The Layoff Beard

My Fantasy Football Retirement

The year was 1999. I started playing something called “fantasy football.” I had the first pick in a league with my friends. I took Steve Young. He played two and a half games before a concussion ended his career. Right then and there, I knew this was the greatest asset to enjoying the NFL.

Two years later, I recall doing a “blog but not really a blog” weekly wrap-up of each fantasy game. It was a terrific seasonal project that catered to exactly eight people. Okay, seven. One of the girls wasn’t really that into it. I used pictures and tables and probably the blink HTML tag, because kids in college who didn’t drink used the fucking blink tag. That was their demon drink.

As college ended and my pseudo career in Professional Sports Internet Commenting took off like an NHRA funny car, I began receiving more and more invites to fantasy leagues than one could handle. It was so intense, during my previous life as a Professional Newspaper Computer Show-How-To-User, I had a fantasy draft on the same evening as their big software conversion go-live day, and I cleared it with their personnel to make sure I had a couple hours to myself to sit behind my laptop and guess at which running backs would not get torn ACLs that season.

Then last year, I was in a league with one of my co-workers and his friends. I never showed up for the draft. I never made a roster change. I never even knew who I had on my team. I don’t even know how I finished.

It was probably then that I realized I was playing fantasy sports for the wrong reason: I was just in it to create hilarious* team names. That’s no validation at all.

(* – Hilarious to me. Kilroy Waz-Zahir.)

So I hereby announce my retirement from fantasy football. I have no use for it anymore. Maybe it’s all the conversations I have with people who tell me all the fantasy players they traded for. Those are about as interesting and useful as hearing about a dream someone you barely know had. (”And then I went to this Italian restaurant, but Maurice Jones-Drew was there, and I don’t know why he was there, because I didn’t draft him in three years … and then I don’t know what happened, but later we were on an aircraft carrier…”) But to enjoy fantasy football to the fullest, you have to be one of those guys that talks about their team all the time like it’s something tangible. And ESPN will cater to that reality by having Drew Brees appear in fantasy football commercials. It’s all too weird now.

Also, because I am retiring from fantasy football, based on recent events, I reserve the right to recant on this retirement at a moment’s notice. Perhaps as soon as next week.

Best $8 I Ever Spent

Seriously, this picture is like porn to me. Without question, the 2006 ALCS walk off home run by Magglio Ordoñez is the most pristine sports memory I’ve ever had. At least until this next postseason.

This is my weakness, world. There are so many ways you could enslave me, render me penniless, and get me to do unspeakable acts that would make your children tremble for years. That was a fantastic home run. And I had no idea I’d be thinking about it when I went to Bed Bath & Beyond today.

Now, men only go to Bed Bath & Beyond with two people: your mother or your girlfriend/wife. If they walk into the store on their own free will, it is always an honest mistake, or that’s where the nearest bathroom is.

Sure enough, I was there with the girlfriend this afternoon, as she needed some kind of olive squeezer, or olive oil container, or something to do with freaking olives. I was just kind of mindlessly wandering through the aisles, waiting for it to be over. Every once in a while, they put a display of sportsy things like U. of M towels or cornhole sets, which I have to say is rather nice of BB&B to throw a bone to the men, so they have something to look at.

We kept walking. Suddenly a mound of Tigers crap showed up. There it was, hanging on the pole:

Yes, what you happen to see before you is a battery-powered bottle opener that, when used, plays a radio recording of Magglio Ordoñez’s 3-run* walk-off home run in Game 4 of the 2006 ALCS against the Oakland A’s off Huston Street to win 6-3.

* – For the longest time, I re-remembered this home run as a grand slam. I think it’s because I confuse the number of baserunners with Jason Grilli’s almost disastrous eighth inning where he walked three straight batters.

Do I even need a bottle opener? Probably not. Any bottles I buy contain non-alcoholic drinks, and they’re always twistoff. By all rational accounts, this was a frivolous purchase. But rational thinking can go to hell. This was — and I hope I’m not using hyperbole here — the best purchase I, or perhaps anyone in the world, has ever made. (A claim previously held by William H. Seward.)

