Viva La Revolucion!

Do you think I'm stupid, Major League Baseball? Do you think I don't see what you're doing?

I understand that baseball is a game of trends. First it was "Moneyball," the genius strategy of Oakland GM Billy Beane which focused on defense and on-base percentage. This revolutionary gameplan brought the Athletics years of prosperity and only stands to reap future benefits for the club.

In Beane's twelve year tenure, Oakland has been to exactly one ALCS (and lost), they are dangerously close to moving the team to Freemont, and Mark Mulder's career collapsed on itself like a vacuous black hole.


Brilliant.
The next great trend was steroids. Whoops...disregard. That never happened.

And now? Teams all over the league have entirely too many starting pitchers and are forced to sort it out over the course of the season. I see what you did there, Major League Baseball.

You stole my idea.

Consider: The Cubs move their ace Carlos Zambrano to the bullpen to make room for Ted Lilly, who's returning from the DL. Days later, the Milwaukee Brewers announce that Jeff "Junkball" Suppan, a former NLCS MVP, is also being removed from the rotation.

Boston is likely shifting veteran knuckleballer Tim Wakefield to the 'pen to make room for a returning Dice-K, and the Phillies' cup runneth over with JA Happ, Joe Blanton, Jamie Moyer and Kyle Kendrick all clamoring to fetch Roy Halladay some coffee.

This is getting out of hand, baseball. Did you think I wouldn't find out? Or did you think I would just sit back and take it? I'm the same guy who once had a snack stolen from him by his little sister, so I got really, really mad and totally told on her.

You have no idea who you're messing with, Mr. Selig.

Lucky for you, Bud, I love the game about as much as I love anything, so I'm willing to negotiate. This latest strategical revolution will be called Uphamball, and it will be glorious. Teams who employ this strategy will be "pulling an Upham." I've always wanted to be a verb. In exchange for leasing my idea to you, baseball, I make the following demands:

(1) I want a Constitutional amendment outlawing astroturf, the designated hitter and Kevin Youkilis.

(2) I want a kitten. It must be all black and named Sprinkles. If it's not the cutest widdle kitty ever ever, I will destroy it.

RIP Sprinkles, 2010-2010

(3) I want Chad Billingsley to pitch next year on April 19th, and before the game he will sing me "Happy Birthday" from the pitcher's mound. This is non-negotiable.

(4) I want Jay Mariotti to shut the hell up. Also non-negotiable.

Those are my demands. Failure to meet them will result in a cease and desist order being filed on my behalf, legally barring any starting pitcher from being moved to the bullpen, or vice versa.

Joba Chamberlain, your career hangs in the balance.

I will also shut down this blog, making it impossible for future GMs to steal my ideas and forcing my mother to find something else to do while at work. If you're reading this, Brian Cashman---and I know you are---make the right call.

While we await baseball's decision, we look to the future. The Darling Asteroids defeated NCSU Sluggers 10-2 last week, but there is no time to celebrate. Antarctic Arsenal and their pesky little GM Monty Bennett await. The Arsenal got an old-school beatdown from Joba Rules last week, losing 11-1 and falling to 11th place. This is going to be easy.

Things are looking up for the Asteroids. We're currently in third place and riding a one week winning streak, Monty sucks, and I'm about to have a new kitten.

Isn't that right, Mr. Selig? I'd hate for the blood of poor little Sprinkles to be on your hands.

Do the right thing, Bud. I want that kitty.

State of the Asteroids Address

My fellow Americans:

I stand before you a truly humbled man. When we began our journey two weeks ago, expectations were at an all-time high. Since then, we have faced adversity every step of the way.

A once reliable closer, Frank Francisco has a 10.50 ERA and three loses after six innings. He has blown two saves and has been stripped of his closer duties for the time being. Melky Cabrera, a clutch contributor to the 2009 World Champion Yankees, has struggled with Atlanta, hitting only .135 with two RBIs.

And last night, with his team down 4-3 in the ninth inning and the tying run on second, Hanley Ramirez tragically burst into flames.

I take my fair share of responsibility for the Darling Asteroids' early season struggles. After winning my first game of the season, I pitched terribly against the Diamondbacks and Reds, failing to make it past the sixth in both outings. A 7.07 ERA for me is an all-time high, and hope is at an all-time low.

But make no mistake about it, the Darling Asteroids are strong. Newly acquired Carlos Quentin already has one homerun and two runs scored for us, and the early season additions of Brad Penny and Jon Rauch have been true boons to our pitching staff.

It is in light of these positive developments that I urge all Americans, and all Darling Asteroid fans around the globe, to be patient. I stand before you on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in our nation's capitol to let you know that, like our Founding Fathers, we will prevail. Our backs are against the wall, but we are undeterred. Our confidence remains strong, our determination remains resolute.

We awoke this Sunday morning to a 10-2 lead over the NCSU Sluggers. This should be taken as a sign of progress, that the Asteroids are serious about change and are on the right path for the future.

