Reality Beats Fantasy

Last baseball season was the worst baseball season of my life.

Well, my fantasy life.

I’ve been playing this fantasy game since 1985.

And 2011 will definitely go down as the year of the loser.

I could blame it on injuries.

And there were plenty.

I could blame it on my co-owner.

It’s always his fault.

Or I could blame it on our miserable players.

Too many to count.

But the bottom line is we finished in last place.

Dead last place.

The first place team had 102 points.

We had 28.

Pathetic.

With a capital P.

How pathetic?

Let’s just say if we would’ve got three points for each of our one points.

We would’ve still finished in 6th.

That’s bad.

A lot of guys deserve the blame.

1 and 1A are the two owners.

But you can’t fire the owners.

So let’s blame the players.

Ubaldo Jimenez.

Sucked.

Carl Crawford.

Sucked more.

Adam Dunn.

The suckiest.

Every baseball team needs good pitching.

And fantasy teams are no different.

We really thought we had it coming in.

But none of our guys panned out.

Including Ryan Franklin.

When we drafted him, he was the closer for the St. Louis Cardinals.

When the season ended, the Cardinals were World Champs.

And Franklin.

He was out of baseball.

Released midway through the year for being awful.

How awful?

How about an 8.46 ERA?

That would get you kicked off your little league team.

We also drafted Fausto Carmona.

He was the Indians #1 pitcher.

Was.

Past tense.

On opening day he made it through all of three innings.

Giving up 11 hits and ten runs.

10 RUNS.

In just three innings.

Those numbers are so bad, Ryan Franklin even laughed.

Things got so bad for Carmona, he tried to change his name.

Tried.

He was arrested just two months ago in the Dominican Republic for using a false identity to obtain a U.S. Visa.

Now that’s a bad pitch.

And when you consider that Carmona is scheduled to make $7 million this year.

That’s just plain dumb.

But if they were to hand out a Cy Young Award for the dumbest move made by a pitcher off the field.

That award would have to go to John Lackey.

We drafted him too.

Through his first nine seasons, Lackey was as steady as they come.

A bunch of strikeouts.

A bunch of wins.

And a good ERA.

That’s why the Boston Red Sox signed him in the winter of 2009.

To a five-year deal.

Worth $82.5 million.

Guaranteed.

For that kinda cash, he should be curing cancer.

Instead he was spitting on it.

On the night of August 30th, John Lackey pitched seven innings for the Red Sox.

A game he lost 5-2.

But it was what Lackey did earlier that day that made the real headlines.

You see Lackey had had enough of his wife Krista.

And on August 30th, he officially filed for divorce.

Not the first person to do that.

Not the last either.

But when you consider that Lackey’s wife was five months removed from a double mastectomy.

And two months removed from chemotherapy.

And the baseball season was a month from being over.

John Lackey gets an F for timing.

Hey I’ve never met John Lackey.

And I never met Krista either.

Living with either of them could be a nightmare.

But there are some things you just don’t do.

And divorcing your wife when she is full of cancer is one of them.

Even George Lopez waited five years after his wife gave him her kidney before he dumped her.

I’m happy to report, thanks to Krista’s twitter account, that as of Feb 20, she is cancer free.

A long stretch from November when the disease had reappeared in 12 of her lymph nodes.

As for John, he’s not doing as well.

You see, just three weeks after the season ended, we learned that he has an arm injury.

An injury that needed surgery.

A surgery that will keep him off the field in 2012.

Maybe more.

From where I'm sitting, this doesn't even come close to evening the score.

But maybe someday John will learn that you might be able to beat the Yankees.

But you will never beat karma.

Playing Hooky

Wednesday marks the end of baseball’s regular season.

And the end of the worst fantasy baseball season I’ve ever had.

Considering I’ve been playing that make believe sport since 1987, that’s saying something.

But as much as I love the fantasy game, there’s nothing like going to a real one.

Our local team wrapped up its home schedule last week with one of those mid-week afternoon delights.

So I did what any good father would do.

I took my son out of school at 11 in the morning.

And we headed to the stadium.

When my son saw me waiting at the front desk, he thought for sure he’d been busted.

For what, he didn’t know.

But the last thing he expected to hear out of my mouth was...

“Do you want to go to the game today?”

You should’ve seen the smile on his face.

It was like I had asked him if he wanted to leave school early to go to a baseball game.

I knew he had a science test in the morning, so before we left I asked how he did.

“104%”, he said.

What?

Does he think I was born yesterday?

Percents only goes up to 100.

Before I could complain to the principal.

My son informed me he got the extra 4% for a bonus question.

Must be the new math.

So off to the game we went.

To say my son was excited about the day’s developments would be an understatement.

104% on his science test.

And now this.

On the way to the game I shared a story with my son that my dad had shared with me when I was around 12.

It went a little something like this.

My dad was raised in Jersey City, New Jersey.

A stone’s throw from New York City.

One beautiful spring day.

“The first beautiful day of the year.”

My dad and his buddies were walking to school.

As they got closer, one of the boys had a brilliant idea.

“Today is way too beautiful to go to school.  How ‘bout we play hooky and go to the Yankees game?”

What boy could say no to that?

So they zigged instead of zagging.

And headed towards the train station.

As the story goes, on their way there they ran into their teacher.

It was pretty obvious these boys were not headed to school.

But away from it.

So when the teacher said, “where are you going?”

The answer “school” wasn’t really an option.

