Greetings! Ahhh, nothing quite like receiving the honor of writing the Friday night roundup. I imagine its quite similar to receiving the Medal of Honor, the Purple Heart, or maybe a Nobel Peace Prize. It certainly feels a heckuva lot better than the pride of Julio Urias‘ owners on this fine Saturday. Yeah, Urias was a real spark plug for Dodger nation last night..Sorry, did I say spark plug? I meant butt plug. They were hoping for Justin Timberlake, but instead received JC Chavez. We all expected Christian Bale, but the performance was more Christian Slater. 2.3 innings pitched with three earned and four walks sounds more like Jorge De La Rosa than Jose Fernandez. With that being said, I’m not concerned with the outing whatsoever. That’s also possibly because I don’t own him anywhere, and don’t really care either way. Best of luck to you all though, my goodmen!

Anyway, here’s what else I noticed yesterday in fantasy baseball. Take heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings!!! Your liege lord, Beddict, has fallen on disastrous times. My goodmen, I was robbed by a thief in the night, the kind of criminal mastermind that makes Danny Ocean look like a pocket picking peasant. Not only did this despicable bandit gank me for my Mac-book Pro, but he swooped my black diamond encrusted platinum ring, my SMS wireless sports headphones signed by the Elder God, 50 Cent, a beautiful Burberry jacket, some fly-a** Louis Vuitton sunglasses, two Nike sweatshirts, a pair of high-top limited edition Nike Air Force One boots, and two different kinds of cologne. In the hood, we call this the come up of a lifetime. This scum-sucking pilferer hit the mother load, probably thinking he just robbed a professional athlete, when instead it was just poor old Beddict, washed up mankini model turned fantasy sports writer. I’ve never felt such pain, such anguish, giving me the sort of writers block that would make George R.R. Martin not look like a total pile of Hippopotamus shat. I come to you now, begging for your forgiveness. On my knees, begging you for another chance as I feel we were right on the cusp of greatness. Let’s work out the kinks and get back to doing what I was created to do… whatever that may be.

I am Tehol Beddict, and this is Disgrace/Delight. Take heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Once, long ago, magic flowed through my brain, producing works of literary phenomena on my trusted and secure Mac Book Pro. These fingers worked more proficiently than Amber Rose’s as she brought Kanye West to orgasm through thorough butt-stuff. It’s been said I was the Vivaldi of fantasy sports writing, so what, you might ask yourself, caused me pull a Nicolas Cage and go from Oscar winner to Oscar Pistorious? Was it the drugs? I suppose that could have played a small role. Was it because my star has yet to rise amongst this plethora of d*ck-limping writers out in the fantasy sports universe? It gets to me, I cannot lie to you my goodmen (and women). But that never stopped me before… hmmmmm, what could it be? What else, but a woman! She told me I “sucked the soul out her butt”, but somehow I was the one who ended up empty and lifeless. What could I do but grovel on the jagged and frigid flooring of the cell she would lock me in at night after pleasuring her? Her juices were literally the only nutrients supplied to my once ripped body. Crippled and weak, I managed to escape one night while she was catching a Friends marathon on Netflix, breaking, nay, slithering out a fourth story window, where I began free-falling to what I believed to be my certain death, only to fall in the back of truck filled with black market Cialis packages. I snorted one, and immediately gained the strength to return to Beddict manor in order to regain my strength. Still, I lacked the motivation to write……

Oh wise and powerful Elder Gods, I am on my knees, begging you to remove these chains of bondage from all my appendages, for I am lost and the goodmen of Razzball desire the old Beddict. I’m no longer entertaining, creative, insanely handsome (okay, that’s a lie), or knowledgeable about fantasy sports. Wait! Hold on, I feel something! Even now, as I type these very words, I can feel the Elder blood beginning to pulsate within my veins, bubbling like Mt. Vesuvius, moments before it’s eruption! F*ck this, 2016 is mine, and I dare any mortal to step in my path!

I am Tehol Beddict, and this is, Disgrace/Delight! TAKE HEED!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

frsdf

Sky: “Beddict, what’s up broseph? Want to manscape each other and hit the Oregon coast for the week? My wife’s finally allowing me hang out with you again after the Playboy mansion incident.”

Beddict: “No can do, big dog. It’s Shark Week. Call me next week and I’ll make sure there’s not a solitary hair anywhere near your junk.”

Grey: “Tehol, I’ve been chosen to write the pilot for what could be the next, Game of Thrones, possibly even bigger, and I’ve chosen YOU to collaborate on it, you know, because of your rapier wit and panty dropping charm. Total life changer here, Tehol.”