There are many among us who doubt us, many who stand in our way, many who wish to see us fail. But we are infused with the American spirit, as well as that timeless declaration of will power:

Yes We Can.

When I take the ball this afternoon against the Washington Nationals, it will be with those immortal words in my heart:

Yes We Can.

When the NCSU Sluggers and their robot overlords claim we are too weak, too insignificant to withstand their cyborg armies, we will respond in unison:

Yes We Can.

Good bye, good luck, and may God continue to bless the Darling Asteroids. Thank you.

-Chad Ryan Billingsley
April 25, 2010

Flowers and Germans and Robots, Oh My.

With the Darling Asteroids holding a 7-4 lead over the NCSU Sluggers heading into Friday’s action, the question on everyone’s mind is simple:

How are we going to blow this one?

After all, the NCSU Sluggers team stars Stephen Drew, Ryan Ludwick and Javier “Dead Man Walking” Vazquez. Logic would dictate that coughing up a three point lead in three days to these clowns is extremely hard, even for experienced losers like the Darlings.

We are clearly headed for another 6-6 tie or worse. But how? How could a team as lovable and huggable as this be defeated by the likes of Nick Swisher?

A few theories:

(1) With his team down 4-3 in the ninth and the tying run on second, Hanley Ramirez bursts into flames.

(2) Partying hard on Friday night, Derrek Lee, Bobby Abreu and Jason Kubel fall into a hot tub time machine and wake up in 2005. Lee hits 46 homers, Abreu steals 31 bases and Kubel alters time so that Vladimir Guerrero is never born.

(3) In a bold move, the Mariners move their Opening Day starter and ace Felix Hernandez to the bullpen. This is completely farfetched, I know. Who would do such a thing?

"Hey guys, what are we talking about?"
Nevermind.

The Asteroids made some moves this week in an attempt to shake things up. In our first trade of the year, White Sox closer Bobby Jenks was swapped for White Sox right fielder Carlos Quentin. Hopefully Mr. Quentin can inject a little life into our offense. When trying to break out of a slump, there’s nothing like some new Sox.

I’m so clever it hurts sometimes.

But fear not, fans of mediocre closers. Chad Qualls recently appeared on the waiver wire and we’re doing our best to snatch him up. Doing so would mean dropping Nolan Reimold, who has been a major disappointment thus far. This, I admit, I should have seen coming. First off, he’s a Baltimore Oriole. Secondly, he sounds like the worst Nazi ever.

Auf wiedersehen, Nolan.

A pair of exciting developments could signal a turn of fortunes for the Darlings. Julio Borbón has sprung to life, hitting .375 for the week and swiping a pair of bases. He now owns the most beautiful .146 batting average in all of baseball.

Also, Cubs lefty Ted Lilly is set to make his season debut against Milwaukee on Saturday. Whenever your fate rests in the hands of a man named after a flower, you have to like your chances.

With an offense that is showing signs of life and some shake-ups in the pitching staff, a victory is ripe for the taking. Come on, fellas. We have to win this week. Not just for us…but for all of humanity.

You see, boys, the NCSU Sluggers were autodrafted. Not lovingly selected by a sweet, charming, affable GM like myself (and don't forget humble). Oh, no, the Sluggers were robotically chosen by an emotionless machine, nothing more than crunched numbers and electrical wires.

They do not think. They do not feel. They only wish to destroy.

Pictured: Josh Beckett
In the future, men will do battle with machines for control of the planet. Let’s stop pretending this won’t happen. The only question is, when does it start?

I’ll tell you when it starts. When a ragtag group of millionaires rises up against them, that’s when.

When Placido Polanco and Jon Rauch stand defiantly, brothers in arms, and declare to our would-be robot overlords, “You may take our lives, you may take our liberty, but you will never take Week 3 of the 2010 John Rocker Invitational.”

God speed, and good luck.

Best. Fantasy Team. Ever.

In Field of Dreams, Ray Kinsella pitches to Shoeless Joe Jackson. After a few hacks, Kinsella says, "See if you can hit my curve."

Jackson smirks. "This farmer fella is joking, right?" he appears to be thinking. He smacks Kinsella's curveball right back up the middle, knocking our humbled hayseed on his backside.

So, Ray Kinsella can't strike out Shoeless Joe Jackson. But which baseball movie pitcher could? Would Henry Rowengartner blow three straight fastballs by him? How would Nuke LaLoosh fare against Roy Hobbs? Could Dottie Hinson, the catcher from A League of Their Own, gun down Willie Mays Hayes trying to steal second?

You’re clearly searching for some answers. To help, here’s a Starting Nine of the best baseball movie players of all time. You're welcome.

Left Field: Scotty Smalls, The Sandlot: Offensively, this kid saw one pitch from Heaters and knocked it clear into Old Man James Earl Jones' yard. Defensively, who cares? After every error you get to yell, "You're killin' me, Smalls!" Talk about a good time. Sadly, little Scotty's career never got off the ground and he retired into the broadcast booth. Grab some smores, kid. Everything will be ok.

