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?

It began as a whisper… a promise… the lightest of breezes danced above the cries of  men and women cheering him on in little league. That breeze became a wind. A wind of freedom… a wind of justice… a wind of vengeance. The time has come, my Beddictites, to prepare yourselves for a breakout of epic proportions. I speak not of the Herp, but of the Harp; Bryce Harper to be clear.

Some would argue that Nostradamus’s greatest prophesy was made in the year 1566, mere days before his horrific case of the Gout brought him to his death bed. “What prophesy is this you speak of, oh wise and charming Beddict?” Ask and thou shalt receive. A deep search into the annals of Nostradamus’s journals produced this historic find– “In the year of our Elder Gods, 2014, a breathtakingly handsome young writer will come out of the shadows and change the world forever. He will no doubt be criticized by many a troglodyte [Ed. Note-- Good word usage bro.], but he shall not hold it against them, for they not know better. On March 10, 2014, this debonaire young man, who will be known as the Mark Twain/William Shakespeare of his generation, will make a prediction about another chosen one, another young man I have seen in my dreams, an athlete of sorts.  These overwhelmingly powerful visions of this brutish boy swinging what seems to be a wooden stick at a bloodless round object have seemingly pushed me to the brink of my grave. It’s either these visions or this Mother F’ing gout! Anyway, I know not what this prediction shall be, but whatever it is, it will have an 85 percent chance of coming to fruition. These two young men’s futures will be forever intertwined for better or for worse. Take heed, for it has been written. I can now die in peace knowing my last true vision has been recorded in my leather-bound and padlocked journal. Now, if only this useless peasant, wife of mine would bring me my favorite chocolate sprinkled crepes along with some brie. Tis a virtual certainty she’s yet again, getting bent over in the barn by my stable boy, Mortimer. By the Gods, I despise that whore.” It’s been said those were the last sentences ever written by Damus, as he passed and now resides with Hood in “House Death.”

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings fellow fantasy geeks! Tis I, Tehol Beddict, here yet again to service you in ways you once thought irrealizable. I’m merely perpetuating my own genius by coming week after week with top quality, grade-A knowledge. I got’s to drop it on ya’ll, for not tot would be a terrible waste as it would die like a fart in the wind. At long last I’ve reawakened from my Vegas slumber as the elder gods were terribly unkind to me this trip. Of course, that is if you call doing mass quantities of snow with with a pack of bodacious strippers until the birds started chirping unkind. Beyond a doubt the sort of excursion that would make even the great Charlie Sheen jealous. Now let us get to the point of this post. I’m not here to write to you of perfectly formed beauties riding me like a rodeo (or am I), nor am I here to glorify hard core drug usage. What I’ve come here to do today, is talk about Alex Rodriguez, for I am seemingly his last remaining fan on earth.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings! It is I, Tehol Beddict, back again with more H2H and points League advice. You might ask yourself, “How are these posts any different than the regular fantasy posts?” Well for one, I write them, so they have a different perspective for you. For two, I am known as one of the 5 greatest head to head fantasy baseball players in the United States so I have credentials that literally only 4 other men/women can say they have. And for 3, don’t you dare ever think to ask yourself that question again. Take heed, for you shall benefit fantasy wise and even more importantly, have an enjoyable reading experience with America’s one and only model/fantasy writer. Come now sirs, let me service you.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

I am Tehol Beddict! And I see a whole army of my fantasy men/women, here in defiance of less knowledgeable and dreadfully boring fantasy websites! Read these other sites and you may win. Run to them and you may stay afloat, at least for a while. And dying in your bed many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance, to come back here as young men and tell these underachieving fantasy advice sites that they can take your wives but they will never take your loyalty from Razzball and the Freeeeeeeedom it gives you from never having to go to any other site for sound information. You’ve bled with Grey and Rudy! Now bleed with me!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Grey Albright just may be the greatest visionary of our time. A modern day Nostradamus even. I’ll admit that I didn’t want to buy into the hype surrounding Paul Goldschmidt but now I feel like I deserve a good d!cks slapping. This behemoth homered off the legends known as Kershaw and Kenley Jansen Wednesday night and he’s now batting 313 with 9 dongs, 30 ribbys and 4 base thefts. I haven’t seen this kind of savagery displayed since I witnessed a crew of catholic priests running a train on a teenage boy I once modeled with. Needless to say, I wish I owned him as the man is a true points league monster. How do you do it Grey? I consider myself one of the top 5 most all around talented fantasy players on planet earth and that includes football, basketball and obviously baseball, but Mr. Albright just may have me licked when it comes to roto and I don’t mean sexually. He’s got a mustache fit for an 80’s porn star as well as a heart of gold and you gotta respect it. Enough slurping of the boss. Let’s get to what I saw this week.

Please, blog, may I have some more?