Go West, Young Man

In case you didn't know, America is awesome.

Think about it: You can make a phone call and, within the hour, have food of almost any ethnicity delivered to your house.

You can videotape your favorite TV programs and watch them at a later date, where you can concentrate better because you're not all stoned.

And you can do a terrible job of picking division winners (like here and here) but still come back and do it again next year, because this is the Internet and no one can fire you.

Let's do this thing.

Pictured (left to right): Baseball players.

SAN FRANCISCO GIANTS: We begin in San Francisco, home of the champs.

Major kudos to manager Bruce Bochy, whose bold "Great starting pitching + maybe Cody Ross will get hot + hope to God we can beat Cliff Lee" strategy worked to perfection.

And just like last year, they'll go as far as Tim Lincecum can carry them. But how far is that?

Consider: At only 26 years old, Lincecum has three consecutive strikeout titles, two Cy Young Awards and one World Series ring.

Assuming he pitches for ten more seasons, he projects to with nine Cy Youngs and five World Series titles.

("But he's no Sandy Koufax!" cries Peter Gammons, hoping someone will listen)

And don't bother checking my math. It's flawless. See? You may think fantasy baseball blogging is easy and a waste of time, but it's actually only one of those things.

Once again with San Fran, it's the offense that could be their undoing. A much slimmer Pablo Sandoval rejoins Pat Burrell, Aubrey Huff and Buster Posey in the starting lineup. Hey, you could do worse (see: the Padres).

Throw in Brian Wilson going crazy and Lincecum's past drug incidents and you have a club that won't feel any pressure to repeat.

Either because they're true professionals, or because they've already forgotten they won in the first place.

LOS ANGELES DODGERS: After two straight NLCS appearances, the Dodgers failed to make the postseason and finished third in 2010.

Gone are the dreadlocked antics of Manny Ramirez. Gone is the Yoda-like wisdom of Joe Torre, replaced by some guy named Don Mattingly.

Yeah, I've never heard of him either.

But Dom Mattison will have plenty of firepower as Matt Kemp, Andre Ethier and James Loney all continue to improve. Rafael Furcal can still be a dangerous leadoff man, and Casey Blake continues to be a BP superstar.

And just like their rivals, the Dodgers' rotation is deep. Clayton Kershaw and Chad Billingsley are a formidable 1-2 punch, Ted Lilly has his good days, and Jon Garland is still a pitcher that teams hire to pitch.

The left/right tandem of Hong-Chih Kuo and Jonathan Broxton should provide fits for opposing hitters in late innings. With solid arms all around, everything rides on the bats.

Anybody know if Dan Mattiger was a good hitter?

SAN DIEGO PADRES: Imagine you've just finished a great date and you're standing on the doorstep, smiling at each other, neither wanting to be the first one to say goodbye.

It's entirely likely they're waiting for a good night kiss but you freeze up, mumble farewell and retreat into the darkness.

Oh, well. Maybe next time.

Except the next morning you decide, "Screw it, that was close enough. I should destroy my phone so I don't accidentally call them."

Congratulations on ruining what could have been a great thing. Or as I like to call it, "pulling a Padre."

After finishing two games out in the division last season, San Diego decided, "Screw it, that was close enough," shipped Adrian Gonzalez to Boston and chucked their cell phones into the Pacific.

What exactly is the plan here, boys? Close your eyes and hope some deus ex machina nonsense goes down? Try your hardest and hope you all learn valuable lessons about friendship?

Miracles like that just don't happen. This isn't Friday Night Lights.

Clear eyes, full hearts, last place.

COLORADO ROCKIES: Troy Tulowitzki is going to have a monster year. You heard it here 374th.

He played out of his mind last September, blasting 15 homeruns and 40 RBIs to nearly lead Colorado into the playoffs. If he can stay healthy for a full season, MVP-caliber numbers will follow.

Carlos Gonzalez and Dexter Fowler are both blossoming offensive talents, and we must never underestimate the power of The Wigginton.

So the real question is: Can Ubaldo Jimenez stay dominant?

An absurdly absurd first half saw Jimenez go 15-1 with a 2.20 ERA before the All-Star break last year, only to collect four more wins the rest of the way.

While the rest of the rotation is decent, Colorado isn't making it to Rocktober unless their ace pitches like one from Opening Day to the final weekend.

But hey, no pressure or anything.

ARIZONA DIAMONDBACKS: If there's any correlation between "time spent typing" and "chances of winning the division," I should have ended this paragraph six words ago.

AND THE WINNER IS: So we have a three team race between the Giants, Dodgers and Rockies.

