Greetings! I’m just feeling so grateful to be alive and to be given this international platform to share my thought process with you fine people. I’m even thankful for the haters, for without pond scum, there would be nothing for the snails to feast upon in the filthy mud puddles throughout this great land.
Today, I give you some players I plan on reaching on, and some I plan on avoiding in my upcoming drafts. I’m not necessarily passing on them because of their abilities or projections, but because I feel it necessary to do so on my prime path to glory. Originally, I was going to base this off of Grey’s rankings, but I looked, and as per usual, Grey’s thought process is pretty much on par with mine (I hope he’s not insulted by this), so I chose another fantasy lord I sort of respect in ESPN’s resident fantasy nerd, Eric Karabell, who I imagine as the spawn of Sky Sperling and Garth Algar. Many of you will be facing others who go off of ESPN lists, as they for some reason haven’t seen the light, and switched to 100 percent Razzball based advice, so this should give you a major advantage. That is, if I’m correct. If I’m wrong, forget I said any of the following.
I am Tehol Beddict, and these are my reaches and recoils! Take heed!
Creep with me as I cruise through Wakanda where all the kids in the jungle call me: Don Beddict Benihana. Ah yes, that they do my goodmen, that they do. WAIT, JUST A MOMENT! Oh, I’m sorry, I must apologize, for many of you may not have the slightest idea of who it is I actually am. Yes, that was a double apology. No, I didn’t succumb to the Syphilis that turned into my junior pogo stick into something resembling a rotting Pacific geoduck corpse. [Jay’s Note: Probably don’t Google that.]
TIS’ I, the enlightened and compelling intercontinental fantasy sports Magus, follower of the Gods of Eld, sexual liberator of nations, father to chickens and Chinese Crested’s alike, the adopted son that Grey and Rudy never wanted, thee greatest showman TEHOL BEDDICT! I am the reaper and death is my shadow! (Is that too dark?)
Anyhow, I’m assuming most of you either have already seen Black Panther or are planning on seeing the Black Panther in theaters, unless of course you’re in the Ku Klux Klan. If that’s the case, I’d recommend you stay home, for your brain might explode. If you truly cannot afford it and you have a child you’d like to take, please write to me below in the comment section and I will take care of you.
Most of you will come to know and love Wakanda through the comic books (like, three of you) or most likely, the record-breaking phenomenon that just hit theaters last weekend. I, on the other hand, have actually traveled there. Tis’ true, I swear it on my dead step-uncle’s soul.
As an honorary Wakandan, mostly due to my Razzball affiliation, I was immediately allowed entry. Did I have an immense longing to dine, drink, and dance the night away, doing Bobby Brown push-ups with some of the most superb female specimens on the planet? Well, yaaah, I almost tore a hole through my chinchilla man thong just thinking about it. I’m only human…. but yet, more. Anyway, I said: “NO!!!! I must speak with T’Chaka, the fallen king at once, for we have extremely important business to discuss! Bring me the Heart-Shaped Herb, IMMEDIATELY.” You know how the rest of the process unfolds, and soon enough, the former King and myself were in an intense smoke session, digging dangerously deep into these year’s MLB breakout fantasy superstars! My goodmen, you haven’t lived, until you smoked Vibranium dipped blunts with royalty! You simply have not lived! The King and I, not to be confused with that lovely film from the 1950’s, broke down who some of are faves were for this upcoming season, and even got into a couple duds. Vibranium takes your mind to strange places, so we compared these chosen players to other Wakandans, and even a couple outsiders, just because we found it humorous. Below, you will read about what we discussed. Take Heed!
Ever been on a couples trip to the beach where the other couples have AT LEAST three kids a pop? That’s right, I say “at least”, for I am not even entirely sure how many of these little bastards I’ll be d*cking around with. I bring this up only because I’ve been participating in extravagant amounts of soul-searching, spending more time on my knees than Elton John’s personal taint-trimmer, begging the Elders for a resolution that never seems to arrive: Does Beddict want children of his own some day? First off, who are you to say that I don’t have a child somewhere that I don’t know about? Secondly, I passed out last night before even finishing a paragraph as, for some reason, people still actually believe getting fast food is a wonderful idea, even though it’s full of outrageously disgusting products that make me feel like I just inhaled four sticks of deep fried butter and washed it down with a liter of turbo-lax. Seriously, I love sitting around with 17 kids, pretending to be somewhat interested in whatever these other adults living the American dream have to say, while simultaneously following all the MLB action going on and wondering if their wive’s were attractive at one point in time…
“Sorry, what did you say dude? Your truck has how much horsepower and your hatch-back with super-sick exhaust is hella bad-ass, even though you are pushing 50? Why are your dogs locked in a cage in the middle of the living room and why do they look as if they would love nothing more than to chew on my throat for 35 minutes, following that up with a neighborhood cat-killing spree that makes The Purge, look tamer than Home Alone 3, you know the one with that wack ass kid from Liar, Liar?”