Beddict: “First off; nothing will EVER eclipse GOT, as it’s the greatest show of all time. and 2nd: C’mon son….IT’S SHARK WEEK!”

Jay: “T-Beeeeeezy, guess who’s in town, playa?! That’s right, me, Jay Long-Dong! I received 30 Tinder matches since I landed in Sea-town, and they all want to get wasted at Beddict Manor for a week straight.”

Beddict: “No can do, Kimosabe. Nobody loves butt naked freaks more than Beddict, and I know we’ve never actually hung out, but bruh, Shark Week. Maybe next year…..Just a different week of next year.”

J-Foh: “TEHOL, you old son of a gun how are ya. Any chance you can watch my kid for a couple days while I go catch the donkey show in TJ?”

Beddict: [Hangs up phone.]

IT’S Mother EFFing SHARK WEEK, YA’LL!!!!!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings! How’s your week going? Swimmingly, I pray. How’s mine? First off, thanks for asking, for it’s much appreciated. I have a 88-year-old Grandmother with a severe alzheimer’s and a broken hip, so things could certainly be better. That’s without mentioning what is seemingly a wasted season for Corey Dickerson and sliding in at dead last in one my RCL leagues. Ahhhhh, the Elder Gods have decided among themselves to test me this week, seeing if I will wilt and ball up like a baby as if I were Lindsay Lohan after her coke dealer began screening her calls. Say one thing for Tehol Beddict, he’s a artist. And I WILL NOT stop pouring out my heart and soul into this Razzballian scripture, not until my final breath. With that being said, I’m exhausted, so let’s move along shall we.

I am Tehol Beddict, and this is, DISGRACE/DELIGHT! TAKE HEED!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

All hail his grace, Tehol of House Beddict and House Razzball, first of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of Fantasy Baseball, and Protector of the Realm.

Greetings! Tis I, the Mad King, writing these opulent scriptures from my Irone throne, deep within the Razzball castle. Smokey, bring me some edibles before I have you whipped like a dog! J-FOH, if you would be so kind, please check the dungeons to see if Christian Slater is still drawing breath, for I was hoping to continue the flaying after having my breathtakingly hot playthings hand feed my an extravagant meal of quail eggs and boar testicles. Slaters’ being scolded for not producing anything of quality since the criminally underrated Hard Rain! RALPH! Unhand my betrothed before I do you like Reek, you scoundrel! I gave five of my illegitimate children as hostage along with five million in jewels that I stole from Rudy, Warden of the North, for that flawless virgin. You can have next though! Jay, do I ask (command) too much of you in expecting that these scrolls be transferred to Wordpress, so that followers of house Razzball may read the gospel? [Jay’s Note: Sorta…] I know that taking over for Littlefinger hasn’t been easy on you. It must be difficult to guzzle red wine all day, flirting with the thousands of beauties of your brothels. Grey, Lord of Light, I only ask that you continue to watch over us all, sending your fire priests, Sky and Seth, to scorch every last remaining bone of these old God worshipping peasants. A NEW AGE IS UPON US!

If you’ve been here before, you know how I do it… every two weeks I’ll be mixing baseball and Game of Thrones. Interesting concept, eh? No? Swallow my Valyrian sword point then. And as always, spoilers ahead!

I am Tehol Beddict, and this is Disgrace/Delight, GOT style! Take Heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight? Have you ever wrestled an 25-foot albino crocodile with you bare hands? Have you ever had a starved mongoose released down the front of your trousers? Better yet, have you ever flung Taijuan Walker out on the mound for your fantasy baseball squadron in 2015? Yes, my friends, tis true. I’ve done each and every one of these things, the Elder Gods as my witnesses, and quite honestly, nothing gets my ticker a poundin like an automatic fire-arm (and my anxiety higher than a yacked out Lindsay Lohan), quite like Walker on the mound for my Seattle Mariners. 7.1 innings pitched with 14 earned runs on 15 hits and 6 walks? Sure, the young Jedi in training known as “Sky Walker” bounced back last night with 8 Ks and only 1 earned run, BUT, he gave up 4 free passes, so he was obviously still shakier than Tom Sizemore after a weekend bender. Honestly, I feel like I let you down… I praised this young buck, preaching that he was definitely all about that hog life when, thus far, he clearly has been less worthy than the deceased Joffrey Baratheon (Spoiler alert! Or was I supposed to say that before I wrote that he died?). From the bottom of my booming and Elder God-made pumping heart, I’d like to apologize with the upmost sincerity. I’d like to say he say he dominates from here on out, but you’ve got to be realistic about these things.