The Giants have A+ pitching but a C- offense (and that's being kind). The Dodgers have B- pitching to match a B- offense, and the Rockies have the biggest offensive force and second best starting pitcher, but they wear purple.

This is a tough one.

In what should be a great race, I'm going with Colorado. I just love Tulo too much this season, and having the best player in the division certainly has its advantages.

So there you have it. Thanks so much for sticking around.

As a token of my appreciation, I've taken the same brilliant insights and pull-no-punches analysis and applied them to the American League's western division, as well.

Grab a cup of coffee. This could take awhile.


AL WEST: It's the Rangers, and it's not close. Now get outta here.

Mock You Like a Hurricane

Fantasy baseball is the best thing ever invented, narrowly edging out tickle fights. And while both are fun activities you can do with friends, only one will get you kicked out of Arby's.

But what sets fantasy baseball apart is how it embraces---rewards, even---one's obsessive nature.

Every day, set your roster. Every night, check your progress. Every lunch break, try to trade Rich Harden and hope no one realizes he's on the DL (again).

The preseason is even worse. Lists upon lists, rankings upon rankings from countless publications. Make sure you know who's over the hill and who's under the radar.

Know when to buy low (like with Jorge Cantu) and, just as important, know when to sell high (again, Jorge Cantu).

Take into account the players that are on new teams, have switched leagues, are recovering from surgery or play for the Mets.

Once again, I spent way too much time on fantasy prep work...not even absorbing the information, really. Just staring blankly at my computer screen, flipping through the Internet like a digital yearbook.

"Hello, Bill Hall, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again. Hey there, Shin-Soo Choo. How was your Christmas?"

That's what I do when something piques my interest: I devour it, obsess over it, OD on its very life force until I can't take it anymore. It happened with Pokemon. It happened with Lady Gaga. It's happening right now with How I Met Your Mother.

But fantasy baseball takes this lunacy to a whole other level.

Check it: Not only can you draft a fake team, but you can hold a draft to help you prepare for your draft.

Oh, snap! It just got all meta up in here. We're taking this to the next level, Inception-style.

But we're replacing Joseph Gordon-Levitt with Tim Lincecum, eliminating Ellen Page entirely (peace, Juno), and Leonardo DiCaprio...well, Leo can stay.

Man, I have the weirdest boner.

Mock drafts are an excellent tool that all GMs should take advantage of. They give you an idea of what other fantasy players are thinking, and you can adjust your strategy accordingly.

You wouldn't buy a car without checking under the hood, right?

You wouldn't buy a house without doing your research, right?

You wouldn't ask a girl out before stalking her Facebook page, noting which friends are prettier than her and subtly mentioning them in future conversations, making her self-conscious because obviously Amy is just Little Miss Perfect and everybody loves her, until finally the girl's self-esteem plummets so far into the depths of Hell that she'd never have the will power to leave you, right?

Right.

My previous draft strategy has been simple: Pick three position players first, then an elite starting pitcher, then ask, "Is Joe Mauer still available? No? What about CC Sabathia? Him too? Damn. Skip me."

This year will be different. After long nights, tireless research and more crying than I care to admit, I've developed the perfect two-pronged draft strategy.

Step 1: Don't draft any closers in the first ten rounds.
Step 2: Don't draft Adrian Gonzalez at all.

As far as closers go, the only sure thing in this world is Mo Rivera. If you can't snag him, just wait.

The David Aardsmas and Kevin Greggs of the world will be available later...and even if they aren't, at least three previously unknown gentlemen will probably end up with 30 saves somewhere.

Just camp out on the waiver wire and thank me later.

And regarding Adrian, I'm sure playing for the best team in America's most beloved ballpark in front of the greatest fans in the world will more than cancel out the absurdly obvious fact that the AL East is waaay better than the NL West.

But last year I wrote that he'll be "hitting .240 for some American League contender next season." So have the time of your life, Adrian. Just not on my team.

I'm like Charlton Heston dipped in honey...I stick to my guns.

See what I did there? That's what you can expect from Warning Track Power this year: In-depth analysis, elaborate comparisons and jokes that are funny for at least four reasons.

Try to keep up.


Unlike previous drafts, I took four straight position players to start, followed by three straight starters (Verlander, Latos, Gallardo). I even managed to pick up Rangers SS Elvis Andrus, who I really like this season.

Things were going swell until the ninth round when some no-good, dirty, two-bit sonofagun drafted Chad Billingsley one pick before me.

See? This is why we do mock drafts. Lesson learned: Just to be super sure, draft Chad Billingsley first overall.

But everyone gets a superstar or two with their first few picks. The real value is found in the later rounds.

