Sabathia Or Bust

The Yankees are still very much cursed in my mind-- but if there's an off-chance that all this recent losing in heartbreaking fashion is mere coincidence, then its imperative-- ABSOLUTELY IMPERATIVE-- that the team signs ace pitcher C.C. Sabathia in the offseason, no matter the cost.

Cut him a blank check, and let him dictate his own net worth. Invite him to pitch Opening Day in baseball's Mecca and a state-of-the-art stadium, equipped with a clubhouse and lockerroom larger than a football field. Offer him access to TWELVE luxury boxes for all of his California family and buddies to cohabit-- Hank Steinbrenner himself will gladly serve them pigs-in-a-planket from a silver platter (It'd be the first time he'd be making himself useful). Just do it. Whatever he wants. He'll want a championship caliber team-- and this Murphy's Law-type 2008 season notwithstanding, the Yankees offer just that.

If that's not enough, tell him that on the occasional days where he doesn't have enough juice to go the distance, that it won't be Joe Borowski or Salomon Torres closing out his games and preserving his wins-- it'll be Mariano Rivera. Only the best for C.C. Sabathia.

Everyday, I comb the blogs, newspapers, and websites (I might do an entry solely based on listing what I look at and guide my sports life by-- perhaps it'd influence a few diehards fanatics like me) and read about the preliminary thoughts of what the Yankee ethos will be this winter as they try to regain their playoff-caliber form. I know the postseason has just begun, and free agency won't really begin until November, but nonetheless, I like to see what all the local and national beat guys are saying as the offseason approaches.

Mark Feinsand-- of whom I am a great admirer -- had this to write today in the New York Daily News about Sabathia:

"He has a big frame (6-foot-7 and about 260 lbs) which certainly seems to be able to handle the workload, having never had any major arm injuries while throwing at least 180 innings in each of his eight big-league seasons.

He’ll be 28 years old on Opening Day, entering what should be the prime years of his career. Let’s assume for a minute that he wants the same deal that Santana got (6 years/$137.5 million) from the Mets. Would it be worth it?

Sabathia would be 33 years old in the last year of that deal - hardly a candidate for retirement. In fact, he might wind up getting another long-term deal when that contract is up.

There are plenty of people who feel his size will eventually catch up with him. But why? If the arm is sound, there’s no reason to think he’ll break down. Look at the last hefty lefty to have a successful career: David Wells."

Although I'm fairly certain that Sabathia will get either seven years and an option or a guaranteed eight-year deal based on his heroics this year-- and he was easily the best pitcher in baseball this year and deserves MVP and Cy Young consideration-- I think Feinsand hit the nail right on the head. I absolutely LOVE that David Wells parallel.

Boomer may have walked fewer batters year in and year out, but he never could throw the ball 97 with great movement like Carsten Charles can, a consumate power pitcher. Both guys were/are known for having rubber arms, being underrated as athletes (Wells was one of the better fielding pitchers of his days, believe it or not, and could get to first base on infield grounders with an agility that defied physics and all logic), and above all else... they're team guys who want the ball when the season is on the line. Four straight starts on three days rest to carry the Brewers into the postseason is evidence enough that this is the ace stopper you'd want pitching in a Game 7.

Feinsand continues:

"Wells came to the Yankees in 1997 at the age of 33, having thrown 427 innings over the previous two seasons and at least 187 in three of the five seasons before that. Wells went on to throw 218 and 214 1/3 in his two seasons with the Yankees, then 231 2/3 and 229 2/3 in the two seasons after that with the Blue Jays. Injuries limited him to 100 innings in 2001 with the White Sox, but Wells came back to throw 206 1/3 and 213 in 2002 and ‘03 with the Yankees at the age of 38 and 39.

Why can’t Sabathia be the same workhorse he’s been over the next five or six years? Other than natural pessimism, there’s no reason to think he can’t."

