March 30, 2004

Three Strikes and You're Out

Can't say I've done anything too exciting over the last couple of weeks so it's time to go to the well and talk about shit that I used to do. Since the start of another baseball season is this week I thought I would tell you all about one of my experience as a rookie league baseball player.

For those of you that know me, this stuff is old hat and you can move on to the next part of the column. For those of you who don't, let me give you the back story. I was drafted out of high school in the 109th round by the Montreal Expos organization. I was assigned to the Jacksonville Palmettos (now the Suns) as a third baseman. To be picked in the 109th round means that I probably won't do anything, but a team wanted to claim my rights anyway. I got a $500 signing bonus. Amazingly enough, almost a full decade later, that's still a lot of money to me. I think the baseball draft goes up to 300 rounds these days. I wonder what kind of signing bonus they get.

Since I graduated high school in nearby Camden County I was able to live at home, which basically means I missed all the wild sex parties with 40-year-old women. I played with a few pretty cool guys though. One guy I played with and still talk to from time to time is Rusty Paintwater from Monticelo, Arkansas. No lie. Rusty and I used to fuck around all the time. One time we skipped practice and went to the Shriner's Auditorium in Jacksonville to go to a baseball card show that was featuring Pete Rose. He was hawking some baserunning video and making claims about how he was one of the most underrated baserunners of all time.  In most interviews, Pete comes
off a little bullish, but when he's trying to sell you some cut-rate video of him sliding (still feet first) into second base, he makes the guys on QVC look like rookies. I think he even danced a jig to get someone to buy a signed bat. Unfortunately, one of the zit faced equipment manager stooges was there and we got busted.

Toward the end of the summer league season I was hit by a line drive right above the ankle, fracturing one of the bones. That, and my .219 batting average, hastened my exit from the minor leagues. Rusty stayed on for one more season before being bounced out as well. I guess I just wasn't cut out for the big leagues. I cry myself to sleep about this every night.

Athens Steroid Association Baseball Draft

A few of us guys got together the other night and held our annual fantasy baseball draft. I wasn't going to join this season, but I figured I should since I won the league last year. It just wouldn't be right if I couldn't spend another summer bragging about how shitty their team's are. This year we have 10 squads, so making the draft is very important. Here's the running diary:

5:30pm - I show up to draft headquarters drunk and wearing one of my old Jacksonville Palmettos jerseys, which over time has gotten a little tighter as I've gotten a little fatter. Ever seen John Kruk? I could be his nephew at the rate I expanded this winter.

5:31pm - Ryan (the roommate) shows up to the draft wearing his high school football jersey and making claims to having Clinton Portis' rights. My bet is that he's drunk too. It's shaping up to be an awful draft.

5:32pm - I just threw a bag of hot fries at Chris, who acted like he's above eating them. Chris is engaged, which means he has no joy in his life.

5:34pm - While talking about an old episode of the Daily Show, we crack up about a skit where some older Asian people are trying to say "whale meat" but it always comes out "where meat." I'm sure the FCC will send out some fines because of this.

5:40pm - Draft is just moments from starting and I open up my six or seventh beer of the day. I think I saw Ryan drool on himself.

5:45pm - Ryan uses his first pick to grab the 42-year-old Jamie Moyer while making claims that he will anchor his pitching staff for the next 7-8 years. Early predictions are that Ryan's team will end up close to last place.

5:47pm - I bitch about coming back to the league for some reason. I'm sorry but my notes are kinda fuzzy here.

5:48pm - With my first pick I select first baseman Richie Sexson. The room is suddenly full of smiles. There's something I don't know. I knew I shouldn't have come back.

5:49pm - A made a note to tell the readers out there that this is an online draft, meaning that you if you fail to show up, Yahoo would select players for you. Some people aren't logged in yet. There will be some serious bitching as the year drags on about this.

5:56pm - Peed for the first time since the draft began. Everything came out all right. Thanks for asking.

5:58pm - I picked up Derek Jeter and subsequently had the bag of hot fries thrown back at me by the Yankee haters in rows 4-9. The unspoken rule in our league is that guys who draft Yankee players are bitches. Tough, I play to win, I think.

6:02pm - I made my first verbal assault to another GM after he snaked Roy Oswalt just before my pick. Chris may or may not be calling the authorities on his cell phone.

6:03pm - In a fit of rage I pick up third baseman Troy Glaus, guaranteeing my team batting average will rival my .219 career mark.

6:06pm - Ryan picks up Marcus Giles. It's possibly the first good pick he's made all night. Someone mentions that Giles is a pretty man and I start to feel uneasy.

6:08pm - Chris is accused of cheating by another GM. Chris denies this like the Republican he is. I will go on record and state that Chris is a cheater though.

6:09pm - I open my ninth beer of the night. Could be related to the chest pains I'm experiencing.

6:11pm - Mike Piazza is drafted and the gay jokes are flying. Actual exchange:

Ryan - Piazza still counts as a straight man.

Chris - Where?

I guess, as always, you had to be there.

6:16pm - I peed again. Nobody has made reference to my child-sized bladder yet.

6:19pm - I spilled my beer crying about another player that was taken from me. Yes, I'm now that guy.

6:21-6:40pm - I fell asleep but still managed to draft Jarrod Washburn and Hideki Matsui.

6:41pm - Chris' fiancé Julie calls. True to form we laugh at his expense. Chris' draft night is officially ruined.

6:47pm - I draft my cousin AJ Burnett, who plans on spending half the season injured. We come from a very sturdy genetic line.

6:49pm - Marc shows up late for the draft and finally sees his team. I don't think I've ever heard the word "shit" that many times in a five-minute time frame. Fuck, now I have to battle Ryan and Marc for last place.

6:52pm - For my last pick I grab Geoff Jenkins of the Brewers. Nobody loses like the Brewers. If I got drafted by them would I have made it to the big show? Damn Canadians ruined everything.

6:55pm - I take a look at my finished team and go into shock. Somehow I drafted pretty well. That's what I get for drinking.

In the News

Besides the "War on Terror" and general campaign smearing, the big news of this past week had to be about the Pledge of Allegiance and the words "under God". Now, history tells us that "under God' was put in to differentiate ourselves from those Godless Commies in the 1950's. The Commies are long gone so who gives a shit now. I say forcing kids to say "under God" is un-American, even in Alabama. Anyway, the main reason I brought this up is because I don't remember most of the words to the pledge. I was curious if I was the only one or if this is a common occurrence, like forgetting the foreign language you spent two years in college learning. Can any of you still say it right off the top of your head?

Friendster

Would you like to be my friend? Well here's your formal invitation. If you read my column and enjoy it, then link to me at www.friendster.com. Use my email address, jacsv76@hotmail.com, to find me. You won't receive any gifts or a weekly newsletter, just the knowledge of knowing that you are connected to someone who is occasionally recognized. That should be all the incentive you need. If my roommate Dave can connect to people and places he's only met
once or seen on TV, then I can be friends with anyone who reads this column. This is a contest and I have every intention of winning. And with your help, I will! This message was paid for by the committee to kick Dave's ass.

That's all for today. Take it easy and remember to look both ways before crossing the street.

                   <<previous next>>

                                    
                 The West Virginia Surf Report!