, poop."
The voice in my head says this like Ron Burgundy downing a glass of scotch in Anchorman.


8. "They way I feel, a naked Heidi Klum could run by me and I would be in no way aroused."
This is more speculation than tested fact.


7. "I can't stand cyclists."
Okay, I know one of my best friends and one of my two readers is an avid (ex?) cyclist, but these guys annoy me. They wear these loud damn jerseys when a one-tone would be fine, they look like they're exerting sooo much physical strength when some fraction of it must be the bike--my quads don't want to hear it, whiner. Finally, some of them (not all) practically run you off the road. If they have the courtesy to say "Passing on the left!" it's when they're already on you, straight in your ear, scaring you half to death. I knew you were coming, Jaques; your ego passed me 20 minutes ago.


6. "Well, it's better than work."


5. "Never again will I eat anything with the word 'Diablo' in the title the night before a run."


4. Whatever song I happen to select from my memory bank.
There's only one, mind you: Once it's there, it's stuck. I've had the ill fortune of having songs from Avril Lavigne, Jo-Jo and Fergie. Today, however, it was Son Volt's "Drown." Ah, much more tolerable.


3. "How do they get all that lovely cream filling inside a Twinkie?"


2. "When I'm done with this, I only have 13 miles to go until I've run a full marathon. Joy!"


1. "Dont' say hi to me."
Seriously, folks. I know we're in the Midwest, and we have some genetic wiring that makes us feel obligated to give out unnecessary salutations to total strangers, but stop it. I'm sweaty, I'm huffing a bit, I look like ass. You look like ass, too. Saying hi, waving or, hell, even smiling takes energy I need to keep going. It's nothing personal. Yes, we are each weekend-morning warriors, pounding the pavement to satisfy whatever issues we have that make us feel the need to be running before sunrise. I get that. But I do not want to greet you unless I know you and like you. Or if doing so would socially or vocationally benefit me in some way. Get over it.


(Would that qualify as a rant? Oh dear.)


Have a great weekend, reader(s).


Peace.


ML