Hit by a Pitch

This screen shot is evidence of the ridiculous ass kicking I did this week in fantasy football. My team did many amazing things:

• Carson Palmer threw six touchdown passes, cured cancer, and replaced all crappy beer in America with tasty microbrews.
• Steve Smith scored three touchdowns, pulled all American troops out of Iraq, and completed his critical review of touchdown celebrations since the beginning of time and wrapped up filming of his three-part series, CNN Presents: God’s Touchdown Celebrations, which will air in the off season.
• Randy Moss, who continues to dominate (I told y’all!), scored two touchdowns and won the Nobel Prize for Literature for his novel, Moss Grows on Football.
• Antonio Gates, the best tight end in the NFL, did what he could for a team that played like ass and, after the game, found a couple kids at McDonald’s who have agreed to play wide receiver for the Chargers.
• The Bears defense and my boy Devin Hester kicked ass and sent Chicago-style pizza to everyone in the world who still eats that New York crap.

While we’re on the subject of things that are good, Jim Thome hit his 500th home run yesterday — the first-ever walkoff 500th, and he did this on Jim Thome bobblehead day, no less. I love that guy.

I doubt anybody is thinking about hoops today, but I’ve just received word that one of my favorite players ever is shipping out of Denver and on his way to the Sixers. The Nuggets are giving up Reggie Evans (and draft rights to Ricky Sanchez) and getting Steven Hunter and Bobby Jones.

I won’t try to argue that Reggie Evans is the key to the NBA championship or anything, but the Nuggets will miss him this year. He’s a great energy guy with an awesome attitude who pulls down more rebounds than anyone on the team but Marcus Camby (and the elusive and mysterious Kenyon Martin). A fellow Iowa peep, he’s been a favorite of mine ever since he kicked some serious ass during the 2001 Big 10 Tournament.

Then there was the time he grabbed Chris Kaman’s nuts. Denver, let us never forget.

We’ll miss you, big guy. Say “Hi” to Jose Mesa and Tadahito Iguchi while you’re in Philly. Why do they get all my favorites?

Yes!

Jim Thome just hit his 496th home run in the bottom of the 9th. The White Sox now trail the Twins 10-9.

Airfare?! Don’t talk about airfare. You kidding me? Airfare?

One of the great truths of the universe is that my love of John Madden is vast and powerful. I’ve loved John Madden ever since that one time that might have involved weed, Monday Night Football, and ordinary household objects being subjected to a stiffarm. To be fair, it’s not just John Madden — I love commentators who talk crazy shit and don’t always make sense. (See also Hawk Harrelson, my all-time favorite.)

Because I love John Madden, I was excited to hear about the Madden Tracker while watching the Saints/Colts game. I went right over to nbc.com and clicked on the Madden Tracker icon, and I’m so in love with this — it’s like geocaching for the lazy sports fan who doesn’t want to get off the couch, with a lovable sports goofball at the end.

Well, it’s not quite that exciting, but you do get to guess how long it will take Madden and his entourage to get from Indianapolis to Dallas. Oh man, that’s awesome — now I have good reason to plot out Madden’s trip through the middle of the country, taking into account food breaks and everything. I wonder where Madden eats when he’s on the road. Does he stop at a roadside diner and eat key lime pie? I don’t know, but I will carefully consider whether to allow time for dessert.

But wait a minute. The winner of the Madden Tracker game wins a VIP Sunday Night Football experience, which is awesome, right? You get two tickets to a game and, uh, airfare? Airfare? What? This doesn’t make sense.

I don’t know about you, but part of the reason I love Madden is that I am deathly afraid of flying and just don’t do it, period (I have flown before, but I don’t plan to ever do it again unless I’m heavily drugged and probably not even then). I about died the other week when he and Al were talking about hot-air balloons and Madden was saying that no, that didn’t look like fun at all. I hear you, buddy. I feel your air-travel pain, let me tell you.

I love the idea of winning the VIP SNF hookup, complete with a tour of the Madden Cruiser — I might die of awesome if I got a tour of the Madden Cruiser. It’s one of my favorite things, like, in the world. But man, I don’t want airfare. As awesome as the whole thing would be, it’s not going to get me on a plane any more than you’re ever going to get John Madden on a plane.