Wells's was more an anomaly of a pitcher's life and its expectancy, so to say Sabathia will be this freak of nature as he ages into his mid-thirties onward may be foolhardy. But that's not what the Yankees would be signing up for-- they're getting the best pitcher in baseball (save, arguably, for Johan Santana, who would have cost them either a package centered around Phil Hughes or Chien-Ming Wang and Ian Kennedy-- Sabathia costs them draft picks, which they'll get some back if Damaso Marte/Bobby Abreu/Ivan Rodriguez/Jason Giambi decline arbitration and sign elsewhere. At least one, and probably two, of those players will.) in his prime, WITHOUT a history of injury trouble, let alone arm trouble.

Since he came into the league at age 20 in 2001, C.C. Sabathia has never pitched less than 180 innings.

If you're the Yankees, you can finally have it both ways: You keep Joba, you keep Hughes, you keep Wang... and you get back to baseball in October with Sabathia at the forefront.

Just don't leave anything on the table.

Great Football Is About Great Players Playing Great Football...

In light of how Oakland Raiders' owner, the mercurial Al Davis, fired head coach Lane Kiffin in a scene that could have come straight out of the film "Conspiracy Theory," (starring the also-mercurial Mel Gibson) let's have some fun with an out-there hypothetical that-- given Davis's whacked-out, fragile mental state-- could actually be feasible:

You know that guy, Frank Caliendo? Of course you do, at least if you're a baseball fan. He's been on TBS once every 14.3 seconds during the playoffs now for the past two years. You'd know him as a football fan, too-- he's John Madden. A dead-ringer, right down to the guffaws, to the nonsensical, generic pigskin yammering, to the ongoing man-crush with Brett Favre: "Here's what I know about FieldTurf: you see, half the field is real, and half the field is fake-- but, but Brett Favre... is all real."

What if Frank Caliendo-- er, John Madden, who a hall-of-fame coach who once upon a time worked for Davis-- showed up in Oaktown and Network Associates Coliseum (or whatever they're calling that stadium now), and marched into Davis's office on a bombastic, booming roll? I think Big Al would have stars in his eyes, reliving the days of Jim Plunkett, Jack Tatum, and Kenny Stabler-- it would be the glory days of the 1970's all over again, with Madden at the helm... only, it would be a guy in a bad wig and fake orange eyebrows spouting out these pearls of wisdom:

"The way we get to the Super Bowl is if we tackle well... we block well... we run the ball well, we pass the ball well, we kick the ball well... and we snap the ball well. If we do all those things well... that's when the Oakland Raiders will do well."

"JaMarcus Russell, here's a guy as a quarterback who when he throws the ball deep, big gains are going to happen. He's got all kinds of talent, and before all is said and done, he'll have more hardware than Ace-Is-The-Place..."

"Y'know, BOOM! Our linemen have to stuff those holes fast-- and, and with authority... like I do when at Thanksgiving, stuff a chicken into the cavity of a duck... and then stuff that into the cavity of a turkey... and make the delicious Madden meal now known the world over as 'Turducken.'"

"We've got the talent to be a talented team, and if we make the playoffs, that'll prove that we're a playoff caliber team in this AFC West... and to play in the AFC West with the Broncos, the Chargers, and, and Kansas City, you've, uh... you've got to be a talented team."

Hey Al, if you can hire and fire Art Shell twice, we're not ruling out a second reign of Madden on the sidelines... even if the guy doesn't REALLY know a post pattern from a post office.

Memories of the Big House in the Bronx -- September 7, 2003

I hadn't been even two weeks into college at UAlbany before I walked around the Campus Center and found a flier on one of the many bulletin boards outside near the fountains, promoting a bus trip to Yankee Stadium to see the Bronx Bombers take on the Boston Red Sox on a Sunday afternoon. At the time, I had only $40 cash on me and was still waiting for my ATM card to come in the mail at my house back in Wappingers Falls, two hours south.

