2006 Pickins

There are those of you that belittle the game. There are those of you that just flat out don't like it.

Great. It is not my job to defend it.

That job is left to the pale skinned and cliched poets and writers, most of whom have never played, chewed, scratched, or stood in while a grown man throws a cork wrapped in string wrapped in rawhide at you as hard as he possibly can, leaving you with a wapping 150 milliseconds to see the ball, identify spin and predict its path and tell your brain to react by swinging a two pound object at a speed of 80 mph, exerting at least nine horsepower, which also happens to take you a wapping 150 milliseconds, leaving you, um, zero milliseconds to actually think about any of it.

It's like the tree and the hippie, are baseball players and baseball philosophers. The hippie chains himself to the tree and begins to scream and shout about the injustice heaped upon the tree. But somehow, the picture cannot ever look anything but absurd and you know that if the tree could somehow speak his mind he would, and it would sound something like:

"What the are you doing chaining yourself to me. Have you fooled yourself into believing that you have some kind of empathy towards me. If so, where is your bark? Where are your leaves little human. Where are your deep roots that not only determine what, but where you are until the day you die? Go and do something human little human. And no, I will not defend myself when you leave. It is not in my nature. My nature, silly little one, is to be a tree, and thus I cannot be offended by what the likes of your kind do to me."

Do not ask a ballplayer for a poem about baseball. Ask him for a ninety feet sprint in under three seconds and contact on the hit and run. Don't ask the oldtimers for some "between the white lines" wisdom either, because they haven't ceased to be ballplayers, they've just become shitty ones and you're just reminding them of that sad arthritic truth.

So with that said, I'll talk some baseball with you the reader; devoid, of course of philosophy or verse, but rather with the sharp 12-6 snap of cynicism that only those of us whom the game has turned its back on have learned to hurl towards home.


1. There are existing proofs that prolonged exposure to the game does not in fact give one some kind of mystical wisdom.

Despite this proof however, the AL Wildcard goes to the Texas Rangers.

2. The Dominican Republic has voted to approve plans on the construction of a subway in Santo Domingo in hopes to stop mass emigration to New York.

The New York Mets, however continue to encourage immigration by guaranteeing a roster spot to any and all Dominicans under the age of sixty. Caribbean baseball is good for the Big Apple though, as the NL Wildcard goes to the Mets.

3. The little guy in The Untouchables kept pushing to bust Capone on tax evasion...

In what you might call my stone cold lead pipe pick of the 2006 season, Elliot Ness returns with his madcap squad of federal enforcers to take down Barry Bonds once and for good-god all. In an ironic twist, the arrest is staged on the very night Bonds will pass the homer total of Ness' favorite ballplayer, George Herman Ruth, who in another ironic twist, looks a hellova lot like Al Capone.

But with Bonds out of the way the rest of the NL Divisions shape up with the Padres, Cardinals and Braves as winners.

4. For the pick in the AL East, I turn things over to my wife.*

"Who do you like in the East baby?"

"The Yankees"

"Way to go out on a limb sweetbean. What lead you to such a pick?"

"Their new lead-off hitter Matt Damon."

So its the Yankees in the AL East. And remember Boston, it's not your fault. It's not your fault. Hey, it's not your fault.

(* based on actual events.)

5. With two of America's gems ,Cleveland and Minneapolis, any attempts at wit regarding the AL Central are futile. Chicago Whitesox.

6. West coast games start at ten p.m. were I live. Oakland A's.

7. Pujols will hit 57 homers this year, point to the sky after the first 22, until God himself finally says once and for all, "Yes Albert you hit better than I do. Stop pointing at me." Good enough for an NL MVP though.
8. Alex Rodriguez bats .400, with 73 homers and 200 rbi's, cures four major communicable diseases and ends African debt and yet we all continue to hate him. For the love people, he's your AL MVP.

9. And just so you know, Im taking the Mavs to win it all.