I scooped up almost 100 RBIs in round 16 (David Ortiz), 60 steals one round later (Juan Pierre), and Justin Smoak, the highly-touted Mariners 1B in round 22.

Smoak was a hit-machine for Texas before being sent to Seattle in the Cliff Lee deal. If he can rake even close to his potential, he'll pay off in two ways.

First, great production from late picks is how you win. But second and more importantly, I'd be making Smoak/smoke-based puns for the next six months. Those would never get old.

And if he doesn't deliver the goods? Big deal. Late-round picks are like redheads: They don't matter because their parents don't love them.

To recap my innovative, flawless, cherry-flavored winning fantasy strategy:

Chad first overall... lots of hitters...draft Jorge Cantu...a few pitchers...Chad again just to be sure...trade Jorge Cantu...something something tremendous upside...Juno was a terrible movie.

Gotta run. Amy's Facebook page won't stalk itself.

Just Let It Go

I used to be awesome.

For close to a three-year stretch beginning mid-2003 and screeching to a halt roughly around the time Arrested Development was canceled, I was unstoppable.

Unfortunately any and all photographic or video evidence from that time has been lost in the annals of history, and anyone I knew who could corroborate my story is long dead.

But it's true. You have to believe me.

I bring this up because yesterday, in a groggy haze fueled by waffle fries and pot, I began to daydream. And, as is usually the case when I daydream, my thoughts turned to one thing and one thing only:

Him?

John Lackey, much like myself, used to be the man.

He won Game 7 of the 2002 World Series as a rookie, and once got to live out the dream that many of us all share: beating the hell out of Jason Kendall.

He was also on my very first fantasy team in 2006 and rewarded me with 14 wins and almost 200 strikeouts.

He'd be back on The Fellowship the next season, racking up 19 wins and a 3.01 ERA, finishing third in Cy Young voting.

That's the beauty of fantasy baseball. This AL pitcher who I previously had no real connection to or interest in was suddenly one of my favorite players.

His success was my success. We had a bond. He was my boy.

And then, much like Friends circa the Ross-Rachel-Joey love triangle, things went south in a hurry.

Lackey's ERA ballooned up to 3.75 the next season, and 3.83 after that. I didn't even draft him that year. It was time to move on.

In 2009 he signed with the Red Sox...possibly to be on a contender, possibly for the change of scenery, possibly because he likes snow in April and public trains that shut down before most of us are good and drunk.

But I think I know why he really signed here. He was hoping to recapture the magic by moving to the city where I live.

The magic from when he felt alive, when he was king of the world, when winning championships and repeatedly ramming his fist in Jason Kendall's head was not just a dream but a beautiful, beautiful reality.

John Lackey just can't let go.

Well I'm sorry, old friend, but your ERA has risen each of the last three seasons and you play on a team I do not care for.

Not only that, but the memories of our former glory are still too fresh...the hurt is just too real.

For all these reasons--professional, personal and miscellaneous--I won't be drafting you this season, John. You're on the short list of players I just won't touch.

No touching!

That last sentence sounded kinda gross, but you get the idea: There are a few players out there that I want nothing to do with.

Maybe I don't trust them. Maybe I don't like the look on their smug little faces. But for whatever reason, these fellas have no place on my roster:

Ian Kinsler: Oh, don't get me wrong. Kinsler here is a fine player who can hit for some power, swipe some bags and has a boyish charm about him. But he's also going to miss about 40 games this season, just like he has the last five years.

He's good for a torrid May, and as the Rangers mop up the mediocre AL West we might even get a "Kinsler for MVP?" article or two. Then he'll pull a hammy, twist an ankle or look at Michael Young the wrong way.

No thanks, I'll pass.

J.D. Drew: You can take your insanely-consistent .280-20-65 season someplace else, Jonathan. You refused to play for the Phillies when they drafted you, you never smile and you bore me. I'm this close to whipping batteries at my screen just thinking about you.

Chad Billingsley: Just kidding. Could you imagine?

Denard Span: This isn't really his fault, but he's one of those players that puts up decent numbers...yet announcers just gush about him endlessly.

As if he's the only guy alive who works hard, or has heart, or does the little things. If there's one thing I hate, it's a player who's overrated.

If there's a second thing I hate, it's Minnesota.

And while he hit .300 his first two seasons, he put up a depressing .264 when I owned him last season.

Why would I put myself through this again? I'd have to be denarded.

"I've made a huge mistake."

Melky Cabrera: Because you're awful at baseball and nobody likes you.

Hanley Ramirez: Because last year I drafted you, Hanley, and you responded by lollygagging your way right out of my good graces.

