A Day In the Fantasy Life....

[DOUGHBOYS]

He stared at Josh Harrison's stats. .175/11/2/6/0. Remembering how proud he was to take him in the ninth round of the Main Event.
Harrison lasting till the ninth round was a steal!
Or so, he thought.
He pictured Harrison as a sparkplug. A guy at the top of the Pittsburgh lineup that would set a very potent offense in motion.
Still pictures of him didn't seem to contain the ball of energy that he had become last year.
Now, looking at the still photo that accompanied his statistics on a site page, his drafter thought he looked more like a convict.
By fantasy law, he could be tried for treason.
18 steals last year. Now, zero.
He's black fer crissakes, he thought to himself.
No steals, damn.

Harrison's drafter was white. Just turned 60 last year.
He was raised with the ideals that white folks stayed among white folks. Same for blacks.
His Dad was adament that both races could not mix. Anytime riots broke out in the 60's with black people marching or the marching turning to violence, his Dad would scream at the tv, "Let them rob, steal, and kill each other. Idiots!"
The racism passed down from generation to generation.
It wasn't called racism back then.
It was just the way it was.

His Dad called boxing, 'a sport taken over by black people.'
He did use the words 'Back people' preferring the 'N' word.
His son never liked that word.
When Cassius Clay fought Sonny Liston for the heavyweight Championship, his Dad thought that the world would be a better place if Liston won.
Liston was a huge black man. He stood like a tree. As strong as a black ox. And had the punch like that of a full bottle of Jack Daniels. Such a black man would be intimadating to his Dad in real life.
Now, somebody to root for.
He rooted for him because Cassius Clay was loud and obnoxious.
He was 'uppity'.
That was the word white people used for a black person that didn't know their place.
Cassius Clay did not know his place. He was a proud black man who did not say the things white people wanted to hear.
Clay was skinny. Liston will clobber him.
His Dad knew that Liston had taken just one round to pummel Floyd Patterson.
Should be the same for the uppity Clay.

His son was nine years old. Always with a ball in his hand. He started lisening to the Giants on radio when he was six years old.
His hero, Willie Mays.
His Dad was ok with Mays.
Mays said all the right things. So did Willie McCovey.
His Dad was resigned to the fact that blacks and Spanish were going to play his white sport.
"They let Robinson play, they can't turn the faucet off now"
But, that Juan Marichal should learn how to speak better English! "If they're going to come to America, they should speak the language like we do!"
His son idolized Mays, without hardly seeing him. Except for a few highlights that the sports on the news showed.
Russ Hodges, the play-by-play guy for the Giants seemed genuinely amazed by some of the things Mays did.
His son wished he were Willie Mays.
Not once did he ever think that about his own Dad.

His son watched some of Cassius Clay's highlights. He enjoyed the athleticism in Clay. He wasn't a bruiser like most heavyweights. He was fast.
If I could move like that, I'd brag too, he thought to himself.
Inwardly, not saying a word to friends or especially his Dad, he became a fan of Clay's.
He enjoyed the reactions that Cassius Clay would induce when bragging about how he would beat Liston.
He wished there was a baseball card of Cassius Clay.
Still, he worried that Clay would get killed.
Liston was a bad man. Even went to jail.

Championship fights were on radio back then. The Dad sent the wife out of the house to shop, or go to the library, or go out with the girls. He knew that a Championship fight, even if listened to on radio, was never a place for a woman.
He invited some friends over.
All rooting for the same outcome. Liston to knock Clay's block off and put him in his place.
The son, hoping for the miracle that Clay would escape with his life.
Winning for Clay?
Too much to ask.
His Dad asked others if they had heard what Henry Cooper, the English boxing Champ had said.
With answers in the negative, he told them that Cooper would only fight the winner if the winner were Clay. That Cooper wouldn't even walk down the same street as Liston.
They all laughed.
His son pictured parts of Clay all over the ring after Liston got done with him.