For those who may not know, freshman undergraduates are not allowed to have their cars at UAlbany, really for no reason other (or so I was told by my R.A.) than to handcuff freshmen into living on campus and buying their meal plans. I planned to be on premium lockdown with my slim funds for almost a month, so I debated for about a minute in front of the flier as to whether or not I should roughly fifty percent (it was a $15 bleacher ticket, transportation included, which in hindshigt was an incredible deal) a of my available money on a baseball game, but ultimately decided to pass it up to save the dough for an emergency.

I walked back to my dorm room (I lived in a 22-story high-rise tower located smack-dab in the middle of the quad) on the sixth floor-- but as soon as I push the button for ther elevator, I see on the adjacent bulletin board on the wall the same flier, taunting me with a wide-angle shot of Yankee Stadium from the upper deck, behind home plate. My resolve held, though, and the elevator arrived.

A few hours later, I hear a knock on my door. Thinking it may be my 6'2, 300-pound Goth roommate, Jason, with the mohawk, fishnet shirt and nipple piercings (no reason to mention that other than that I think it remains incredibly an amusing and disturbing vision five years later) forgetting his keys again, I get up and answer the door. Outside are Matt and Chris, my suitemates, who want to know if I would like to go to dinner with them. I say that I would, and as we make our way to the elevator, the flier is still sitting smack dab in the middle of the bulletin board. Matt points to it and says: "We're gonna have some fun next Sunday, doncha think? Yanks-Sox? Chris and I got our tickets at the Campus Center today. I think Lisa and Melissa, and Tom and Dewey, are going too." As we get in the elevator, I listen to Matt and Chris continue to talk about the game, and I break. Feeling the two wrinkled twenties in my pocket the next day, I go to the office of the bus terminal on campus and grab one of the final five tickets available.

The day of the game arrives, and I realize that this is going to be a long day with no cash and only a warm bottle of water to bring with me for the enitre day. I don't remember exactly, but I think I grabbed a quick breakfast from the cafeteria (the food was quite noxious, and remains so to this day, so I'm sure it was something light) and boarded an 8:45 AM bus at Collins Circle bound for the "Boogie Down."

This was the day when I first realized that Red Sox Nation was a viable entity. Though it may be a product of my youth, I don't remember the Red Sox/Yankees rivalry being a huge deal until 2003 and the pennant chase between the two clubs. In fact, during the Yankees' dynasty years, the team that I remember being the main competition in the AL East was Baltimore, who played the Yanks in the 1996 ALCS and won the division in 1997, and still had Albert Belle, Mike Mussina, and Cal Ripken Jr. for the majority of that time. When the Yankees beat Boston in the 1999 ALCS, there wasn't nearly the buzz you'd expect if you've been exposed to Yankees vs. Red Sox only for the last five years or so. The only two players I remember playing for the Red Sox at the time were Pedro Martinez, their best player and the game's best pitcher at the time, and John Valentin, who hit a couple of home runs in the ALDS series against the heavily favored Cleveland Indians to help the Sox come back to win in five games. Now that I think about it, the Indians were REALLY the main rival of the Yankees, as they were the only other team in the American League whose recent resume could match that of the Bombers (two World Series appearances in 1995 and 1997, and division titles every year from 1995 through 2001). In 2003, however, the Red Sox became a scary team-- they would routinely bludgeon the Yankees with an offense that always seemed to put up crooked numbers in the early innings, and the rest of the game(s), the Yanks would be trying to catch up against a bad bullpen. Many times that year, they did-- probably more often than should have been expected.