I am Tehol Beddict and this is Disgrace/Delight! Take Heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

I dont ef with none of y’all sites anyway

Your funeral could be any day

Ever since Domonic Brown said, “Beddict, let me play”

All these haters been in the way

I’m just doin what Grey and Rudy say

Putting out 1000 tweets a day

Greetings! I came extra hard-body with the intro today, for the fact that I can’t recall EVER being so keyed up for a fantasy baseball season. My game slipped last year and I’m not proud of it. One could say swinger clubs, mankini modeling across the globe, and building schools for the underprivileged took up most of my time, but say one thing for Tehol Beddict, he’s not one to rationalize subpar results. Much of my spare time has been spent making countless sacrifices to the Elder Gods in hopes of gaining their favor for the upcoming season. One of them (Draconus) came to me during a peyote induced hallucination this past weekend, telling me that I must take a vow of celibacy from spring training till the end of the regular season if I am to acquire their assistance in dominating ALL of my leagues. To say the decision was difficult would be the understatement of the millennium, but after speaking with my agent and numerous lovers on the subject, the answer became clearer than the Saran rap I use as a backup when I run out of dental dams. Yes, the only men and women I’ll be servicing this year are you, the readers. Prepare yourself, for we will be traveling to uncharted depths of fantasy baseball analysis as well as unearthing the true reasoning for the disgraceful fall-offs of Nicolas Cage, Stephen Dorff, and of course, Christian Slater.

I am Tehol Beddict and this is, Disgrace/Delight! Take Heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Hey girls and boys….Did you miss me? I know I’ve been eeeextra naughty by not posting these past two weeks, but don’t worry, Sky already spanked me for it. It’s that time of year again: Valentines day…And mmmmmmm, is there anything on this earth more aphrodisiaciscal than fantasy baseball? Hard, smooth wood demolishing it’s target, over and over and over and over again. Balls smacking against that tight, sweet smelling, worn in pouch. Jockstraps…..errrr, let’s move on. I adore Valentines day!

I’ve received a bounty of extravagant V-day gifts over the years: a Burberry scarf from Grey, Daffodils from Sky, the Bill James collection from Rudy, Special K from J-FOH, gerbils from Richard Gere, a gasmask from Smokey, a microphone from Capozzi (or was that a butt plug?), a Padres onesie from Jay, some sweet Boston rap tunes from Lipshitz, every Nicolas Cage film ever made on laserdisc from Seth, shoot, even Jennifer gave me something once, but that’s just between her and I.

Each week, I will continue to give you some players at each position, I feel are underrated and some I know in the depths of my massive heart, will let us down more so than Emilio Estevez did with D3: The Mighty Ducks, and that my friends is tragic. I am Tehol Beddict, and this is, Disgrace/Delight! Take Heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Ughhhhh, is it the playoffs yet? Why does this year seem to be taking longer than ever before? Maybe it’s because I’m in only free leagues this year and I feel like I’m having my back blown out by my boy, Mandingo (google him, NSFW), in each and every one of them. I was graciously offered the opportunity to relinquish my fantasy baseball posts in order to give 100 percent of my focus on the football side of things as we are ramping up for America’s new favorite pastime. I thought to myself, “Beddict, you have a life; chickens to feed, male thong ads to shoot, and an endless supply of women to satisfy, therefore none could truly blame you for focusing all your efforts into football. It’s not your fault Bryce Harper is a tool and Ryne Sandberg is the worst manager in baseball. MOST of your other advice has worked out splendidly. You’ve done enough…..” FEAR NOT, my friends, for the day I walk away from writing for baseball is the day Grey and Rudy show up at my immaculate abode, Chinese finger trap my bottom b*tch, film it, stomp me out afterward, and take back my framed Razzball certificate of employment. I know for a fact that I have at least TWO readers who enjoy these posts and I absolutely refuse to let them down as Nicolas Cage has his fans with his seemingly endless supply of duds. Yes, these next few weeks shall be permeated with more Beddict than ever before, covering both baseball and football, and that, my friends, is what’s known as a “Tehol Twofer.” That term is ordinarily reserved for when I sexually pulverize two women, back to back, but I believe this was newsworthy enough to borrow the term, though I’m borrowing it from myself, so I suppose it doesn’t matter. ANYWAY, let’s hop right in. I missed some action due to the fact I was reeling in Tyee’s up in Canada, but per usual, I’ll be giving it 110 percent. This is, Disgrace/Delight.

Please, blog, may I have some more?