The moment I wake up
Before I put on my makeup
I say a little prayer for you
While combing my hair, now
And wonder what thong to wear, now
I say a little prayer for you

Forever, forever, Domonic, you’ll stay in my heart
And I will love you
Forever, and ever, we never will part
Oh, how I’ll love you
Together, together, that’s how it must be
To live without you
Would only mean heartbreak for me

Greetings!!! Tis I, Beddict the blessed, back up in that a** like a boomerang, and I’m not talkin Eddie Murphy. You know the thrown tool, typically constructed as a flat aerofoil, that is designed to spin about an axis perpendicular to the direction of its flight? We’re already off-track here! It’s been a rough couple weeks for your dear, dear, dear, most dearest friend Beddict, for not only has he been given the cold shoulder by Razzball Radio/TV, but he’s been c*ckblocked from writing for basketball next season. I’ll be making a televised announcement on where I’m taking my talents this Friday and “The Decision” may shock you. [Jay’s Note: Uh, Football Razzball?] Guru is hosting, it and will be naked. You won’t notice, for his body is 100 percent covered in tattoos. Anyway, you’re not here to listen to my whine and moan, you’re here for Disgrace/Delight!! Let’s bang this out like a meth’d out stripper!

Bryce HarperTha God is back!!! If you’re new to Beddict(me) then there’s a chance you missed THIS outstanding column from the pre-season. Read it and weep, for Bryce is our savior. Praise him.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Boy let me show ya how to make that trade
How to spend that money how to win your league and get paid
Girl let me show how to hit that wire quick
How to get that d!ck, don’t give back lip
Go head do what you do make it work for ya!

Beddict  don’t play when it comes to money
I guess that’s why I’m okay when it comes to money

Hit Jay on the hip Guru on the celly
Rudy call Grey, I get ‘em for the R.Kelly
That’s seventeen a chicken, you know Beddict tha bird man
Citizens Bank Park, Philadelphia. I know the Byrd gang

Please, blog, may I have some more?

It’s been said you give away a piece of your soul every time you are photographed. That explains a great deal about me, does it not? Yes, it’s true, being a mankini model has soul f*cked me in ways you people, with your regular jobs, would never begin to understand. It has opened my eyes to great deal of topics that I literally have no choice but to write about (my therapist demands it), and Razzball.com is my outlet. Oh I suppose I could write about these other topics in a locked diary, or even start a blog that nobody reads, and I forget about in a few weeks (like half the female population I know) but truth be told, I’m almost too lazy to write one piece a week, let alone multiple, so basically I need to get out everything that’s on my mind in my disgrace/delight column. Why do I bring this up? Only because there’s a select group of you don’t want to read anything that doesn’t pertain specifically to baseball, or even more specifically, fantasy baseball. Well congrats guys and gals! Cuz that’s all we’re talking about this week. You did it!!! Without your hate, I would be unable to completely eradicate my soul, which is necessary for me to flourish spiritually. I’ve said enough, but enjoy this for it twill happen not happen again, I assure you.

P.S. I miss the hateful commentary that used to frequent this column. Not having it has begun to make me softer than a bloated up carcass someone dropped in a lake. Don’t get it twisted though; Beddict can still take it 0-100, REAL QUICK, so if you want to do battle, sho nuff you better come correct. Let’s get down to it. This is Disgrace/Delight!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

What up blood! What up cuz! What up Gaaaaangstas (Turn this up)!!!  They say I walk around like I got an ‘S’ on my chest. Nah, that’s a keyboard and a cashmere sweater vest on my chest. Greetings! Tis I, Tehol Beddict, internet-thug extraordinaire, returning to you from a much needed creative sabbatical. I can’t truly explain my absence last week. Yes, I was experiencing the kind of migraine headaches I imagine  Christian Slater receiving when he thinks about his career path, for a couple days, but there was something more, something deeper. The creative juices simply weren’t flowing, as I felt like Macaulay Culkin after he made Getting Even With Dad. Where do I go from here? Have I peaked? Do I have anything left to give this world? Has Domonic Brown soul f*cked me to the point there’s nothing left of me but a dried up, useless corpse? My chicken, the normally loving and playful Beatrice, that you see pictured, wouldn’t even look me in eye! The Elder Gods, whom have guided me to countless fantasy championships, had seemingly abandoned me. As I laid naked, curled up in a ball on my polar bear rug, bawling my eyes out, all seemed lost.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Game-of-Thrones-Season-4-Episode-7-Tyrion-Bronn

“I’d be a bloody fool if he didn’t frighten me. He’s freakish big and freakish strong. And quicker than you’d expect for a man of that size.”

Edwin Encarnacion is known for his size, bat speed, and his Herculean power. Sir Edwin is tall (he is 6’2″, so I guess not that tall). He possesses massive shoulders and arms thick as the trunk of small trees. Edwin weighs over twenty stone (230 lbs), practically all of it muscle, making him near in-humanly strong. Encarnacion’s strength allows him to wield a bat so humongous, it would make Greg Oden’s wang look like a thumb tack, giving him enormous reach, making him all the more lethal with his eagle-eye vision. Such is the power of Sir Edwin’s strength, that he has been known to literally obliterate baseballs upon contact with just a single blow.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Guess who’s bizack? The boy T.B. Mizack, a.k.a. Mr. snatch-a-trick! Greetings and salutations, ya’ll! I can’t begin to imagine the devastation you felt not having a post from yours truly last week. I envision you feeling so powerless, so weak. Were you forced to scroll through sports websites, that, for some God’s forsaken reason, still use mother effing slide shows? That’s all inconsequential now, for I, Tehol Beddict, am back.