So, if you need anything opened, I will gladly drive 30 minutes out of my way to provide this service for you, for the low introductory price of 75 cents.

Someone Think Up A New Baseball Stat

(Warning: Finishing this post is an automatic two hole punches on your Baseball Geek Card.)

Math is fun. (Damental.) And sports are fun too. Like peanut butter into one’s chocolate, or however the story goes, baseball statistics are like a mosquito bite. Sometimes scratching them is pointless, but sometimes it’s a sign to get the hell out of the forest before you catch malaria.

For instance, last night I noticed that Mike Lowell hit two home runs against the Tigers, and he didn’t even start the game. What’s more, he entered the game as a replacement for the helmet-throwin’ Zimmer-impersonatin’ Kevin Youkilis after he got plunked. That means he was a pinch runner. And only two other guys in history — the last being 30 years ago, and neither players you’ve probably heard of — hit two home runs coming into the game as a pinch runner. Thanks, B-R PI!

Clearly, that’s not a useful factoid. But the Moneyball generation of number-crunching general managers do understand the usefulness of them. New stats get invented all the time. (And soon, a ton will be invented.)

But here’s one I’d like to see. It’d be a more detailed ERA. Earned run average can be deceptive, as can WHIP, because hits aren’t always the pitcher’s fault. Likewise, when a pitcher gives up eight runs in four innings, that’s a bad start. But is it worse to do that against the Rangers or, say, the Padres? Is it better for a pitcher to allow a home run to Albert Pujols or, um, Scott Podsednik?

As I type this, I probably realize that someone out there has already come up with adjusted ERA and WHIP numbers that account for better/worse players and teams. Perhaps not, but I just thought of this on my couch, so I can’t be the first. But consider this a suggestion to those out there with access to databases of baseball numbers and the ability to weave baskets of geeky bliss. Maybe it’ll be useful for GMs (they could determine big game pitchers, guys who get the outs they should), or maybe it’ll just be another crazy mosquito that guys like us can scratch when determining Cy Young candidates.

The NIMBYness of Extra Inning Games

There have been some fantastic extra inning affairs this week. Alfonso Soriano walked off in the 15th with a grand slam for the Cubs on Monday. Tuesday saw an Oakland/Boston game that was rather wacky. Last night had the Dodgers and Cardinals last 15 sassy innings (and look, Jeff Weaver!) before Albert Pujols blasted the winning hit over the centerfielder’s head.

All those were great games. Because none of the six teams are mine.

New theory time. Extra innings are only great games when it’s not your team out there. A few weeks ago, when it took the Tigers 16 innings to beat Minnesota, it was a great game to me insofar that Detroit won it, but holy cow did it screw up the bullpen. It always does. Until the next day off, everyone’s just a little slower.

Back in 2003, when I wasn’t all that vested in the Tigers (but, jeez, who was?), but I did see a 17-inning game that went from a Roger Clemens vs. Jeremy Bonderman matchup to a David Wells vs. Steve Sparks affair. It was a thing of beauty to see eight innings of that knuckleball on a day when he should’ve been resting for his next loss. Since the Tigers lost that game (I know!), it would’ve been terrible if they were contending. Fortunately, with 118 other losses that season, it was pretty easy to take.

So here’s to you, Extra Inning Games. May I recommend every other city except Detroit?

Everyone’s A McTective

Steve McNair was murdered. That’s about as much as anyone knows about this sordid mess. As for the girl, Sahel Kazemi, found shot in the head next to him, it’s anyone’s guess. Actually, it seems more and more likely that the gunshot wounds came from her gun, and the dots, connected in a perfect linear fashion, will probably reveal that Kazemi was the one who pulled the trigger.

When it comes to alternative theories, Spencer Hall found some more speculative bloggers, but they aren’t the only ones. In the early stages of the investigation — this is going to sound terrible — but I really had hoped it wasn’t as open-and-shut as that. Maybe it’s my terrible fascination with Law & Order, but a murder-suicide just leaves so many unanswered questions.

If the killer was still alive and at-large, obviously that would be more dangerous. But the capacity to discover so much more about McNair’s relationship with this woman would be alive. And I hope I’m not the only one in this line of thinking. It’s definitely a selfish reason to want the killer to be someone else. It would mean a whole new flurry of blog posts, which benefits me.

