When I was growing up, baseball (and a few other sports) was something my family could do together.  It wasn’t a perfect context by any means.  But, we could usually watch the Braves and be ok for a few hours.

I’ve always held onto baseball.  I lived in DC pre-Nationals, so I didn’t adopt a second team in my time there.  When I moved to L.A., I adopted Teresa’s Angels (after I met Teresa, that is) and continued to root for the Braves.

When I was in graduate school, I had a hard time my first summer finding a job.  I finally landed one with a company that did SAT tutoring in high school students’ homes.  I have never before (or since) had such an up-close view of affluent L.A.  Before I started the tutoring (which was mostly a late summer/fall activity, scheduled around the SAT test dates), this company hired me to answer the phone in the office.  The office was in one of the owners’ apartments down in a cool part of the city.  I wasn’t allowed to do much, just take messages.  The owner, in fact, laid me out when he heard me giving a parent a little information about what they did.  I had repeated a little bit of his spiel verbatim.  I had, after all, heard it a thousand times by that point.

He was an arrogant prick.  Very impressed with his own masculinity and Ivy League degree.  He was also a rabid fantasy baseball player.  He dismissed my curiosity about it.  Women couldn’t possibly be interested in baseball at the level fantasy required.  Certainly not mid-Atlantic educated ones, who weren’t admitted to an Ivy.  Or a seven sister.  Or…

I worked for them for one SAT season.  Never once did I ever see or experience them backing up one of their employees.  They were perfectly happy to let us line up passively in front of the bus that was angry parents of lazy student’s SAT scores.  It was a wretched experience.  If anyone wants the name of the company (they sold out to a national company, but still have the same set-up), do let me know.  I know, given the current economic situation in the U.S., there are lots of people who need jobs.  If you’d like one that will make you feel like shit, let me know and I’ll hook you up.

I left the bad company and went to work for a much more pleasant one (who did the same thing(ish) in a mini-mall east of downtown).  Company II was owned by and catered exclusively to Taiwanese immigrants.  Laying the weird meat buns I would sometimes get as gifts aside (but not those lovely red envelopes with money), it was a nice thing to do for the rest of my graduate school summers.

I held onto baseball past that.  I hoped with the Braves every year.  Felt very sad the summer of 1994.  Got back my joy with the Braves World Series of 1995.  Teresa and I went to Angels games, mixed in a Braves/Dodgers game here and there.  We also took time out to go to minor league ball in the Cal League.

My favorite experience was attending a game at the home of the Stockton Ports (now the Mudville Nine) and winning a six pack of pickled peppers.  What was not to like?

The 2002 series was unbelievable.  We breathed in and out with each pitch.  We named our new cat Halo.

Then, a few years ago, Ivy-jerk notwithstanding, I started playing fantasy baseball.  First, I played for free (with strangers) on Yahoo.  Then I joined a money league, ran the blog league and enjoyed myself (mostly).

Last year baseball started to change for me.  The money in the game has been out of control for a while.  Add the drugs.  What have I watched?  The game itself is fine.  MLB far from it.

Was Mark Lemke the last clean player?  Maybe Tim Salmon?  Bob Horner?  Bib Gibson?  Did Bart Giamatti’s untimely death ruin it for good?

When I think about my sadness around baseball–and it is surely there–some of it is tied up in fantasy.  The baseball blog league (which was terrifically fun) never attracted enough people to keep it going (unlike it’s much healthier sister blogleague football–coming soon for 09!).  The pay league, into which I was invited by my brother, has gone like this:

Year 1:  My dad and I agree to have a team.  He does nothing except pick the team name (with which I am still saddled).  I finish dead dog last.  It cost me real money.

Year 2:  I invite a blog-friend in.  I finish tied for third.  It costs me less money.  Somehow, my dad gets talked into taking a team of his own.  I try to help him on the phone.  I try to help him in person, while we’re on vacation.  It’s really frustrating.  He finishes last.

Year 3:  For some subconsciously masochistic reason, I agree to be the commissioner.  I like being the commissioner in the blogleagues.  This is not also true of the pay league.  I also switch jobs mid-summer.  Result:  I finish out of the money by 1 point, I spend a lot of time I don’t have entering changes for the league.  Mostly though, I have my integrity questioned, am accused of using my commissioner “powers” to cheat and then have a huge fight with my brother.  He tells me in the course of the fight that the guy who said I had cheated had done more for the people in the league than I would ever know.  I decide to quit.