Now, you all may also be wondering about my absence on Razzball Radio this week, and for that, my excuse is anything but true. If you’ve been reading my posts for the past year or so, you know about my vast amount of various charities. Two weeks ago, I led an expedition to the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro, bringing along all the children of a nearby orphanage I fund. Soon after we heroically reached the mountaintop, I decided there was no better time for a photo opp, to bring some much needed notoriety to the needs of the children of Tanzania, and possibly re-establish my floundering modeling career. What a grave error in judgement this turned out to be, as I took one faulty step, tripped on a rock, and tumbled 400 yards down the mountain side. If not for a local Tanzanian explorer deterring my continued slide, I would not be typing this to you now, nor typing to you ever again for that matter, for I’d be deader than Neve Cambell’s career. I owe my new friend, Ambakisye, a great deal of gratitude, for he saved my life, keeping hope alive, that one day I will be a world famous writer.

My nose was badly broken, so I’ve been popping enough OXY and Valium to incapacitate a horse, and one would clearly understand why I could’t be seen on television like this. Next week is a possibility, but only the Elder Gods truly know my fate. Again, noting the fact that I’m highly medicated and literally nodding off while I type this, we’re going to have to keep it short and sweet this week on Disgrace/Delight. (Jay(Wrong) gets down on his knees and thanks the Gods. Now he has time to watch The Fountain for 223rd time). [Ed. Note — This is true. Except it was Big Trouble in Little China…] With no episode of Game of Thrones being shown this next Sunday, I feel like next week is the perfect time to dive balls deep back into my GOT Disgrace/Delight epic posts you have all grown to know and love. Ok, before I pass out, let’s get on with this. Take Heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Long, long ago, in a realm us mere mortals would know nothing about, there was a secret assemblage of the Elder Gods, for something of vast importance had come to light. An event of this magnitude is the only thing that can force the congregation of the Elders, for you see, the Elders can’t help but bicker between themselves about who’s power is supreme, whose creations are superior, and who has bagged the hottest chicks. Please, blog, may I have some more?

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Ever had one of those years where everything that could conceivably go wrong, does? I can tell you all, 100 percent honesty, that this has never happened to me before, and much like Lindsay Lohan, I am feeling lost, lonely, and pretty damn confused about my embarrassing fall from grace. It all began when I was invited to participate in the #1 RCL league, which includes Grey, Rudy, and countless other fantasy legends (like not-Jay). I was beyond ecstatic at the opportunity to prove I was best in the business at this fantasy sh*t, and after the draft, there was no doubt in my mind I would compete for the title. My team seemingly had it all; A dynamic mix of power and speed, a wondrous collection of power arms who played for winning organizations, and unquestionably more upside than any other team. I had it all, baby!

As I now look at the standings and witness my team falling all the way to 11th place,  my dreams have been utterly demolished. Finally, an opportunity to play with the big dogs, and I totally disgrace myself. I feel like Christian Slater attempting to get into an A-list Hollywood party. The rejection is too much to bear, and I’m having thoughts about going back to doing solo porn jack-off videos. Let’s analyze the team that keeps me up at night. What went wrong? To me, this was a championship contending team, without question. It’s become a bottom feeding bum-fest, and I’m strongly considering throwing in the towel.

Shall we meet the team?

Please, blog, may I have some more?

“He is a prince of Dorne. Men and women will line up to f*ck him until the day he dies.”

[Game of Thrones spoilers ahead!] The probable reign of Prince Giancarlo Stanton, aka The Yardfather from House Ravishing, is upon us. Has anyone among you ever witnessed such a statuesque and magnificently proportioned beast?  Has a single one of you viewed a more virtuous and angelic presence, possessing both kindness and strength? Here and now I command you to step forward if you have knowledge of a more deserving candidate! Did someone just say, Adam Jones? That sort of insolence is usually  rewarded with a swift kick to the chin from my steel toed, ostrich leather boots! Stanton leads the majors with 27 RBIs and holds a sturdy .357 OBP, and that’s with the usual disgraceful lineup protection. I swear to the Elder Gods, I almost came in my Versace man-thong when Stanton crushed that walk-off grand slam against Seattle (my home team) last week. Is Prince Giancarlo’s emergence near the time of disgraceful King Joffrey’s death coincidence? I think not.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

“I’ve had a vision so great, as it came to me I wept.”

Greetings! Tis I, Tehol Beddict, and last night I witnessed Stephen Strasburg grasping his ankles, shutting his eyelids, gritting his teeth, and receiving the kind of punishment I haven’t seen or thought possible since Tupac verbally accosted the Notorious B.I.G. and his entire crew back in 95. Witnessing this made me think of the film Waterworld. Why you ask? I’m not 100 percent positive, but it’s probably the way superstar, Kevin Costner, was slammed by critics for his dry, mediocre performance in the same fashion I continuously bash Strasburg for his ineptitude on the mound. This brought on a vision of intertwining Strasburg and Waterworld, into another epic fantasy baseball post, and when the vision hit me, I wept tears of joy.

Please, blog, may I have some more?