But like so many other tragedies in life, not everything has an answer. No city’s police department is without their multitude of cold cases and crimes left unsolved.

I will know for sure who broke into my apartment last year. But, damn, I would sure like to decisively know who, and how, and why. It would even be an excellent hour of television.

We knew so much about McNair’s football career. The league probably has every down he’s played on film somewhere; probably even with multiple angles. And that’s about it.

So perhaps in lieu of having answers, we want to make up our own. Those of us with blogs, soapboxes, and other platforms will want to share those theories. Personally I’m fairly certain it was the guy who carbombed Adrian Monk’s wife. Look between the lines, there are similarities.

Buzz Bissinger Converts Me

My first cognitive encounter with Buzz Bissinger might’ve been yours too. Or maybe yours was years before mine. Or maybe it’s today, reading this blog post.

About a year ago, on Costas Now, Bissinger made Internet and Deadspin lore when he took all the saliva in his being and sprayed it on the visage and ideology of one Will Leitch, the face of the blog, an invention hellbent on destroying journalism. He was villified on Deadspin. He was crucified. What else do you do with heretics? What’s that Spanish Inquisition invention where you enclose someone in an up-right coffin that has spikes bolted inside of the door? Deadspin readers and commenters did that to him too. And, as we all know, mob thought is never incorrect!

Of course, I talk as if I wasn’t a small part of the collective. He embodied the grumpy old man stereotype that scorned bloggers with chips on their shoulders (that weren’t remnants of an entire bag of Doritos they ate earlier that day) had such contempt for, because they represented the old, stale way of doing things. Now bloggers had their martyr, much like Joe The Plumber was derided for being the outdated average American and Steve Bartman was the face of the Cubs’ playoff collapse.

The best thing Bissinger could have done, I thought, was never speak of it again. Of course, he did the exact opposite, which in turn made my advice look horrible. He kept talking about it. More to the point, he just kept talking while being visible to the very demographic to which he cannot relate, and vice versa.

Today he was on The Deadshow With Drew Magary* and after listening to the entire episode, I found a man with extremely valid and useful perspective on sports and journalism. If you would have bleeped out the parts talking about his Costas Now appearance, and I would have forgotten his voice (a daunting task), I would have said, “Wow, now THIS is a guy the Internet needs more of!”

Slowly but surely, I’m starting to come around to this guy. Fine, here it is. I like Buzz Bissinger. I respect him and I agree with him. He doesn’t hate the medium, he hates the majority of shit that results from the medium. Without reheating the entire debate, what really seemed to be a pattern among all bloggers was a general threat to their Wordpress-powered manhood. This guy with a Pulitzer doesn’t like me or what I do! Well, that’s why newspapers are dying.

A lot of bloggers have some extremely thin skin. It’s probably because most bloggers are coming right out of college or haven’t done all that much journalism work in the past. They’re not used to generic criticism. But some of what Bissinger has been saying all along makes perfect sense.

Damn, he’s good. How did he convert me like that, with his reason and charm and that sexy smile?

* – Not the actual name, but one I like better.

On Condition Of Anonymity

When I heard that Sammy Sosa had tested positive for steroids, I thought to myself, “oh, that’s a shame.” I then thought, “well, who would have told anybody that?”

Seriously. Someone has to tell the reporter these things. They don’t just dig up the documents and report. They use sources, and they keep them secret. Because that’s the way that America works. Freedom of the press, long live the written word, and don’t try to censor me! (Or something like that.)

I Apple-F’d the phrase, and sure enough there it was [emphasis on the phrase]:

The lawyers who had knowledge of Sosa’s inclusion on the 2003 list did not know the substance for which Sosa tested positive. They spoke on condition of anonymity because they did not want to be identified as discussing material that is sealed by a court order.

Why, hey, that’s the title of this blog post! SPOOKY!

Before we go any further, I absolutely understand the need to use sources to break important stories. Watergate wouldn’t have been a landmark victory for the Washington Post had it not been for W. Mark Felt, the anonymous source which gave some useful information to Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein. That’s great. Protecting sources is wonderful.