Yet as we college students made our way under the train tracks on the south side of the Stadium, a sea of red formed around us-- (Carl) Yastremski #8 shirts, Martinez #45, (Manny) Ramirez #24, and even one that said "Millar Time" with a beer bottle as the "1" next to the "5," making "15," Kevin Millar's number. I didn't know until that day who Kevin Millar even was-- before 2003, he was a journeyman player who primarily played first base for the woeful Florida Marlins in the National League. After this day, he would remain centered in my mind as the loudmouth, scrappy player who had a flair for playing above his head against the Yankees. Moreover, it was the first time I had ever had an encounter with Red Sox fans-- its weird, I just never remembered growing up with them around in Southern New York. There weren't any in my high school that I can remember... perhaps it was a sheltered existence, but I always suspected this Red Sox Nation thing was a bandwagon phenomenon. Anyhow, it was a bit of a surreal moment-- like how Adam and Eve must have felt after eating the forbidden fruit and suddenly realizing they were buck naked, I instantly became aware that this was a foreign, but very real experience. There existed a significant throng of fans cheering a visiting team at Yankee Stadium than there were fans rooting on the home club. With Boston winning the first two games of the series on Friday and Saturday, they were as close to the Yankees in the standings (1 and 1/2 games back) as they had been all season-- and, thankfully, as they would be for the rest of 2003.

We get to the center field bleachers and in another immediate revelation, I instantly regret not bringing sunscreen. If this didn't turn out to be such a great and memorable game, it may have been remembered as being quite the miserable experience-- almost four hours of no food, no drink, and a sun poisoning that actually cooked my face to the point where my nose bubbled and grease flowed from the expanded pores. Now that the disgusting part of this entry is out of the way...

David Wells, one of my favorite Yankees of all-time, took on Jeff Suppan, who came to Boston at the same trade deadline as Aaron Boone did to the Yankees-- when the Sox got Suppan, he was 10-7 with a 3.57 ERA, and was considered to be a #3 or #4 starter, a reinforcement to a rotation headed by Martinez, with Derek Lowe, Tim Wakefield, and John Burkett. At the time, I remember he had beeen pitching pretty well for Boston, too, and held the Yankees in check for six innings, matching Boomer Wells frame for scoreless frame. Then, in the bottom of the seventh, Jorge Posada walks and the Yankees finally get a baserunner aboard for Bernie Williams.

Bernie was the type of player that you didn't know how valuable, nor how talented, he was until a late and clutch situation. He's only been retired for two years, but it seems like twenty. 2002, the year before, was his last great year, and 2003 had been a struggle with injuries and the first rumblings for a replacement in center field due to Bernie's notoriously weak throwing arm and declining range. He took Suppan deep on this day, almost in the same spot as Darryl Strawberry did in the right-centerfield bleachers seven years before, the last time I was at Yankee Stadium. As 50,000-plus fans finally had reason to stop sitting on their hands, I noticed a fair amount of the students in our group remained seated-- again, a seminal moment, as I finally began to understand that the Albany area reprsented a more equal split of Yankee and Red Sox fans due to the geography of the area and the aforementioned rise in "Red Sox Nation."

The two runs would hold up as the Yanks would tack on one in the 8th inning, and Mariano Rivera closed it out in the ninth (but not before pesky Kevin Millar singled to lead off the inning and brought the tying run to the plate three times). The Yanks would go on to win the division, and the ALCS a month later thanks to that lovely, great, wonderful, and handsome Aaron Boone and his walk-off Game 7 homer in the 11th inning, and for one last season, all was right in the universe with Yankees #1, Red Sox#2. How I miss those days...

What I forgot about THIS game was the fact that Derek Jeter (1-for-3 with a walk) for the Yanks, and Bill Mueller (2-for-4) for the Sox, were in the midst of their battle for a batting title. At the end of the day, they were tied at .322. Mueller, like Millar, was another guy that before 2003 I had never heard of, who seemingly found the "S" on his chest once he signed with Boston. He would never be as good after his batting crown season in '03 (he finished at .326 to Jeter's .324), but he remained the type of clutch role player that was a constant thorn in the side of the Yanks until he left to play for the Los Angeles Dodgers in 2006.