Year 4:  I don’t quit.  I think (at the time) that I might get some love of the game back.  Be easy, enjoy yourself.  Today, again, my integrity is questioned because of a lopsided trade I agreed to.  It was lopsided trade designed to help me next year.

But today, I keep thinking about baseball.  And feeling sad. And wondering whether I should play or watch at all next year.  Or the rest of this.

I can think of a few things that might help me feel better–the Ken Burns doc, some Roger Angell, some Stephen J. Gould.  I’d say that I could go to a Rancho Cucamonga Quakes game, but we’ve had two actual earthquakes in the last three days and somehow I don’t want to go to a stadium called the epicenter.  Plus there’s that whole–I don’t like the Inland Empire much problem.  My university’s team is done for the year, so the *pling* of the aluminum bats can be no comfort now.

That’s Bronson Arroyo, one of the guys I got in the lopsided trade.  He’s curently 6-5 with an ERA of 6.56.  He’s 6′5″ and goes 195.  I don’t think he uses steroids.  That’s good, at least.

It’s a beautiful game, baseball.  I need to find out how to get back to its beauty.

The dirt’s pretty.  So’s the ball.  It’s everything around it that’s suspect.

Cue outro…

“Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio [or insert alt player, as needed]…?”  I’d like some of the joy in Mudville back but am afraid there are too many strikes now.

As a child, my dad took us to Falcons games. We had season tickets and my mother made us dress up to go to the games. Like I had to wear pantyhose dressed up. We sat in the end-zone behind the aptly chapeau’d guy we called “backwards hat” who drank beer poured into a two-liter Sprite bottle.

The Falcons were never very good, but there was the occasional glimmer of hope. The “grits blitz” was fun, in a “Po’ Folks” kind of way and Steve Bartkowski could throw the ball a really long way. There were rarely guys where he threw the ball, but every once in a while, he’d get it right.

More often, they’d hand off to the fullback for two yards in three consecutive downs and punt. It reminded me of that handheld electronic football game I had.

When I left for college, I mostly left football behind me. I went to a university without a team and lived in a city with a team I couldn’t bring myself to like very much.

Lately, I’ve been enjoying football more. Between the excitement that Mr. Vick brought to the Falcons and the naked hilarity of Blogleague football, it’s back in my life. Not enough to prompt me to wear my hat backwards or drink beer out of large plastic containers, but around in a pleasant way.

The other issue in Vick situation, of course, is animals. Let me go on record. I like them. Not all of them, mind you. I’ve encountered unpleasant ones here and there, but as a rule, I like animals. Dogs especially. In my adult life I’ve owned a dog for all but about a year and a little.

Aside: Scout’s mother claims that she heard that Vick used kittens as bait in training fighting dogs. I’m opposed to people making up things that aren’t true. Also to kittens as bait.

Anyway, this morning I was listening to Vick’s apology. I was waiting for the obligatory part. Not the apology to the kids, or the league, or the owner. Nope, I was waiting for the shout-out to Jesus. About halfway through he said,

“I’m upset with myself, and, you know, through this situation I found Jesus and asked him for forgiveness and turned my life over to God. And I think that’s the right thing to do as of right now.”

Whew, I thought, Took him a while to get there. But get there he did. Here’s the thing. If he didn’t do the shout-out, I would have been disappointed. It’s not that I don’t buy it (though I kinda don’t), it’s that I don’t want the apology speech without it. It’s like having a full breakfast without grits. Sure, it still “counts” as breakfast, but I KNOW there’s something missing.

Here’s the primer:

I like:

Football=ok

Blogleague fantasy football=a lot

Getting the Jesus shout-out in when facing prison=obligatory

Dogs=a lot

Kittens=a lot

I don’t like:

Dogfighting=at all

Kitten baiting=at all

Vaguely racist stories about kittens=at all

Oh, and what do I think about Vick? I hope he meant what he said today.

It’s spring break here at the fine institution of higher education. Since I am a twelve month employee, I’m here. That and my assistant director gave almost everyone the week off. Somebody’s got to be here in case the provost calls. He never does, but I worry that he might.

I’m going to try to get caught up on my backlog of big projects. I lack motivation for most of them, which is why they’re un or half done. I’m going to try to do a little every day on most of them. Small bites are easier to swallow.

Spring is here. I know this because UCLA lost again in some ignominy and baseball started.

Fantasy baseball drafts happened over the weekend. I didn’t end up with many distasteful Yankees in the American League only Blogleague. Jorge Posada seems like a good guy, despite his lifelong Yankee status and I can still picture Johnny Damon as a Royal if I squint. Plus, I got some Angel pitchers.