Now, obviously saying “Sammy Sosa did steroids!” isn’t anything remotely cataclysmic as Watergate, nor do I mean to compare the two to diminish the impact or the importance of it. And I’m not faulting the New York Times reporters for using anonymous sources, and I’m not asking them to divulge who they are.

Having qualified all that … who hell keeps putting this information out there?

Seriously, we see this phrase all the time in sports when talking about a potential trade, free agency signing, or whatever the hell is on an athlete’s mind. Every day it seems a person “with knowledge of the situation” or “familiar with the proceedings” is babbling onto a reporter that such-and-such wants a trade to Chicago, or whats-his-face is unhappy with the manager getting fired. Every damn day!

Here’s another one before the Sosa story came out. Donovan McNabb got a $5.3 million raise in his salary as a result of restructuring his contract, according to “a person familiar with the negotiations.” Ah, no big deal. McNabb and his agent talked about it the next day.

And there will be another example tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. But not the following day, because that’s Father’s Day, their day off.

These anonymous sources give the impression that these sports journalists have these inside sources, and they’re providing us SECRET INFORMATION THAT WE SHOULDN’T KNOW! And if “the man” found out who the leak was, he’d kick him to the curb like Norm McDonald and Artie Lange in Dirty Work. (And yes, Lange would just kinda walk off slightly annoyed instead of getting thrown out.)

The problem as I see it is that anonymous sources in sports journalism is becoming the standard, and business as usual. Anonymity adds to the intrigue of sport, which generates interest in the general public, and wedges a 5-11 football team into the news cycle during, say, the playoffs when they have no business being mentioned while great teams duke it out in the conference finals. Their star linebacker wants more money? How fascinating! By the way, who do you have in the Super Bowl?

This brings us to the Sammy Sosa story. An anonymous source, used in this case study, suddenly becomes a pretty big deal. The list of people who used steroids in 2003 was promised by the union to be a sealed document, and clearly it’s not, because we know Alex Rodriguez and now Sosa were on that list. How do we know? Anonymous freakin’ sources, of course. But no big deal! An anonymous source told us that LeBron James would named the MVP a few hours before it was formally announced. No harm done!

Would someone really have gotten in deep trouble had they leaked the LeBron MVP announcement? Here, let’s try this. If you leaked that announcement to the press, speak up. Tell me it was you, and let me announce you were the one who did it. Are you afraid you’ll get in trouble? Did you get in trouble? Or did the anticipation of the formal announcement make the leak that much more valuable?

I’m guessing the latter, because it’s not nearly as SCANDALOUS OR MYSTERIOUS if teams published those rumors on their own official web site. That’d give away the entire allure around everyday anonymous sourcing. And it’s not fair to say “Helen from accounts receivable heard that the general manager is getting a raise,” because of Helen from accounts receivable keeps dishing the tidbits out to Ken Rosenthal, then everyone will want to talk to Helen from accounts receivable, and then she’ll have to deny interviews, and then someone close to Helen from accounts receivable who wishes to remain anonymous will have to start leaking the news.

According to someone with knowledge of the situation, there will be a great promotion at the ballpark on Tuesday. I don’t know what, they wouldn’t tell me. You totally have to buy a ticket and find out!

It wouldn’t surprise me if teams kept on the payroll a secret Clarence Beaks-style employee whose sole purpose was to “leak” information to reporters, thereby getting controlled information to masquerade as hot, juicy news leads.

Now Where Will Cecil Fielder Live?

This is probably as good a time as any to admit that I never got to see a game in Tiger Stadium. But just look at that place. Isn’t it beautiful? It’ll obviously never be seen like that again, unless someone carves it out of butter or spam.

It’s been ten years since the last season on Michigan and Trumbull, and the stadium is only partially torn down. A conservationist group had been lobbying to convert the rest of the stadium into a museum.

Great idea, right? Well, you must’ve been the one who voted against the other seven, who are in favor of tearin’ that bitch DOWN.

That’s too bad, really. But then again, look at the old Yankee Stadium, built in 1923. It’s comin’ down. Memorial Stadium in Baltimore was demolished. Fenway Park and Wrigley Field, at some point, will not stand anymore. The Tower of Babel? Termites. Dr. Wily’s numerous castles? They don’t even exist anymore. (Well, they never did. Those were video games.)