Memories of the Big House in the Bronx -- July 28, 1996

July 28, 1996 -- New York Yankees 3, Kansas City Royals 2

It wasn't my first Yankee game at the Stadium, nor even the first time I saw them win a game there-- but it was extremely special all the same. Back then, the walk-off home run was something that, at 11-years-old, I had only seen once: Joe Carter in Game 6 of the 1993 World Series, off of Mitch "Wild Thing" Williams. Coincidentally, it was the first time I became self-aware that the mullet was a very silly coif... but I digress.

Where was I? Walk-off homers, right. Now, I find that they happen with much higher frequency (a disproportionate amount for the Red Sox, to boot), but this game was special because I was in the lower deck of the left field grandstands (right next to the visitor's bullpen) and I saw my first real-life walk-off ding-dong job. The bottom of the ninth saw the Yankees down 2-1, and Tino Martinez (who was my favorite player-- I bought a shirt with his name and famous #24 on the back that day near Gate 2) base on balls off Royals closer Jason Jacome. Gerald Williams came in to run for Tino (as the '96 Yankees were apt to do, as in their first year under manager Joe Torre they were built more like a national league team-- hitting and running, sacrificing the baserunners to second and third, and stealing bases-- very much unlike the homer-happy Yanks of present-day), and up to the plate strolled Darryl Strawberry.

My pop is a Met fan, so I grew up watching their games in the late 80's and early 90's-- I actually didn't know that Yankees existed until my gandfather took me to Yankee Stadium for my first game there in 1992. So, the familiarity with "The Straw" was strong for me-- we used to sit on the couch, my father and I, chanting "Darryl... Darryl" in that monotone that became infamous in ballparks around the nation as either an encouragement or a catcall, depending on the location and which team Darryl played for (Mets, Dodgers, Giants, & Yankees over the course of 17 seasons) at the time. To this day, I'll maintain that his natural loping, fluid stroke from the left side is the greatest swing I've ever seen, and perhaps will ever see.

In 1996, Strawberry was a part-time player for Torre's Yankees. After being in and out of trouble with the law with drugs and illicit behavior for years prior, in addition to nagging injuries (Straw hadn't played more than 43 games in a season in five years--1991-- before his 63 in '96.), Torre lobbied to bring in Strawberry back to New York, to the city in which his star shined brightest. Strawberry rewarded Torre's faith by becoming his primary left-handed pinch-hit threat (along with Cecil Fielder from the right side, and former All-Star Ruben Sierra, the Yankees perhaps had one of the best power-hitting benches in major league history), and someone who could spell the aforementioned Williams in left, or Paul O'Neill in right field a day or two a week.

In a lefty-lefty matchup, Jacome decided to pitch to The Straw, and fell behind 3-1 with Williams dancing off first, threatening to swipe second. He came back with a strike that Darryl flailed at, bring the count full at 3-2. After two throws to first to check on the runner, Jacome elevated a pitch, and in turn, Strawberry elevated it out to right center. The moment you heard the bat crack and began to trail the flight arc of the ball, as with so many Strawberry homers, the only question remaining was how far back into the bleachers the ball would travel. The ball soared past future Yankees outfielder Johnny Damon (babyfaced at 22-years-old, in his second year with the Royals), then the 385-foot sign in right-center and landed about ten rows deep as the crowd erupted. The homer was Strawberry's 300th of his career-- the caption on the back page in the New York Post the next day read: "Straw-some."

What I forgot about that day was that Dwight "Doc" Gooden pitched for the Yanks and would have taken the hard-luck loss (8.0 IP & 2 ER, the only blemish being a 2-run homer off the bat of Jose Offerman in the third inning) had not Strawberry bailed him out with his heroics. The "Dead End Kids," as Sports Illustrated once labeled them at the nadir of their simultaneous drug and legal problems, found their way (at least for a little while) in the mid-90's as Yankees, and this game represents one of their last few great days as ballplayers.