Center Field: Willie Mays Hayes, Major League: Everything you would want in a centerfielder—great speed, a cocky swagger, and an earth-shatteringly awesome nickname, "Black Hammer."

Look at these credentials for a borderline Hall of Famer: 4x All-Star, 8x Gold Glove winner, World Series champion, Web Gem Machine. Not bad, right? Now add the sweet nickname...boom! We've got a first ballot entrant on our hands.

A real missed opportunity for Jim "Black Hammer" Edmonds.


Stop! Hammer Time.
Right Field: Roy Hobbs, The Natural: Can I tell you a secret? I've never seen The Natural beginning to end. Whoops. But I know Roy Hobbs had a magical bat named Wonderboy, which is the same thing all my ex-girlfriends called me.

Half of that last sentence was a complete lie. Try to guess which half.

Regardless of his age, he can knock the heck out of the ball. He's got some old legs in right field, but if Tony Gwynn can handle it, anyone can. He unfortunately lost the prime of his career after a crazed female fan shot him. The moral, of course, is that women ruin everything.

3B: Roger Dorn, Major League: Boy, oh boy, are the pickings slim for infielders. So we're stuck with a pretty boy third baseman that plays lousy defense, contributes little offensively and has an unmovable contract. Sound familiar?

SS: The nameless Mets shortstop from Rookie of the Year: And you thought third base was bad. But go ahead and think of a better movie shortstop. I dare you.

Judging from that one diving stab he makes to end the Cubs' 8th inning, this gentleman clearly plays excellent defense, which is exactly what you want up the middle. He'll make a great double-play tandem with...

2B: Marla Hooch, A League of Their Own: Poor Marla got beat with the ugly stick but eventually finds true love, which should be a boost of confidence to all homely baseball players out there. (Chin up, Julian Tavarez!) She also has prodigious power for a second basewoman. What a hitter. She was basically Chase Utley before Chase Utley was Chase Utley. But who would you rather take home to Mom and Dad?

Sup?

I thought so.

1B: Benny "The Jet" Rodriguez, The Sandlot: I thought about selecting Albert Pujols for this spot because that man is just not real. In the end, it was the PF Flyers that put Benny over the top.

Catcher: Crash Davis, Bull Durham: A very tough call, since Dottie Hinson of the Rockford Peaches calls a great game and looks better in a skirt (although it's closer than you think). But Crash has everything you want in a catcher: He can handle a pitching staff, is a threat offensively and makes great speeches. Crash is a veteran leader who loves the game and who the rest of the clubhouse will respect. In short, he’s your team captain.

Starting pitcher: Steve Nebraska, The Scout: A starting rotation of Nebraska, Rowengartner, Heaters, LaLoosh and Charlie Brown is downright terrifying, even if it's completely right-handed. Screw you, stat nerds. This team is awesome.

But the battle for the Opening Day start came down to Nebraska and Rowengartner. Nebraska hits 100 MPH every time and is also an incredible hitter, a bonus since this pretend baseball team plays in the National League, the home of real, pure baseball as God intended, which is superior in every way to the American League except when it comes to actually playing baseball.

Sorry, Henry. We just can't take Steve's bat out of this lineup. You're also coming off shoulder surgery, which is always dicey. Plus I'm a little worried you'll lose focus once you hit puberty and discover your body.

Closer: Ricky Vaughn, Major League: A 100+ MPH fastball and killer entrance music. Done and done.

Manager: Jimmy Dugan, A League of Their Own: He swears. He drinks. He smokes. He swears some more. He screams at his players.

You're the best, Jim Leyland. Don't ever change.

Workin' on a Dream

A few Thursdays ago I went to trivia night at a local bar. Before we started I said to my teammates, "Hey guys, what are your areas of expertise? Mine are baseball, professional wrestling and New Jersey." This, I would realize two hours later, is what they refer to in the literary community as foreshadowing. Or perhaps it was irony? Or even worse...ironic foreshadowing.

Oh, dear.

Fast-forward to the final round. We're tied for first. The drama builds. The emcee asks the question, and it's about Mr. Bruce Springsteen, only the favorite son of my home state. This should be easy. I'm going to get this question super right and be a hero. Everyone's going to love me. What a great night.

Nope.

Here's the moral of the story: I'm a choke artist. And in the same way pet owners start to resemble their pets, I fear the Darling Asteroids are beginning to mimic their GM's crunch time failings.

"I'm not mad, Jacob, I'm just disappointed."
The Asteroids were nursing a comfortable 8-4 lead over Joba Rules heading into the weekend. They were nursing a slightly-less-comfortable-but-we-still-shouldn't-blow-it 7-5 lead heading into Sunday. So what happened? In no particular order:

(1) Kevin Millwood notches nine strikeouts for Joba Rules on Friday night. Kevin Millwood is still alive?! I know, I was as surprised as you.

(2) Tim Lincecum goes all Tim Lincecum on the Dodgers, striking out seven and earning the win. He's now 3-0 with a .90 ERA. He also went 3-for-4 with 3 RBIs in that game. Those stats don't count for pitchers, but still. Felt like salt in the fantasy wound. I hate you, Tim Lincecum.