So the thing that makes me love John Madden will be the thing that keeps me away from John Madden. I hope if I do win, I’ll have the chance to let John know that it would be really sweet if he just brought that cruiser through Denver and picked me up for a trip to the game. How awesome would that be? I’d bring pie.

I do fantasy football like I do everything. At some point during the preseason, I think: Holy crap, fantasy football! and get really excited about it. I declare this as the year in which I will research and plan my team while avoiding the pitfalls of being guided by emotion. I read half of every Sports Illustrated article on fantasy football and numerous magazines, folded open to pages discussing the risks of the running-back-by-committee scheme, accumulate in the bathroom. I remember bits and pieces and names like Steven Jackson float around in my head, but I never develop a strategy. Like every appointment and date I ever have, I don’t keep track of when exactly the first game happens, but every once in a while, I think about how it’s really soon and I should prepare. I hear about leagues and it’s always too early and I’m not ready.

Before you can even say Tampa 2 it’s the night before the first real NFL game and I haven’t done jack shit to figure out my team or join a league. So I do what I always do. I surround myself with unread articles and unfinished research, drink several beers, gather the few lost souls who haven’t gotten their shit together yet either (there are three of us), show up in the espn.com live draft lobby to see what other slackers are ready for a live draft, and make a bunch of picks based on what little I’ve learned and my gut feeling, which has been known to make me pick a kicker first (I’m not kidding, but to be fair, that was the first time I ever played fantasy football and I was convinced that I would be stricken by the plague if I didn’t get Jason Elam).

So here I am. I’m on beer number two. I’ve poked my head into the live draft lobby a few times, but haven’t committed to anything yet. Soon. I’m almost ready, now that the White Sox have lost in extra innings and I have no other distractions.

Because I’m crazy, I’m going to share this journey with you. I think people refer to this as “live blogging,” but I think use of the word “blogging” should result in a punch to the face, so I won’t say that. I’ll just write a bunch of shit while I do my draft and drink beer. I’m sure I’ll hate myself in the morning.

___

Okay, we’re in the waiting room for a live draft that will begin in 2:30. Ten teams. I was #2 joining. Does that mean I pick second? If so, I’m assuming LT goes #1 and I’ll take Steven Jackson.

Round 1: I pick 5th. This means my knowledge of Steven Jackson will do me no good. I take Willie Parker because I don’t like the 49ers.

Round 2: Steve Smith is my fantasy football husband. We’ve been together for years.

Round 3: I go with a QB and take Carson Palmer.

Round 4: It’s too soon to take a tight end, but holy shit I want Antonio Gates because he’s freaking awesome.

Round 5: Brandon Jacobs is the new Tiki Barber, who was my fantasy football other man. This is not wise.

Round 6: I don’t care if it’s too early to take a defense. I need the Bears. I don’t care if nobody understands our love.

Round 7: Shit, Randy Moss is still here. Oh Randy. You’re probably going to break my heart, but I’ve been talking all kinds of shit for weeks about how you’re going to have an awesome year. I hate the Patriots, but okay, we can be together, just this once. Don’t tell anyone.

This is when I lose track and start talking shit to the other people drafting. Eventually I pick Devin Hester and then Garrett Wolfe. This is why I don’t win fantasy football — I get really excited about obscure picks and end up with a team so full of sleepers a kiss from an enchanted prince couldn’t wake them up to score enough points.

Kids, if you learn anything today, let it be this: Please, take fantasy football seriously and learn from my mistakes. If you don’t, you might end up with a roster that looks like this:

Travis Henry is your daddy:

QB: Carson Palmer, Matt Leinart, Jake Delhomme
RB: Willie Parker, Brandon Jacobs, Ladell Betts LenDale White (I meant to get Ladell Betts WTF), Reuben Droughns, Garrett Wolfe (!)
WR: Steve Smith (my fantasy football husband), Devin Hester, Randy Moss
TE: Antonio Gates, Dallas Clark
K: Robbie Gould
D/ST: Bears, Eagles