For those interested in the box score, the link is: http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/NYA/NYA199607280.shtml

Karaoke Suggestions

Hey yo-- I guess most of you who already read this already know because you're at the bar with me, but for those who may not... I sing karaoke at the Washington Tavern in Albany on Wednesday nights. You same folks who didn't know that, and have the means to get there-- COME! Atmosphere, camaraderie, a few oat sodas and a microphone lends itself to legendary hump days. I like to think that most of us sing well, or at least with flair and a sense of unbridled fun.

Putting on Ray-Ban sunglasses and doing figure-eights with my head in the spirit of a lame (and arguably offensive) Stevie Wonder impression aside, my own tendency is to focus on singing. I lean towards the classic Elvis songs, mixed in with some Hootie & The Blowfish. I have been known to rock out some Counting Crows, while slightly murdering The Black Crowes. Tom Jones has not been spared in my attempts to camp up the catalogues of dozens of artists-- Elton John, Bob Seger, and Don McLean also are regulars in my repetoire.

I say repetoire loosely, for my goal is to sing a different set of songs each and every week. Ideally, I'd like to never repeat a song unless its asked for by a couple of my friends (although I'm leaning towards putting the kibosh on "You Raise Me Up" by Josh Groban for a while-- create a bit of a market demand for it, and pull it out as my ace-in-the-hole if it'll put a great karaoke night over the top... that's the plan).

I'll use this space to put down a few songs that I'm planning on singing/performing this week and open it up to suggestions, if anyone feels like doing so. Try to knock my proverbial socks off. I eagerly await such a scenario.

This week (As they say in the boxing world, "card subject to change"):

"Closer" by Nine Inch Nails

"O.P.P." by Naughty By Nature

"Hot For Teacher" by Van Halen

"Handlebars" by Flobots

"Maggie May" by Rod Stewart

Winning At Fantasy Baseball

I'm at a point in my life where I'm almost 24 years old-- I still can't get steady work in my career as a professional journalist, I have only $1,200 dollars to my name, my relationship with my girlfriend is like Yankee Stadium in '75-- a lot of great history, once pristine, needing an overhaul, almost repaired but not quite ready to be considered championship caliber-- and I think I just put on five pounds. I'm struggling with a lot of things.

But damn, am I getting good at this fantasy baseball thing.

For the second year in a row, I'm about to win my Yahoo! Fantasy Baseball League-- The 2008 Winchell Memorial League, to be precise. Its named after my good buddy Andrew Winchell, who as a fantasy manager was the antithesis of me-- apathetic, quits at the first sign of trouble, and steadfast against trading any of his players (and I thought, as a rule, hardcore Republicans-- like Andrew-- were bulldogs when they put their mind to something?). Last year, to make a political analogy, he pulled a Ross Perot after our league draft-- an event on a day which, for me, now ranks up there with Christmas Eve, Thanksgiving, Super Bowl Sunday, and Wrestlemania-- dropping out of contention when it looked like he had a shot to win the league with his roster (including ace pitcher John Lackey, who ended up scoring me some major points when we had our supplemental draft from Winchell's roster). According to my bud, Billy, Winchell had a history of this tomfoolery, so we eighty-sixed him this year and just named the league after him as a tongue-in-cheek postmortem.

The league is filled with characters who personify how NOT to run your fantasy team:

* Garrett "Polish Power," who meets his demise each year by falling in love with his draft and refusing to make any move until two months into the season. Our first year, he led the league from Opening Day until August, and in an instance of art reflecting life, collapsed like his favorite real-life team, the Mets. Speaking of which...

* Billy "NYMets08Champs," aforementioned, getting fall-down drunk and depressed, releasing half his team to free agency after being spurned by a desired female. Thanks for David Wright and Brandon Webb, by the way.