Now I may not be the smartest fantasy GM around. I might occasionally forget to bench a player on his day off. I've made a bad trade or two in my day.

And I may or may not have a foot odor problem that should really be looked at by a professional.

But I have my pride, Hanley.

And your guaranteed .300-20-100 season with 100 runs and 30+ stolen bases isn't enough to...can't possibly make me want...I would never...

Oh, screw this.

We're trying to win here. Pride is overrated.

How denarded do you think I am?

The Name Game

I'm not much for this lovey-dovey stuff, but today is special. So here goes:

I miss you.

Whenever you're not around all I do is miss you. And then I wonder where you are, I wonder what you're doing, I wonder when you'll be back and I wonder if you're thinking about me.

I still repeat our little inside-jokes to myself in my head and laugh every time. It's a bit of a bummer, really, because all day long people ask me what I'm smiling about...and I can't explain it to them.

I just don't know where I'd be without you sometimes. Seeing you is always the best part of my day, and I'm sorry for not telling you all this sooner.

Today is just special, I guess.

And so, on the day when pitchers and catchers report to spring training, the day that officially marks the start of the 2011 MLB season, heck, I'm never going to have a better chance to tell you how I feel. So I just wanted to say:

You're the best, Carlos. Don't ever change.

Be Mine?

But as the spring training doors swing open for the first time and the team formerly known as the Darling Asteroids embarks on its championship quest, one unanswered question lingers sweetly in the air like lilac-scented kitten kisses.

A question which, if answered correctly, will set us on a path to glory.

However, if answered incorrectly, a future of pain, suffering and being picked last in gym class awaits.

The question, on the surface, is simple: What's in a name?

No big deal, right? It's just a combination of letters, after all. And the only logical reason for people or places or animals or muffins to have names is so we can distinguish them from other people, places, animals and muffins, correct?

Wrong.

If I said to you, "Hey [best friend], let's go watch a Marion Morrison flick. He's a real Man's man," you'd look at me as if I had two heads and only a vague concept of what constitutes masculinity.

And what if I was all, "Darn, [best friend], that new rap track by Calvin Broadus, Jr. is the shizzle, right my [bizzle frizzle]?"

Finally, if I told you I had a friend named Paul Hewson who was really dedicated to charitable causes and such, you'd likely think, "Pfft, that guy sounds like a pompous tool..."

Did somebody say "Africa"?

In conclusion, names are important. Picking a really great name just sets the right tone, ya know? A strong name gives off a confident vibe, something to let your opponents know you mean business.

A weak name intimidates no one and only ensures that some red-head at Tuesday Night Trivia gives you a fake phone number.

So it's with championship goals in mind, and the lingering memory of that lying strumpet Tiffany in our freshly-broken hearts, that we begin the search for our new team name.

This task is not to be taken lightly. I made a New Year's Resolution to lead this rag-tag group of ballplayers to the promised land, and a killer moniker is step numero one.

I also resolved to make more dick jokes, but that's not important right now.

When thinking of a sweet team name, there are two basic rules to follow. First, originality is key. According to this article of the top 20 most popular fantasy team names, a whopping five of them are just the names of actual baseball teams, with three more being MLB nicknames.

I won't be taking this route, and you shouldn't either. We're better than that. Besides, no one has nightmares about facing Jacob Upham's Internet Baseball Team.

Rule #2: Try to be clever. The ladies love it. A punny title based off a player's name or pop-culture reference could be right up your alley.

Let's say you're a big Padres fan (I know, I know...but just go with it), but you also enjoy kicking back with some Hemingway from time to time. That's an easy one: For Whom the Heath Bell Tolls.

No need to thank me, that was a freebie. Some other possibilities:

"The Good, the Bad and the Uggla"..."Two Girls, One Ump"..."Thor's Mighty Boner"..."Leave It To Bieber"..."Melky Cabrera and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Utility Outfielder"..."Dancefloor Paratroopers"..."The Bayside Tigers"..."Bam! Said the Lady"..."Legends of the Hidden Casey Stengel"..."Pat Burrell's Wild Ride"..."The Musial Suspects"...and lastly, "The Chad Billingsleys."

"My eyes are up here."

You get the idea. Or, if your team/city has an iconic ballpark or player associated with it, something like "The Green Monsters" or "The Big Red Machine" has a classic, although slightly cliché, touch to it.

The point is, there's no wrong answer. This is your team. Mold them in your image. Do whatever is in your heart. And heck, just have fun out there!

But...is it possible I'm going about this all wrong?

Maybe the Darling Asteroids deserve another chance. They only had one season, after all. Any GM knows that building a winner takes time and effort and love and more money than God teamwork.