So they took the leap of faith.

And told him the truth.

The teacher took a long pause.

Then said, “would you mind if I went with you?”

SAY HEY WHAT?

And off they went.

My dad said he treated them like kings.

Bought them peanuts.

AND cracker jacks.

Of course, everyone was sworn to secrecy.

Which my dad honored.

Until the time was right to share it with me.

I think my son loved that story as much as I did.

For our day of hooky, we got to the stadium more than an hour before the first pitch.

Unheard of for me.

But a perfect time to get him some autographs.

We worked our way down to the first base area where the home team comes out to the field.

And we waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

There must’ve been 372 people just like us.

Waiting for autographs.

Finally 31 minutes before the game, a handful of players came out to do their stretching.

May not have been all starting nine.

But there were at least seven.

Including the hot shot center-fielder who was greeted by a rousing cheer.

A cheer he didn’t even acknowledge.

Maybe he had his iPod in.

The multi-gazillionaire infielder followed him.

Now I realize that every second is precious.

But this was “fan appreciation day”.

I’m sure you could find a few seconds to make the day of a 12-year-old.

Even if it wasn’t my 12-year-old.

After all, you make 17 cents every second.

$10.46 a minute.

$627 an hour.

$15,068 a day.

$105,769 a week.

All guaranteed, whether he gives 104% or not.

He got on the field at 12:39.

Left at 12:57.

Never said a word.

Never looked our way.

“Did he sign an autograph?”, you say.

HA!

And neither did any of his teammates.


Not a one.


Sure my son was disappointed.

But nothing a footlong hot dog couldn’t cure.

I said “when you make the major leagues I hope you don’t forget how you feel right now.”

“I hope so too,” he said.

For the next three hours we sat in a baseball stadium.

And enjoyed every pitch.

And every hit.

It was a perfect day.

And a perfect game.

Maybe someday he will share this story with his son.

Next!

Hello Friends...

Sorry for the few days off from blogging.   

It might make a little more sense in 686 words.   The good news is, I’ve got plenty of time now to share the new stories of my life.

Sir Bacon

I’ve seen a lot of wild days come and go.

The day I threw my five iron after my tee shot and hit a friend in the head.

The day I witnessed a bank robbery.

The day I made seven errors in one high school baseball game.

And then wrote the article in the school newspaper. 

Of course, with no mention of the seven errors.

But Friday could be the weirdest of them all.

I woke up in my new home of Manhattan.

Checked my email, as I always did, before heading to work.

And it is a good thing I did.

There was a bunch of junk mail, as there always is.

But there was one email that stood out.

It was from my work.

Telling me to come in for a meeting.

Four hours later I was on a plane headed home to be with my family.

I probably left out a few details.

Sorry.

As you might imagine, the story is A LOT more complex than that, but in the spirit of the blog, that’s all you are going to get.

Suffice to say, plans to move to the big apple have hit a detour.

Actually, a roadblock.

A New York sized pot hole.

Take your pick.

Life is nothing if not complicated... and confusing.

But the news is not all bad and in many ways it is not bad at all.

Regrets are a giant waste of time and I have none.

Or at least none to share.

The last two plus months have been amazing.   

I never realized just how great New York is.

But I do now.

I have absolutely no idea what the future holds and I probably won’t know until my head stops spinning.

Whenever that is.

But as I sat on a plane writing the latest chapter of my life, there were at least 4,398,729 thoughts going through my skull.

Most of which surrounded my family.

They had just finished up an 11-day trip to Manhattan preparing for their new life.

So much for those plans.

But hey, we still got plans.

Big plans.

We got some incredible news just a few days ago when my 13-year old daughter was invited to be part of a dance troop.

A dance troop that will be dancing in EUROPE.

Yes, that Europe.

Only eight girls were invited.

That trip will take place the same time my 11-year old son is playing in a week-long baseball tournament.

A tournament in Cooperstown, New York.

Yes, that Cooperstown.

My life has certainly been a roller-coaster ride for the last few years.

But that ride keeps landing in the same place.

Family.

No matter how many twists and turns life has provided, and there have been MANY, my wife and kids have always been my rock.

My rock, even while living in a hard place.

I can’t say -- both literally and figuratively -- what’s next in my life.

But I can say, without ANY hesitation, that celebrating the accomplishments of my children is where I plan on using my energy.

That and band practice.

Me and the boys played for four hours on Sunday.

We are back in the garage tonight.

I think somebody is telling me that’s where I need to be.

How do I know?

Well, during my flight home I was listening to the airline’s music channel.

And so far four of the nine songs our band plays have come on the channel.

And we don’t dare cover The Beatles.

I’m talking Marshall Crenshaw’s Someday Someway.

Not exactly the Billboard 1000.

I’m not trying to say that just because we are 30,000 feet in the air the signal to the big decider in the sky is more clear.

I’m just sayin.

I’ve spent most of my life under the guidelines of... things happen for a reason.

So don’t stop now.

Come on --- I’m sitting on a plane and Marshall Crenshaw’s Someday, Someway comes on.

28 years after it his #36 on the charts.

Really?

I think I’m in good hands.

Next.

P.S.   Thanks to all for your wonderful comments.   

As you might imagine, there are a lot of emotions attached to the latest chapter of my life, but as the t-shirt says, Life is Good.

As always, I welcome your correspondence.   If you feel the urge, please feel free to contact me via email at sirbacon123@yahoo.com.

Have a great day.