* One girl, "Freakin' Boys/YEAHHHHHHHHH," who finishes in the top half of the league every year despite not ever watching baseball, and thus not knowing the difference between a hit, a run, and a double (and yes, she literally asked me to distiniguish each, and so I did... a year and a half after I joined the ranks). She'll draft guys with funny names (Coco Crisp) or because they're cute (Scott Kazmir), and yes... I think there needs to be one of her in every league. Even if she holds onto Vladimir Guerrero with a vice grip and gnarled teeth.

* Some dude named "Roberto Pancakes" who sends four or five absolutely absurd trade offers a day, driving the rest of the league crazyand flooding our e-mail boxes-- though three or four of those trades eventually goes through when another player in the league decides to be a maverick. He also is your main competition in picking up flashy rookies and injured superstars off the waiver wires and free agent lists.

* Kyle "Ecto Cooler," who is... a sweet, sweet kid. A poor soul. Singing embarassing soul music to me on the phone every Sunday at 8:00 PM, as per our bet on who would be ahead of the other at the All-Star Break this year. Three months and 140 points later (i.e., A LOT, for those who don't play), Kyle spends his weekends channeling his inner-Teddy Pendergrass.

So what's the secret to conquering your fantasy league? I'll try another list-- all players both inside and out of parenthesis were on my roster the past two seasons, and are those to whom I owe my success:

* Luck. Plain and simple. A substansial amount of good fortune makes up a championship campaign. Many of your decisions will be based on feel-- like a Jason Giambi having a comeback year, or Johan Santana having a Cy Young year after being traded to a pitcher's park in a weaker National League. Some things just can't be realistically expected-- one of my pitchers (Brandon Webb) fired four straight complete game shutouts last year, and another had a no-hitter (Justin Verlander), catapulting me to the top of the standings. Also, at the beginning of the year, your draft order will often be random-- if you get the first pick, its great-- however, the draft order goes like a snake: for example, 1,2,3,4, and then 4,3,2,1. When it wraps around, those at the end have to wait what seems like an eternity before their next pick. The first round, really, is luck, and the most predictable-- after that, the savvy players rule the draft. All the same, getting the top pick, and thus an A-Rod or Albert Pujols, can make up for two or three lesser players taking up two or three more positions in your lineup. Most of all, free agent pickups during the season are a roll of the dice-- but the more you roll, the more you'll be successful and pick up the unexpected, inexpensive, and indispensible parts you need-- Hello, Milton Bradley!

* Trades. You should draft a team, and then either trade/drop at least 75% of them before September-- you're simply not going to get everyone you want in a draft, particularly in a large league with twelve teams like ours. Our league is unlimited trades and no deadline-- the latter which we might implement next year to simultaneously spice things up and prevent one-sided "dump" trades-- thus, unlimited roster tinkering is allowed and essential. I knew who I wanted for my team (Webb, Pujols, & Hanley Ramirez), and I didn't rest until I had all of them. Be persistent. Know your opponents and their personal affections for players (MLB team allegiances is an obvious one and a great starting point) and make something work.

* As a hybrid of the first two categories, knowing when to "buy low" and "sell high" on players in trades will be mostly based, again, on feel. The tangible evidence, however, is always in the statisitics-- let them be your bible. Guys with track records of having 100 RBIs or 30 homers, but are off to slow starts, will more often than not pick it up before the end of the year and will meet their career norms. On the flip side, anyone who owned Chipper Jones was right to be skeptical on him staying healthy even when he was hitting .400 through the month of June. Trading him at any time after the first month of the season was a smart move. Guys playing above their heads-- and as much as I loved the monumental production of Nate McLouth the first half of the season, the guy never had more than 400 at-bats in the major-league year-- can net you big gains. There was no evidence that he would keep up that pace, especially now that performance enhancing drugs have been by and large phased out of baseball. There'll be no mirage Brady Anderson seasons, anymore. Call it a gut feeling based on some research.