The fight started. His Dad and his friends started throwing air punches whenever the radio announcer would describe a Liston punch. As if to help Liston along. Not that he needed help.
The first round ended. Clay was alive.
He had already lasted longer than Floyd Patterson. Maybe he'd be ok.
The fight continued. The radio guy, like most, had started out convinced that Liston would kill Clay.
Now, after a couple of rounds, there was doubt that Liston was even hurting Clay.
In fact, it seemed like it was Clay who was using his speed to get the better of Liston.
The son pictured how Willie Mays could steal a base.
A slow, plodding Frank Howard was only a danger with a bat in his hands. On the bases, nothing.
The son envisioned Clay as Mays, Liston as Howard.
Liston could not come out for the seventh round. Clay had run him ragged. His quick rabbit punches having more effect than Liston's haymaking misses.

That's what we get for rooting for ANY black guy, his father and friends agreed.
They were confident that Clay would be Champ for a very short time. And that maybe a white fella, even that guy from England, should take advantage so there would be a white champion.
The son went to his room and turned on his own radio.
He wanted to hear more about the new Champ.

Now, now he looked at Josh Harrison's stats and picture.
He snickered.
His Dad would say that that is what he gets for rooting a black guy.
He had drafted Harrison because of dual positionality mainly. He already had a 3b, not many outfielders. When drafting him, he liked the thought that if there were injury or underperformance at either position, Harrison would be gold.
Funny thing about dual positionality guys is that when they get hurt or underperform, it hurts twice as much.
He can't drop Harrison.
But, he wants to.
Harrison has not looked at all like he did last year.
He, of that sparkplug personality. He, of the big smiles and exuberance in loving what he did.
Now, swinging as if disinterested.
His drafter allowed himself to think that maybe his Dad was right.
It was wrong, but it made him smile.

[DOUGHBOYS]

Matt Carpenter has been a Godsend for his drafters Main Event team. Have you ever had a player that you're actually surprised that he puts up an 4-0-0-0?
Carpenter is that guy.
Before the season, somebody said that he would clearly rather have Baez, the kid from Chicago over Carpenter.
He thought that to win a Main Event that chances need to be taken.
Maybe he was right about chances, but he was wrong about Carpenter.
Great hitter.
Take chances, sure. But, I like sure things better.

Now, I'm betting that Carpenter has something wrong with his physical heart. Not his heart to play the game.
All the signs are there.
Carpenter came out of the middle of the game with light-headedness.
Now, three games missed because of extreme fatigue.
Ball players don't get 'extreme fatigue'.
Extreme fatigue is code for we don't want to tell others what is really wrong for a weekend.

The drafter of Carpenter's grandpa had the same symptoms. Of course, his grandpa wasn't in the prime of his life like Carpenter.
His grandpa was the type of man that can spin stories. It didn't matter whether they were true or not.
As a matter of fact, the more unsure of stories veracity, the better the story.

He had told the story about playing on a sandlot. His team being down three runs, bases loaded, two outs. The situation every kid dreams about. And of course, it was his story, so he indeed hit a tremendous home run for a grand slam insuring his team a victory.
While jogging the bases after his victorious homer, a car pulled up alongside their field. A long black car. A car that none of the boys had ever seen before.
Out of the car stepped two men.
"That was quite a clout, Kid!"
"Thank you!"
"Say, can my friend and I hit you fellas a few fly balls?"
"Sure!"

They backed up. One of the fellas through the ball up with one hand, grabbed the bat with both hands and swung.
Crack!
The ball easily cleared every kids head by more than 100 feet.
"Guess you boys will have to move back a might!", shouted the other fella.
The boys were in awe.
They'd seen grown ups hit before. Never like this.
These balls were going so high and deep, that it was like catching a ball thrown from the top of the Empire State Building.

It didn't matter to the boys.
They just enjoyed seeing a baseball jump so far from each of these two men's bats.
And both were left handed. Hardly any of the kids on the sandlot were left handed.
They hit the ball so hard that the stitching on the ball started unraveling.
And a little later, they had literally torn the cover off the ball.
They waved the kids in.

"Hey fellas, wait here. We're going to the car to bring to get something for you kids.
They went to the car and disappeared inside. The kids almost expecting them to drive off.
They didn't.
They came back with a carton of new baseballs.
"Now, here is a new ball for each of you and here is a ticket to tonights ball game. We sure hope you come to see us."
They were tickets to the Yankees game.
One kid asked, "Who are you guys?"
"Well, I'm Babe Ruth and this is Lou Gehrig!"
"You fellas keep hitting like you're doing and someday, you'll be playing on our field!"
And with that, they drove away.