To so callously drop this name after one season would be heartless. How could I live with myself? Who am I, Tiffany?

Or maybe I should kick it old school and go with "The Fellowship." Ah, my first fantasy team's name.

And just like the first time I visited Applebees, or the fading memory of my first love (who I met at Applebees), the feeling this name stirs up is one of tenderness, excitement and reasonably-priced family fun.

Like a lot of problems in life, I think I need to take a step back for awhile and return later with a fresh pair of eyes.

And if that doesn't work?

Well then I think Carlos' Mighty Bono is in for one hell of a season.

Super Bowl Hangover

The smoke has cleared, the fans have departed and the confetti has nestled snuggly into the astroturf. Some poor sap has to vacuum all that stuff up, but that's not important right now.

Last night the country took part in America's greatest invention...a day fueled by football and friends, by bright lights and booze, by overindulgence, glory and those tiny hotdogs with the cute little crusts that when you dip them in honey-mustard sauce it's just the best thing.

And as the Green Bay Packers ride off into the sunset, Lombardi Trophy clutched victoriously, the rest of us schlep to work in the morning with a killer Super Bowl hangover.

Eyes bleary, heads aching and with morsels of chicken wings still lodged in our collective arteries, we shuffle slowly and silently towards the break room's coffee machine.

The room is quiet and despondent. No one speaks. Everyone just stares into their mug. Steve from HR looks like he might cry. The mood resembles that of a wake, only worse. Football is gone.

Finally breaking the silence, Steve let's out a long, depressed sigh. With tears welling in his sullen eyes he turns to you and says:

"Well shit, man. What now?"

I'll tell you "what now," bro!

America's favorite sport may be gone, but its national pastime (as in, something to pass the time until football) is right around the corner.

So break out the Big League Chew, brush up on your sabermetrics and don't forget to remember to never step on the foul line...because baseball is back!

Man up, Steve!

Or rather...it will be shortly. Pitchers and catchers report in no time. And while the two month lull between the Super Bowl and the start of baseball is excruciating, it gives us plenty of time to get our minds right for the coming year.

It's no secret that last year, the Darling Asteroids fell apart. With Evan Longoria, Hanley Ramirez and Matt Kemp all failing to have the three greatest offensive seasons in history, the Darlings lacked the firepower to compete through the summer.

When Stephen Strasburg's elbow tragically exploded, injuring 13 patrons at a local Applebees, our season was effectively over.

The team was just too demoralized to contend after that, and we failed to make the playoffs. Pablo Sandoval's head hung low for days. Poor David Aardsma couldn't handle the stress, and by season's end was visibly exacerbated.

Then Michael Young walked in and caught David exacerbating. Things got awkward.

Most preseason predictions I made also fell flat, as I went a lame 3-for-10 in picking division and award winners, nailing only both Cy Youngs (Doc and King Felix) and the NL East.

The actual season had a bitter end as well as the Phillies lost in the NLCS, sending the Giants to the World Series and me into a blackout after too much sadness whiskey.

I think the Giants went on to play the New York Rangers? I'm not sure, I wasn't paying attention. If you actually watched the World Series, shoot me an email and let me know who won.

In a shocking twist, Jacob wins the World Series.

But none of that matters now.

Today is a new day, a new season, a new year! On the back of steadfast determination and laser-like focus, a John Rocker Invitational Championship is headed my way.

I even have the perfect spot in my room picked out for the trophy: On my desk, next to my Chase Utley bobblehead, right underneath my Lady Gaga poster, right beside my reserve stash of sadness whiskey.

And in the actual baseball realm, this season is littered with new questions and answers. A number of stars have relocated during a busy offseason...how will they impact their new clubs?

In a symbolic move, Johnny Damon and Manny Ramirez signed with Tampa Bay, choosing to spend the twilights of their careers in the state most people go to die.

With Adrian Gonzalez and Carl Crawford joining the fray, Boston's lineup rivals the fabled 1927 Yankees, only with more black people (but just barely).

Zack Greinke was traded from Kansas City to Milwaukee, which is more of a lateral move, really.

And a certain Clifton Phifer Lee reunited with his best buddies in Philadelphia, prompting most NL clubs to bemoan, "Well shit, man. What now?"

And these tasty subplots are just for starters. Which lucky souls will be drafted to my squad this year? What will that squad even be called? And what is the over/under on Chad Billingsley-related poems?

While I can't promise any answers just yet, I can promise that this season will be filled with excitement, intrigue and unexpected plot twists at every turn.

Just keep your personal items close and don't make any sudden movements around Prince Fielder, and you're bound to have the time of your life.

What, you have something better to do?

You can't be serious.