Living a Fantasy

Sometimes it's just better to live in a fantasy world. Especially when it comes to sports, and you can't jump and you're slower than a mule. So it came to pass that I started playing fantasy baseball with some friends years back, where you draft teams early in the season and then anxiously watch how your real players perform in real games that matter to everybody except you. The Yankees won? Who cares! How'd A-Rod do? 0-for-4? Trade the bum! Fantasy baseball is great in that it gives you a reason to watch almost any game on television, and because the season is mercilessly long and there are so many no-name players out there (Who the heck is Kevin Cash, anyway?) it rewards people who are well-informed. Now, I know that I have a bit of an advantage considering I get paid to read just about every story sent about baseball -- I know about 5 minutes after the manager whether Manny Ramirez threw a temper tantrum and won't be starting or whether Pedro Martinez has a hang nail. And then there's the advantage of getting to actually cover games. David Wright isn't hitting? Not only can I slide up to the guy in the Mets' clubhouse and give him a few tips to break out of the funk, I can also ask him straight up, "Dude, why you killin' me like this? When you gonna start earning your dough?" So I guess it's no surprise that I just wrapped up my third consecutive fantasy baseball championship, a dynasty that's not quite on par with Murderer's Row but pretty darn close. And this season I played catchup the whole way after a miserable start and injuries ravaged my pitching staff (thank you, Chien-Ming Wang and Tim Hudson), barely squeezing into the playoffs and then pulling three straight upsets to capture yet another title. Feel free to pat me on the back, offer a round of applause -- and then get studying for next year. I want some competition already.