I seriously need answers on how you guys/gals live your life with actual children around all the time… I cannot get anything done. In fact, I can hear the little beasts now, as everyone is waking up for a FULL 8 hours on the beach in 90-plus degree weather. Maybe I’ll tell them I’m almost done with an extremely important write-up and that I’ll meet them at their beach spot, when in fact I’ll just be doing lines with one of those creepy bathroom attendant dudes who sells cologne spray and single cigarettes at the local strip club, which I’m sure is absolute garbage. You’ve got to be realistic about these things.
Anyway, here’s what I noticed last night regarding the fantasy baseball world as I rudely ignored all the other adults in the house. Take heed!
Greetings! Ahhh, memories, this title brings me back to my childhood where I grew up in Bishop Eddie Lamont’s house for boys, raised and praised as his adopted son. It was only later I discovered I was the heir to House Beddict, when I reconnected with my birth parents. Met my father in rehab, actually. Funny story. I learned we both share a weakness for mule-ass’d women and peyote. A tale for another time, my goodmen. A tale for another time…
What I’m really here for, as I pound away on my keyboard in what seems to be the most barbarian rain/lightening/thunderstorm I’ve ever experienced, is to give praises of the highest order to Philadelphia’s most promising young male since Will Smith. Philly management, the parents if you will, just don’t understand, and they thought it was a good idea to move him to the bench, where he wouldn’t cause any trouble, and the great Howard Kendrick would take his place. We know how Will Smith’s story concluded, as he made it big in L.A. after grinding at the Peacock for years, taking down countless honeys, and delivering more one-liners than Stephen Dorff in a Las Vegas nightclub bathroom.
Altherr has seemingly responded much in the same fashion, as he has continuously made rice cakes out of baseballs, mushing three balls out of the ballpark and swiping a couple bags to boot. Trying to find answers for as to why a rebuilding team wouldn’t give the starting job to one of their young, exciting players reaches far beyond the reaches of my intellect. They’d rather sign a soon to be 34-year-old, former second baseman, who hit .255 with EIGHT homers last season to help carry them to the a surprise title? I’m seriously confused… and offended… angry even. Altherr’s BABIP sits at a mind-humping .417, which obviously will most definitely not continue, BUT I still expect Altherr to have a very productive season, where 15-15 is well within reach. Say one thing for Aaron Altherr, say he’s earned my respect. He’s also earned my trust but if I said that, then, well then it would be two things.
Here’s what else is weighing heavily on my mind… Take Heed!
Wait, what? The Mariners got Jean Segura AND Mitch Haniger for the continually underachieving Tai Walker? The same Haniger who’s third in offensive WAR in the AL (through Friday), first in the AL in runs scored with 16, leading the AL in times on base, fourth in the clubhouse in jersey-chaser takedowns, and first in my heart for being part of the heist that was the Taijuan Walker trade. Coming off a year where he masta-donged 25 and 94 with a .321 BA in AA/AAA last year, the D-Bags felt the urge to dump another diamond in the rough, a la Max Scherzer. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that trade all those year ago. I couldn’t believe at the time and couldn’t believe they weren’t making a bigger deal about it.
I may be going too far as I’m a Walker fan, but Haniger clearly has All-star capabilities and hitting in this loaded lineup is going to keep him relevant all season long. Much unlike myself, it’s really easy to be a fan of this dude.
Here’s what else intrigued me this past week… Take heed!
Greetings! Not only did opening week provide screen addicts everywhere an opportunity to put down the joystick for a few hours in order to put more focus into fantasy baseball, obsessing over each pitch like a scorned lover, pretending like any of this REALLY matters as we block out a myriad of life problems, but it provided me with an excuse to write a column, which is a big time win in my book. Heck yea! Super Cool! Sweetness!