(3) Julio Borbon lives up to his name, going 0-for-7 for the weekend before being benched Sunday and looking like he's swigging Grandpa's cough medicine before every game. He's hitting .083 with as many homeruns as you and me combined. You're the best, Julio. Don't ever change.

(4) Matt Kemp and Evan Longoria continue to be perfect in every way, but even they can't offset the pure sucktitude of Melky Cabrera. Who would have ever thought a guy who spent his whole career as a Yankee with a great Latino fanbase would have trouble adapting to playing in the deep South of Georgia all by himself? He's hitting .119 and looks terrified every night.

In conclusion, the Darling Asteroids and Joba Rules tied 6-6. That's right, two straight ties to open the season. It's a wonderful feeling to know that the Asteroids are exactly as good and as bad as every other team out there. Mediocrity is our motto. Being average is our badge of honor.

But there is some hope on the horizon. Alexei Ramirez, no doubt inspired by a certain blogger's kind words, has six hits in his last four games. The Cuban Missile is ready to launch!

(See what I did there? When I made that play on words with Ramirez's nickname and "launch"? Did you catch it? Ok, just checking)

Also, this guy still exists...

Does this joke ever get old? I say no.
Perhaps in the future the Asteroids might even win a series. Maybe 7-5, maybe even 8-4. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. This week we do battle with Alex Sheppard and the NCSU Sluggers, currently in tenth place and starring Curtis Granderson, Chipper Jones and Joakim Soria. Alex wasn't there for the draft, which explains why he also has Martin Prado and Nick Swisher.

There's a darkness on the edge of town, and the Asteroids have been hiding on the backstreets. Spent the whole season waiting for a moment that just don't come. But no more, Asteroids! Show a little faith, there's magic in the night. Tramps like us, babies we were born to run. Here come the glory days. After all, we were born in the USA.

Except for Melky Cabrera. He ruins everything.

Cuban Missile Crisis

Some men flirt with greatness, ogle it, order it a drink, hold it momentarily in their hands only to have it slip through their fingertips. They burst onto the scene like fireworks, briefly illuminating the night sky with feats of grandeur only to slowly, silently dissipate before our eyes. This, I fear, is one of those men.

Submitted for the approval of the blogosphere society, I call this story, "The Ballad of Alexei Ramirez."

To call Ramirez's rookie year a success is to practice the art of understatement. A breakout star for the Chicago White Sox in 2008, he hit .290 with 21 homeruns and 77 RBIs to finish second in Rookie of the Year voting. But the essence of Alexei laid not in his statistics. To watch him play was to grasp a truth not seen on the scoreboard, a beauty not found in the box score.

Alexei Ramirez had the magic.

Nicknamed "The Cuban Missile," a flare for the dramatic followed him like a joyous shadow. And if nicknames are a vital key to success, Ramirez was off to an absurdly awesome start. He smacked four grand slams that season, an AL record for rookies, the final one on September 28 to secure a one-game tiebreaker against the Twins.

I remember that homerun vividly. I remember his arms shooting into the sky as he ran towards first. He knew. I remember the euphoric crowd leaping to its collective feet. They all knew.

Little did they know.

"I'm the man. Baseball is easy."
That shining moment was two seasons ago. In the fantasy build-up to 2009, ESPN's Matthew Berry called Ramirez "a special player." He hit .277 with 15 homeruns and 68 RBIs. Decent numbers, to be sure...but something was missing. The buzz was gone.

This season is worse. Two weeks in, Ramirez is hitting .152 with only two RBIs and two runs. If I told my grandson one day, "Junior, this man used to have the magic," he'd call me a delirious old windbag and steal my whiskey.

And yet he is still on the Darling Asteroids. Why, you ask? Because I believe! You and I are not so different, Alexei. I was once like you. If I told my grandson that Gramps used to be the man, he'd call bullshit so fast your head would explode. But it's true.

And now? A rudderless ship of a college graduate, bouncing from temp job to temp job, blogging about his fantasy team from a bedroom he shares with another dude.

We are kindred spirits, Alexei and I. Potential unreached. Destiny delayed. Parallel lines on a slow decline. I understand Alexei Ramirez.

I am Alexei Ramirez.

And all is not lost, good sir. It was fate that drafted you, Alexei, and now we climb this mountain together.

You are an Asteroid, Ramirez! Act like one! You can be an inspiration to millions. To anyone who was counted out. To anyone whose back was against the wall. To anyone who ever felt like giving up...only to come roaring back, brilliantly tearing through the sky at infinity miles per hour, destroying all in your path.

The blond, angelic, wise, handsome Christ-like figure on LOST named Jacob (Coincidence? Nope.) once said, "It only ends once. Anything that happens before that is just progress."

This is just progress, Alexei. Your story has not yet been written. You are still the master of your destiny. For you, for me, for all of us, you must carry on, must persevere, must triumph. There will always be a spot for you on the Asteroids, my friend.