That wasn't the end of Grandpa's story though. He always had to have a boffo ending.
He told me that he went to his best friends house the next day. His friend had played on the sandlot that day.
When arriving at his house, he was hitting his new ball from the Babe and Lou up against an old barn.
Left handed.
"Hey, you're right handed! What are you doing?"
After seeing those two hit the ball like that yesterday, I decided that I am going to hit both ways.
ESPECIALLY LEFT-HANDED!"
Grandpa paused for effect, then continued with the last line of the story....
And you know what, it worked out pretty well for my friend Mickey Mantle!

I know now that there was no semblance of truth to that story.
It doesn't matter.
Yarns involving any baseball players had me captivated when I was a kid. Just the thought of meeting Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig was enough to occupy my mind for days.
There was no harm that the story was just a story.

Grandpa died of heart complications.
Matt Carpenter's condition made me think of him.
I'm so hoping I am wrong about Carpenter. Main Event team be damned, Carpenter plays the game better than most.
The game of baseball needs guys like Carpenter.
He is a 'taken for granted' type player. A player that fills the box score without being sexy.
Devoid of the power of a Baez or the speed of a Wong, he just hits.
Hopefully, the next update on him is that it was a minor complication that is easily fixable.
We would all be the better for it.

[headhunters]

i ended up with carpenter in my chicago auction. he came at a low price because he doesn't steal bases or hit a lot of homers. i get that- and it does limit his ceiling. But if you have some hr/rbi guys- you need some runs/ba guys and he really is a good hitter. AS SOON as i heard that- my heart sank. no way a guy his age has this happen from playing 25 games in a row. I am AMAZED - with all the fantasy writers out there that very little was said about this. GEE- wouldn't it be nice if a few of these guys actually investigated what could have caused this. Off the top of my head- blood clots and mono. if he has either- he is done for the year.

[Edwards Kings]

"Cardinals manager Mike Matheny reiterated on Saturday that he expects Matt Carpenter (fatigue) back in the lineup on Tuesday after Monday's off day.
Carpenter will miss the weekend series in Pittsburgh due what the club has referred to as "extreme fatigue." He's dealt with dizziness and an accelerated heart rate and also had trouble sleeping, but Carpenter has been put through a battery of tests and it's been determined that he doesn't have a cardiovascular issue or anything else. He's expected to be ready to roll in Cleveland on Tuesday."

You can never tell if there is even a grain of truth to these team reports, but you hope it was more viral/temporary than physiological/permanent. In our Main Event Dan, Carpenter stuck out on my draft notes (i.e. in my mind he had "slipped" to the point he screamed "Draft Me!") and at the 12/13 turn I knew I wanted a pitcher and a batter. I still did not have a catcher and Russell Martin was there and non-comical catcher options were getting thin. It came down to Martin or Carpenter and with Hosmer already on my team I went Martin. I KNEW it would hurt when somebody picked Carpenter and I KNEW he would not survive 28 more picks. He slipped by DiDonato, Vogel, Palavis, Pausma, but not Kenyon.

And yes. It hurt....

[headhunters]

of course you could have said- "i like carpenter and martin. i will pass on fiers and get colon in round 24, familia in round 29" -because you knew mejia was hurt and grilli in round 30- because you live in the atlanta area and you had been saying to yourself "self- why did we pick up 2 ex closers?" this guy is dumping everyone- why not kimbrel? coulda looked like einstein.

[Edwards Kings]

of course you could have said- "i like carpenter and martin. i will pass on fiers and get colon in round 24, familia in round 29" -because you knew mejia was hurt and grilli in round 30- because you live in the atlanta area and you had been saying to yourself "self- why did we pick up 2 ex closers?" this guy is dumping everyone- why not kimbrel? coulda looked like einstein.

More like Nostradamus. Fat Bart, not even on my radar. Familia maybe. Johnson, no because after his last year was certainly behind Grilli. Grilli, yes, but I honestly did not expect Kimbrel to be moved until at least the ASB.

[whale4evr]

"Dizziness, accelerated heart rate and trouble sleeping." Hope not, but this sounds like amphetamines or some such stimulant.