Kudos to you if you’ve just recently discovered Razzball, for you are in store for the kind of magical journey you’ve only watched on film. Think ‘Hook’, ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’, the ‘Harry Potter’ flicks, ‘The Lord of the Rings’ Trilogy and ‘Basic Instinct’ all in one. Read further if you’d like to see me spread my legs for you, a la Sharon Stone… metaphorically of course.
I am Tehol Beddict and this is Disgrace/Delight. Take heed!
Long ago, when I was but a young boy, I would decipher Matthew Berry articles on ESPN, strategizing for my fantasy baseball draft with all my closest associates, writhing in anticipation. Soaked like I was just urinated on by a large pack of giraffes, waking up from dreams soaked in sweat, I wasn’t sure if this was all real or not. Did I really help cover up the murder of a stripper last night? Did I sleep with Anna-Nicole Smith? Isn’t she dead? I just adored fantasy baseball! Anyway, this went on for a few years until a grand man by the name of Josephine Morris told me of a certain gentleman, a mustached little man who curiously resembled Don Mattingly. Josephine told me:
“You, Tehol, my closest and must trusted friend, have mastered fantasy baseball. That is, mastered it against peasants like our peanut-brained friends… but if you want to go to another level of metaphysical wizardry, well, then you must go to a a little place where the beer flows like wine and the seagulls flock like the salmon of Capistrano… a little place called… Razzball.com…”
The rest is history. But now you know there was a man named Grey Albright and he saved me… in every way a person can be saved.
Greetings! Last I recall, the Elders and I were passing Thai sticks in the Secret Pool of Kuang Si, discussing some profoundly important subjects while we took turns etching ancient symbols into the skin directly on and surrounding the pubic region. But of course, our bodies are all immaculately smooth, hairless and chiseled, as if made from marble and then formed in the scorching lava of Mount Kilimanjaro. Why does this matter, you ask? The context will be necessary on our journey together through what looks to be a tumultuous 2017. Trust me in this, and the opportunities for massive glory in all forms of life may fall at your crusty feet like droplets of acid rain that will one day doom this planet (but not yet), burning all your self-pity and self-doubt away, peeling your skin off like a viper, you can be born anew, with a clearer vision and a more artful plan of attack. Anyways, I just woke up on an airplane, as it seems I’m headed back to the United States and below we have what one could consider a synopsis of sorts, of what the Elders and I discussed about fantasy baseball and “other things”.
I am the great Tehol Beddict and this is Disgrace/Delight! Take Heed!
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Greetings! Ughh, ’tis been a rough couple days for your Lord… getting my butthole re-bleached is one thing, but my current day job forced me to fire someone for the first time in my life. Yes, I was forced to get my Donald Trump on and layoff this bih, who was once my boss. Aaaaaaaaaawkwaaaaaard to say the least. Of course, I made love to her first after doing our usual morning lines in the bathroom, as I wanted to give her one last perfect morning. Telling her to pack her shizz up and letting her know that I would be taking her job five minutes after blowing her back out was an absolute out-of-body experience. I felt the Elders gazing down upon me, guiding my firm hand as I demanded her keys, banned her from the premises, and broke her the worst news she has probably ever received in her life. Lord Beddict will no longer be giving you the pipe and you’re now going to have to buy your own cocaine. Nice gal, she’ll get over it… no she won’t. So yeah, about James Paxton… If someone could tell me how a man who throws 100 MPH can somehow only total 3 Ks over his past 13 innings, I’ll service you while you suck you on a blowpop. How many licks does it take to get to the center of Paxton’s psyche? 5 innings, 6 earned, 1 k, 9 hits, but hey, at least he limited the Astros to one walk…
Anyways, here’s what I witnessed yesterday in fantasy baseball. Take heed!!!
Greetings! Back at it again with the fresh Disgrace/Delight posts. Naaaaaaasty! We are here, my goodmen, to discuss the downfalls and risings of some of the most skilled athletes on this planet. I shall do my utmost to lock the derogatory comments in my cranium and not bestow them on the good readers of Razzball, for I am not here to offend, but to teach. I am not here to decry these talented young men, only to track their progress as professional athletes and root them on towards future glory and the type of massive wealth that peasants such as ourselves could truly never comprehend. Buuuuuuuuut, you’ve got to be realistic about these things. For I, favorite son of the Elder Gods, just can’t pass up an opportunity to roast a slap-dick hitting, noodle-armed throwing, ass shaving pansy, that would be better served mowing the lawn at Beddict manor, than being rostered in our fantasy lineups.
I am Tehol Beddict, and this Disgrace/Delight. Take heed!