When it does end, it ends with you on the mountaintop.

I believe in Alexei Ramirez.

I Love L.A.

Another beautiful day graces the west coast, but all are not happy in the City of Angels.

The sun hangs high as beads of sweat trickle down Justin Upton's forehead, curve languidly around his nose and expire on his quivering lips. Stephen Drew grips his bat tightly, too tightly, grinding his Louisville Slugger into sawdust in a feeble attempt to postpone the inevitable. Conor Jackson, his hands trembling with fear, paces the room as his eyes dart nervously from side to side.

He knows. They all know.

Chad Ryan Billingsley is in town.

I'm not sure what the Arizona Diamondbacks did in a past life to draw Chad's home opener, but it must have been borderline genocidal. The poor things.

The citizens of Los Angeles really should count their blessings on a daily basis. Sunshine and shore lines as far as the eye can see, where gorgeous climate makes a November wiffle not only possible but downright mandatory. What's more, three of my league's GMs--all exceedingly attractive and DTF--can be found traipsing throughout LaLa Land on any given day.

And if all that wasn't enough, the incomparable Mr. Billingsley calls your historic Dodger Stadium home for half of his masterful innings every season. Does it get any better?

Oh, what a day! Spring is in full bloom. The weather outside is splendid. The Darling Asteroids hold a 7-4 lead over Joba Rules entering today, with Brad Penny, Randy Wells and, of course, our boy Chad all making starts.

And for you, Chad, three stanzas, all in haiku form. Why haiku?

Because watching you pitch is pure poetry. That's why.


Fifty Eight

More than a number
Scrawled on broad shoulders, with which
You carry the day.

More than any win
Or pitch, or strike or smile.
Fifty Eight is more.

From one to ten, how
Much do I love you, dear Chad?
Simple: Fifty Eight.

Slow Dancing with Space Turtles

Week 1 is finito.

For the last eight days, the Asteroids and the Space Turtles have elegantly danced around the diamond. Sometimes I would lead. We would slowly glide, each curveball carefully selected, each hit-and-run expertly executed.

I am a perfect gentleman.

Other times, the Space Turtles GM Dennis would lead. Home runs and strikeouts would come in bunches, aggressively jockeying for position, double plays and takeout slides blurring together in a mad dash to the finish line. The Space Turtles like it rough.

The steals, saves and RBIs accumulated. Hitters were caught looking. Sliders hung in the air like Eskimo kisses and were socked into orbit. When the smoke cleared after the St. Louis-Milwaukee game on Sunday night, one of us would earn a crucial win to start the season, while the other would be defeated, embarrassed and in need of a hot shower to wash off the stink of failure.

We tied.

Sonofagun! Tied 6-6 to start the season. This won't do. As commissioner of our league, I'm introducing tie-breaker categories for situations such as this. Five categories, each one analyzing the underlying stats and stories, the real nitty-gritty stuff, to help us determine who really emerged victorious in Week 1.

LOOKS: People tell me Dennis looks a bit like Phillies CF Shane Victorino. I bear a striking resemblance to Samwise Gamgee, the hobbit from Lord of the Rings. Check and mate.

Advantage: Dennis (Space Turtles lead 1-0)

Hello, ladies.
PERSONALITY: Mom says I've got this in spades, and that one day girls will realize it's more important than bearing a striking resemblance to Samwise Gamgee, the goddamn hobbit from Lord of the Rings. And yet, I've never heard her compliment Dennis' personality. You're the best, Mom. Don't ever change.

Advantage: Jacob (Tied 1-1)

BRAINS: Dennis, it has been noted, once firmly believed Randy Johnson was right-handed. Similarly, I once put a staple through my thumb just to see if I could do it. I'd say this is a push.

Advantage: Neither (Still tied 1-1)

HAIR: Jackpot.

Advantage: Jacob (Darling Asteroids lead 2-1)

HEIGHT: Medium height at best, my hobbit-like stature is no match for Dennis and his gangliness. Homeboy is like a spider monkey.

Advantage: Dennis (Tied 2-2)

Still tied?! If this were MVP voting, the writers would be thinking, "Well, their stats are close, they play the same position and are both crazy important to their clubs...screw it, whose team was better?"

Because that's how these things should be handled: Break down individual performances until your eyes bleed, then hand out the trophy based on team success. This is in no way arbitrary and I see no problems with it whatsoever. Following that pattern, we will decide our Week 1 winner in an utterly random manner.

HAVING THE MOST 'Ls' IN YOUR LAST NAME: Oh, fiddlesticks! You win this round, Dellaquilla.

Advantage: Dennis (Space Turtles win, 3-2)

The Darling Asteroids fought hard but were just no match for the Space Turtles' looks, height and laughably Italian surname. Luckily, we live to play another day.

This week we do battle with Joba Rules, who went 10-1-1 last week and skyrocketed to the top of the league. GM Justin Yates is a big Yankees fan and fellow pitching aficionado, whose team features Alex Rodriguez, Tim Lincecum and Zack Greinke.