* Save your waiver claim and use it only two or three times a season, on a player that's can't miss. If there's moderate risk or less than notciable reward, save it. Especially in large leagues, where you go to the back of the line if you win a claim and have to play the waiting game sometimes for months to be in a good claim position. Trust me, over the course of 162 games, someone in the league will drop a useful guy (Ben Sheets or Rafael Furcal) because of injury, or a can't-miss prospect (Chris Davis or Taylor Teagarden) will become available.

* Judge and employ pitchers by WHIP rather than wins or even ERA, and high strikeout rates are often your friend.

* Don't waste a top 10 draft pick on a closer or other reliever-- they don't pitch enough innings to warrant any significant bump in scoring categories other than the obvious "saves" column-- and over the course of the year, undrafted set-up men graduate to closers due to injury or ineffectiveness, and saves are a readily available commodity.

* Punt the position player strikeout category. If you're self-conscious about strikeouts, you'll eliminate from your mind a large portion of superstar players that contribute greatly towards four or five offensive categories while being a detriment to just one-- and a lot of the guys who strike out a lot also walk and homer a lot, too. See: Grady Sizemore. Speaking of which...

* Draft Adam Dunn. Just do it-- he'll be available after five or six rounds. You'll thank me later. J.P. Ricciardi probably never wins his fantasy league.

* Don't draft rookie pitchers, and don't sign them until they have either a high win total or a 1.20 WHIP or lower after 50 innings pitched. Even then, don't sign them if they don't strikeout at least two hitters to every one hitter that they walk, minimum (2:1 K/BB ratio).

*Stockpile ace pitchers if you can-- you can piece together offensive categories with undervalued, underrated parts if you're smart. Proven commodity pitchers will eliminate headaches. Easier said than done, and being open-minded and flexible on trades is probably the only way to get it done.

* Value middle infielders above all other position players. Quality, productive first basemen and outfielders are a dime-a-dozen. Getting a Brandon Phillips is a boost to your lineup and hurts everyone else when they're left with scraps like David Eckstein and Marco Scutaro at second base.

* Have at least four guys in you lineup that are eligible to play two or more different positions, and two than can play three. A Chone Figgins type (who can play 2B, 3B, and the outfield) makes your lineup flexible and essentially allows you load up in other areas.

There's a quick dozen, and I probably could think of a dozen more-- but those really stick out in my mind. Just pay attention, and know your scoring categories. In our league, holds are not considered something that can give you points, so middle relievers have little or no value unless they net saves. Of course, that increases the value of closers and starting pitchers. Little nuances like that are what makes the game great-- on some level, running a successful team parallels managing a successful business. You've got to have a game plan and guts, taking a few calculated, high-stakes risks. I'm still not 100% on all the details of playing the game, but with what I do know, fantasy success has become a reality.

808's & Heartbreak -- 3 Months Away

Yo-- first post in a long time. Here goes nothing.

Saw the MTV VMAs for the first time in about four years, and I was actually a fan of that Russell Brand character that they put up there (who few people knew, even though he had been a VJ on MTV around the time of the 9/11 attacks-- he was fired for showing up to work dressed like Osama Bin Laden on September 12, 2001). The Britney Spears stuff with the femalre Christ was a bit repetitive, as was the catty rap that Brand/Jordin Sparks/Jonas Brothers had during the night over purity rings, but overall, there were some pretty neat performances. Did we need Katy Perry singing a karaoke version of "Like A Version?" Probably not-- but Christina Aguilera looked pretty good not so far removed from having a baby.

Kanye West killed-- that was a great way to end the show, with the drummers and the blinking heart on his suit lapel. The song he sang, "Love Lockdown" actually won't be officially released for another month for the charts-- but you can find it on YouTube right now:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugK5GWX7CMI

The blinking heart was the logo for his new album, "808's & Heartbreak." The countdown is on-- 100 days until Christmas, and three months until the brand new Kanye.