In my money league (which is NL-only), I drafted better this year than I did last year. I had a little money to spare and targeted players I wanted without overpaying. As of right this moment, I’m in second place after one game. Shawn Green, bless his heart, went 2 for 4 last night in the Mets win over the Cards. That was my only stat from the night, but it was a good one. Let’s just call the season done, shall we?

I tried to get Chris Carpenter and didn’t succeed. While I don’t think his ERA will stay at 7.5, I take a little guilty pleasure in his bad outing last night.

Plus, Tom Glavine, who I still like from his Braves days, got one win closer to 300. He needs 9 more to get to 300 and will be only the fifth lefty to get there. My favorite game of his doesn’t even count in that total. It was his 1-0 masterpiece over the Indians in Game 6 of the 1995 World Series. Glavine is not on my fantasy team, and he’s now a Metropolitan, but I hope he does well this year. The big numbers (like 300) can still matter.

Baseball, as Bart Giamatti famously said, is designed to break your heart. It will break my heart this year when Bonds passes Aaron. That number will not matter to me. Hank Aaron will be the Home Run king in my mind until a clean player passes him. It will also break my heart when the Angels and Braves, once again, fail to match up in the World Series. I trust that Bill Hall and Barry Zito will do their respective parts to break my heart a little, too. My fantasy players don’t care enough about me

For now, though, fragile Spring holds promise. And pollen. Maybe that’s why it’s so fragile. All that pollen could make things brittle.

Blogleague Fantasy Baseball, y’all. I know so many of you spent the winter wondering why you missed the fabulousness of Blogleague Fantasy Football. And then the the trophy was unveiled, you kicked yourself even harder. Well, the time has come to redeem yourself and get a chance to win a trophy just as ugly. It’s free, it’s fun, it lasts all summer.

So, here’s the deal, e-mail me and let me know you want to play. We’ll work out the details once we have our players. No deep knowledge is needed to play, but some knowledge should help. Knowledge doesn’t help me, but I don’t let that worry me.

Oh, and remember that business about me getting Michael Vick in fantasy football? Well, I should have insisted on LaDanian Tomlinson. In baseball, I’m not insisting on anyone in particular. But here’s a player I wouldn’t mind owning. Just to get you in the mood.

What’s not to like? A Dominican guy with a Russian name who can hit for power and average and is the best junk ball hitter I’ve ever seen. Ok, I talked myself into it. I get Vlad Guerrero. I do wish he’d wear a clean helmet.

Spend the summer playing with us. It’ll be fun, I promise.

More on the Christmas visit soon–fun with rental cars and magnifying devices.

In the meantime, as promised, a preview of the fantasy football BlogLeague “Trophy.” Whew–do I have bad taste or what? The one I chose isn’t pictured here–it’s a more elaborate version of these.

Congrats Wendy (on winning–not on receiving this monstrosity–coming to your home in mid-January 2007)!

Now, aren’t the rest of you glad:

1) you didn’t play; or

2) you didn’t win?

Thought so.

This year, for the first time in my adult life, I paid money to play fantasy baseball. I was invited to join a league by my brother. I studied. I took notes. I had a list. I got up at 7am on “spring forward” Sunday and drafted my team.

Today, I received the wrap-up e-mail for the league. I was nominated for several “worsts” by the league. Worst trade (Cole Hamels for Brady Clark) and Worst draft choice (Pedro Martinez for $38).

I finished in last place. By a lot. Part of that was that I traded away my high priced players for keepers. But I’m not even sure I did that well.

My “best” move wasn’t nominated for anything: Bronson Arroyo and all his white boy cornrows (plus 14 wins and a sub 4 ERA) for $1.

And then…

I got to the bottom of the e-mail. And I owe the most for transactions. Why? Because all my lame-ass stupido players got hurt and hurt again which meant I had to sign worse than lame-o stupido players.

Did I mention that I’m, also losing (again badly) in the blogger fantasy football league? I am.

Bottom line it for you? Ok…

It cost me $121 to lose.

And the only thing I know for sure: Arroyo and his cornrows will be giving me fits next year again. For $3 instead of $1.

Happy postseason baseball.

Rest in peace, Cory Lidle.

Blogger Fantasy Football!

Hey y’all, we’re starting a fantasy football league and looking for a few good teams. If you’re interested, shoot me an e-mail at sporksforall at gmail.com.

Give me a few days to get back to you because I’m sure the demand will be huge.

I’ll get back to you with the details one of which will be that no matter what else happens, I get Michael Vick.

Sporks