Put your dancing shoes on, Yates. You may think the Asteroids are sulking after their crushing defeat...but nay! We are strong. No one can tell us we're wrong. We head into this week with a fire in our bellies burning brighter than Mordor itself.

You shall not pass.

Come get some.

Post-Billingsley Day Hangover

While my prediction of thirty strikeouts proved incorrect (and impossible...who knew?), Chad Billingsley Day was still a roaring success. I thought about live blogging the entire momentous occasion but couldn't see through the tears of joy streaming down my face.

Everyone's Favorite Man went five and 1/3 innings in a winning effort, striking out seven while graciously allowing the Pirates to score one run so as to not completely demoralize them. Quite the saintly act of unselfishness from our boy. Chad Billingsley, ever the humanitarian.

The rest of the pitching staff had the Asteroids in contention as we headed into the weekend tied 6-6 with the Space Turtles. Brad Penny and Randy Wells both pitched well, but the big surprise has been Jon Rauch. Picked up off waivers moments before Opening Day, Rauch already has four saves for Minnesota after replacing Kyle Kendrick in our lineup. Kendrick was recently shelled by the Washington Nationals, proving once and for all that I am a fantasy baseball god.

In real world news, Jeff Bagwell is boring. The former MVP did commentary for yesterday's Phillies-Astros game, and I kept waiting for the little guy to say something legitimately insightful, hoping he could dissect the minute details of the game in ways only a seasoned, experienced veteran can. And I kept waiting. And waiting.

I'm still waiting.

Most of what he contributed was your basic, "What a great job of hitting by so and so." Glad you're here, Mr. Bagwell. We'd be lost without you.

"Pitchers are important. Without them, who would throw the ball?"
However, it is not his fault. Years of talking to the media before and after every game has desensitized Bagwell and his contemporaries from making remarks that are meaningful, intelligent or, heaven forbid, interesting. Athletes have a rolodex of cliches at the ready for any and all questions thrown their way. By sticking to the script, it guarantees that we as fans never get a peek at most players' personalities, which may or may not actually exist. It also ensures that they don't have to think about anything more complicated than hitting a ball with a stick. And this mysterious rolodex is equipped to handle any and all situations. Situations such as:

Getting a game-winning hit: "I was just looking for a good pitch to hit. Trying to work the count until I saw something I could handle. This is a good team we played tonight. Luckily I was able to put a good swing on the ball."

Your leadoff hitter is in the zone: "He's our spark plug, man. He's the key to our offense. When he's getting on base and doing his thing, we're a hard team to beat."

The other team's pitcher totally owned you: "He had all his pitches working today. A guy like that, when he's right, he's one of the best in the game. We just gotta tip our caps and try again tomorrow."

Winning a championship: "A lot of people didn't believe in us, but the guys in this clubhouse knew we could do it. We knew in spring training that this team was something special. We worked hard all year and never gave up. This city has the best fans in the world."

Your manager gets caught using cocaine: "Oh, rats...you heard about that?"

Simply brilliant. If the rest of the population was always this dull, vague and uninspiring we'd have to rely on alcohol to enhance our social interactions even more than we already do. And what a horrible world it would be if we all spoke in tired cliches. But at the end of the day when the chips are down and your back's against the wall, it's not the size of the dog in the fight because every cloud has a silver lining.

It is what it is.

Finally!

One hundred and seventy-one days. Four thousand, one hundred and twenty hours. Two hundred, forty-seven thousand, two hundred and thirty-five minutes. Fourteen million, eight hundred and thirty-four thousand, one hundred seconds.

But it has felt like forever.

The world has continued to spin, to be sure. Heroes have risen, as they always do. Cities have tumbled as the ebb and flow of time dictates they must. The passion of new love has ripped through the atmosphere like a rocket, white hot in its endless intensity...while old flames have flickered, slowly fading away, dissolving noiselessly into space and time. Children have laughed, dreamers have dreamed.

And they have dreamed of this day.

For today, my friends, is a day of celebration. A day to bask in all that is good, and in what could be again.

Chad Ryan Billingsley is back.

It has been over five months since we last saw the pride of Defiance, Ohio (that's right, Defiance, Ohio...symbolism alert, nerds). And oh, what an empty five months it has been. Fingers twitching with anticipation as the clock slows, each second creating its own eternity. Waking in a cold sweat, counting the hours and minutes. Scribbling days off the calendar, erasing the past, marching triumphantly towards the day when #58 is back on the mound and back in our lives.

Well my friends, that day is today. And for you Chad, a poem, and a wish that your first start be as rewarding to you as your mere existence is to all of us.

I predict thirty strikeouts.

Rejoice!


With awe on their faces
They come in quick paces
To see the man in blue

Their wonder will stay
For every fifth day
He stands again, so true

A sight to behold
He waits, ever bold
And fells his foes on cue

A sight to be seen
Down at the ravine,
The darling man in blue.

Opening Day (Over)Reactions

It should be obvious to anyone with a brain that the Atlanta Braves are going to win the World Series. After all, they scored the most points on Opening Day. Isn't that how these things work?