But it sure seems odd that the city really wants this ballpark to come down, just because nobody is using it anymore. Heck, if that’s the criteria for demolition, half of Detroit would be leveled. So I think maybe we should think twice before we..

..wait, the Lions used to play in Tiger Stadium? BURN IT! BURN IT TO THE GROUND!

About This Brandon Marshall Story

Outside The Lines is generally a very well done show that peruses sports stories that don’t involve Xs and Os, or who to add on your fantasy roster, or why LeBron James doesn’t shake anyone’s hand after games and how that’s DISRESPECT, y’all. No, they actually cover stories that they perceive to be slightly more important, if not of the human interest variety, and that’s pretty much what they execute.

But in a recent one that ran on SportsCenter in its entirety, OTC took a gander at Brandon Marshall’s history with his former lover. It looks like the Broncos wide receiver routinely abused and physically fought with his then-girlfriend Rasheedah Watley. This is, obviously, a terrible thing to do, and nobody would probably argue otherwise.

Here’s the problem.

We have a woman trying to get her life back together, parents demanding justice, and conflicting police reports where basically Watley and Marshall kind of say, “the other one started it!” It’s a classic he said/she said situation. It would belong on Maury if it wasn’t done in the OTL style of research, questioning, and obtainment of police reports. But in its irreducible form, it’s still a boyfriend and girlfriend who stayed with each other too long, resulting in hardship and fingernail scratches for everyone.

Here’s the climax of the series of altercations:

March 26, 2007: Police in Douglas County, Colo., arrested Marshall for false imprisonment and domestic violence. Watley told “Outside the Lines” she was assaulted by Marshall a day earlier at Marshall’s suburban Denver home — she never reported that incident to police — and that she was attempting to fly back to Atlanta to get away from Marshall. Watley told police she and Marshall argued at the Denver airport and that she later agreed to return to Marshall’s home. Watley told police when she attempted to leave Marshall’s home a second time, Marshall followed her taxi and, at one point, blocked its path with his Dodge Charger, leapt from his car and punched the taxi cab’s windows. When contacted by “Outside the Lines,” the cab driver confirmed Watley’s version of events. Marshall denied punching the taxi cab’s windows and later told police he was only trying to retrieve his cell phone, which he said Watley had taken from him.

Almost every other incident, including a knife wound, ended with “No charges were filed.” I mean, there was a whole another year’s worth of arguments and police calls before it looks like they finally stopped having contact with each other. I can only imagine if OTL documented all the petty, unnecessary arguments I had with my ex-girlfriends.

It’s good to see they’re not still together, because that would be a terrible ending, unless of course it was a story about persevering through adversity and how one gave the other a kidney. But no, it’s just a high school sweetheart courtship gone sour through the journey of life.

It was also, how shall we say, very one-sided. Is it possible that Watley is a wonderful human being inside and out, and Marshall is just a satchel of feces? Yes, it’s possible. But the report was so one-sided, I wasn’t informed otherwise.

Now all I need is an investigative reporter to give me a timeline of how an investigative report goes from the boardroom, to the field, to the cutting room, and finally to the screen, so that viewers can find the exact moment in the process the reporters realized the story was going nowhere.

Weekend The One You’re With

Okay, I totally appreciate every soldier that protects our freedoms daily, hourly, and every other measurement of time, but Memorial Day really kind of punched this week in the face beyond recognition. When I got back home Tuesday night, the next day felt like it was July 17. That’s how discombobulated I was. I never realized how annoying short weeks could be when you don’t actually work. God, I can’t wait for Monday.

So here’s where the gettin’ was goin’ on elsewhere in the Suss-o-sphere:

Blogcritics — I fixed the problem in Yankee Stadium regarding all those home runs. And it doesn’t even involve demoting A.J. Burnett.

Actually, that’s pretty much all else that happened today. Not even getting a job happened. Somebody should do something about that.

Oh, Yippee! Sports’ Puck Daddy will start live blogging of the Stanley Cup finals tomorrow, and I shall be a part of it. So go witness that.