And a more important question for Mr. Placido Polanco...just who the heck do you think you are?

An MVP contender, that's who.

Or maybe, just maybe, we should all settle down. It's very easy to overreact to what happens on Opening Day. It's a whole lot of fun, too. But predicting how the rest of the season will play out based on four at-bats is about as logical as guessing how the Bible plays out after reading three pages.

(Spoiler alert: Jesus dies, but there's a twist)

I was listening to the radio yesterday as Red Sox fans discussed Boston's Sunday night victory over the Yankees. You'd think they would be thrilled, beating the champs with a come from behind thriller. You would be wrong. One caller was particularly outraged at how awful Jacoby Ellsbury looked, and even suggested the Sox just get rid of him.

To recap: the lefthanded-hitting Ellsbury, who is 26 and handsome, looked awful on Day 1 agaisnt one of the game's best lefties, CC Sabathia. This unforgiveable sin is casue for dismissal in the Nation.

Thanks for the memories, Jacoby! Take your .300 average and 70 stolen bases elsewhere, you jerk. Who could ever love you?

Which is why the Darling Asteroids' strategy is so brilliant. Other than Polanco--a total showoff with his grand slam and six RBIs--the rest of the team laid low. Hanley stole a base, and Matt Kemp contributed two RBIs. The selfless Felix Hernandez even opted to pitch like a mortal, keeping the game close enough for David Aardsma to notch a save. What a guy. Clearly the Asteroids are lying in wait, lulling the rest of the league into a false sense of security before making their all-out push to the middle of the standings.

Other Opening Day quick hits:

Jayson Heyward looks legit. Carlos Zambrano had a good run. Roy Halladay gives up a run to his first batter, says "J/k guys, LOL," then dominates. Mark Buehrle, what would we do without your crazy last name and junk ball tactics? David Wright needs only nine more homeruns to match his 2009 total. Melky Cabrera...whatever. Tim Lincecum, still the man. Hideki Matsui looks simply angelic in his new red and white ensemble. Johan Santana is back (Uh oh).

And then there's this guy...

Hi! I'm Albert Pujols, and I'm way better than you.
He's just messing with us at this point, right? Two years ago we were told his decimated elbow needed surgery. He won the MVP. This season, he totally has back issues that the Cards should be concerned about. So what does he do? Goes 4-for-5 with two homeruns and four RBIs, pitches 2 1/3 scoreless in relief and finds Tony LaRussa's lost car keys. And he's only 30! What's he doing for an encore?

Headline From The Future: ESPN's Buster Olney reports that Cardinals 1B Albert Pujols has been decapitated, headed to 15-day DL.

Like it matters. He'd still win the MVP.

Yanks/Sox: It's Like Christmas with Sprinkles

With the announcement that Jon Rauch would be replacing Joe Nathan as the Twins' closer, the Darling Asteroids sprang into action, dropping Jeff Niemann and snagging our fifth mediocre closer moments before Opening Day. I'm sure his career 3.79 ERA won't be an issue as he's throwing Minnesota's most important innings of the season. This is going to be awesome.

Our Week 1 opponent is a team called The Space Turtles, managed by my buddy Dennis. Dennis is a total sweetheart but a complete idiot. Him and I have a lot in common. He once asked me, with a super serious face, "Hey Jake, Randy Johnson was right-handed, right?" If real world smarts mattered in fantasy, this would be a beat down.

Unfortunately for me, the Space Turtles have assembled quite the offense. Everyone's favorite Subway pitchman Ryan Howard leads the way, followed by Matt "Let's Pretend My Half Season in the AL Never Happened" Holliday, Red Sox catcher Victor Martinez and Washington 3B Ryan Zimmerman. Holy schnikes.

His pitching staff is so-so, highlighted by Adam Wainwright, Clayton Kershaw and Jonathan Papelbon. Fortunately, the Darling Asteroids still have this guy...

Get Some.
Game over.

In real world news, today we celebrate a resurrection whose mere existence has worldwide implications from here to Jerusalem. Admit it, your life has been a chasm of sadness without the Yankees and Red Sox waging their epic, four and a half hour battles 18 times a season. This is a rivalry that goes beyond simple hatred, beyond two self-important fan bases and bloated media markets jockeying for global supremacy. Trust me...Curtis Granderson and Hideki Okajima loathe each other.

It's the unstoppable force versus the immovable object. It's Hulk Hogan versus the Ultimate Warrior, only with less steroids (but just barely). It's Team Edward versus Team Jacob.

On one hand we have Boston and Fenway Park, which sports a giant banner proclaiming it "America's Most Beloved Ballpark." That study was conducted by randomly surveying 1,000 patrons as they exited Fenway Park. The results were staggering. It's also the most fakakta ballpark in the majors with the Green Monster in left, an oddly-shaped triangle in center and JD Drew inexplicably still playing in right. How this place keeps its mystique is beyond me. I once built a hockey net out of wood. The sides were uneven and it was ugly as all hell. No one called it charming.

Well played, Fenway.

The Red Sox also had their fans elect a pretend president for their fictitious country. Good thing they aren't full of themselves. Could you imagine?

And on the other hand we have the reigning champions of baseball, the New York Yankees. Being a Yankee has got to be tough. After all, no one roots for Goliath except for Goliath's mother. And the pressure, my god, the pressure. With so many people asking him so many questions hours before a baseball game, how can Brett Gardner concentrate? And then he has to answer more questions after the game? Real doozies too, like, "How important is Alex Rodriguez to the offense?" and "Tell us about that last at-bat." I don't know how you do it, Brett.

I always appreciate when media presence is offered as an excuse for failure. If I asked you how you planned on getting to the mall, and then on the way you got in a fender bender, how many juries would convict me?

Still, at least it's baseball. Honest to goodness actual baseball. In tonight's struggle between the Haves and the Haves, the real winner is us. The air is cool, the birds are chirping and Nick Swisher is back in our lives. Welcome back, boys. You were (sort of) missed.

Go Team Jacob!

NL Predictions: Welcome to America, Mr. Halladay

Aroldis, I'm sorry. It just wasn't meant to be. But you're young. You'll find other fantasy teams. Go live your life.

This week was our first foray into the waiver wire and the casualties were Mr. Chapman and fellow pitcher Kyle Kendrick. Chapman will be in the pen, but the Asteroids need arms now. Ditto Kendrick, who lost the Phils' 5th starter job to 74-year-old Jamie Moyer and was also moved to the bullpen.

Edit: Minutes later, Joe Blanton goes on the DL with an ab strain. Kendrick replaces him. On a related note, I'm awful at this.

The two newest members of the Darling Asteroids are Orioles outfielder Nolan Reimold and Cardinals starter Brad Penny, who is back in the NL where he belongs (he went 4-1 with the Giants after Boston released him last season). Reimold, I just learned, had foot surgery in the offseason and has momentarily lost his starting spot to a custard (Felix Pie). I really should do more research.

Welcome to the team, boys. But who will be making waves in the NL this season? Glad you asked.

NL WEST: Colorado's franchise is now being carried by shortstop Troy Tulowitzki, capable of hitting 30 homers and driving in 100 runs while playing gold glove-caliber defense. But after outfielder Dexter Fowler and the ageless Todd Helton, the offense is nondescript. There's a solid rotation behind everyone's favorite Ubaldo (Jimenez, that is), but a suspect bullpen with an already injured closer in Huston Street.

The Dodgers, meanwhile, have made the NLCS the last two seasons. They have a great young lineup featuring Matt Kemp, Andre Ethier and James Loney. Manny Ramirez's dreadlocks are still hitting cleanup, and Jonathan Broxton is one of baseball's best closers. They also have this guy...

Cue the choir of angels
Game over.

NL CENTRAL: Chris Carpenter. Adam Wainwright. Matt Holliday. And some fella named Albert Pujols. Perhaps you've heard of him? Any time spent analyzing this division could be put to better use elsewhere. You should call your grandmother. It's been awhile since you two talked, and she worries about you.

NL EAST: There once was a man who spent his entire career in the AL East. Then one day the heavens parted and the baseball gods smiled upon him. He was traded to the National League where many predicted he would flourish and live happily ever after.

That's right, the Braves have acquired Melky Cabrera. Whatever.

But the big story for Atlanta is uber-stud prospect Jason Heyward. Let's write his name in its own paragraph, as two sentences and in italics, in order to get the full effect.

Jason. Heyward.

Braves manager Bobby Cox called him--seriously--the best young player he's seen since Hank Aaron. Two things come to mind.

First, Bobby Cox is super old. Second, if Heyward delivers on even some of his hype, it's going to be a long season for the rest of the NL East.

However, that's a lot of "ifs" for Ted Turner's favorite team. The Phillies have been to two straight World Series, have the NL's best offense and a potentially dominant 1-2 punch with Cole Hamels and newly acquired Roy Halladay. Closer Brad Lidge starts the season on the DL, but no one trusts him anyway. Ryan Madson will close out games and Ryan Howard will handle the rest.

Second Most Valuable Player: We're not even going to waste our time. Assuming a healthy season, it belongs to Albert.

Poor Chase Utley. In an alternate universe where wrists don't break and hip muscles don't tear, he's a 40 homerun-hitting, ruggedly handsome two-time MVP and America's sweetheart. Unfortunately, wrists do break and hips do tear (but they don't lie). He'll put up his traditionally great numbers and finish second behind Pujols. No shame in it, Chase. This race was over before it began.

Cy Young Winner: How unbelievably happy must Roy Halladay be to be out of the AL East and facing NL lineups on a regular basis? A 25-win season is in play for the Doc. So is an ERA around 2.20. Tiny Tim Lincecum will still strike out the world, but Halladay has the NL's best lineup supporting him. Plus, he was living in Canada and now he gets to live in the greatest country in the world. It's like he went from dating one girl to dating her much hotter, much more awesome sister named America. You the man, Roy.