Greetings! Tis I, the original Night King, only dragon glass cannot harm me, my friends, oh no. Only the rejection from the one I love can defeat me, and sadly, that seems to be happening as I type this miserable column.  Look how much Euron had to go through just to smash an already pregnant, on-the-way-out Queen. May the Seven have mercy, holy mother of Albright! I suppose I can’t criticize the situation too harshly, for I find myself in a similar predicament at the time of this writing; sending poetry, gifts, showing public displays of affection via instagram, seemingly all for naught. Euron really went full on Fred Durst and did it all for the Nookie, for he must know Cersei’s chances of keeping control of the iron throne are about as slim as George R.R. Martin finishing the Winds of Winter before ole boy kicks the bucket. You’ve got to be realistic about these things. Shoot, and his manipulation even paid off, whereas my situation is true love and I just don’t have what it takes to win her over. Maybe I lost my touch, or maybe I need to go back to the old me. Either way, Euron opened my eyes like I was the Three-Eyed Raven on molly this Sunday eve, and I sense some changes in my life will occur by the time your Sunday Funday given bloodshot eyes read this.

Below, I’ll touch on parts of the season premiere that stood out to me and also talk some of what we’ve seen so far in the first couple weeks of fantasy baseball. Both happen to be some of my absolute favorite things and I believe I was the FIRST fantasy writer to ever combine the two subjects, but who’s really keeping track……..I hate everyone. Let’s do this!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

We all know what it’s like to part with a loved one; An ex-girlfriend/boyfriend/wife/husband/lover/sidepiece/sugar daddy/sugar baby, and we know how painful it can truly be. I…I can’t believe I’m saying this…but after much self-reflection the time has come for me to part with my alter ego…Tehol Beddict.

You see, Tehol was the person I wanted to be in real life; peaceful, spiritual, focused on dominance, a total sex-addict, someone who was sought after for advice, and other than the moments I go back to Twitter or when I’m screaming at people in traffic, I honestly feel like I’ve become this person in 2019 (other than the sex-addict part…I’m celibate). Also, my friends and family can’t seem to understand that this is me, as they can’t comprehend why if it was me it wouldn’t say my real name. My freaking father says he can never find my work online, so basically I’m making this maneuver to assist the elder folk. You know, the elderly, though slow, and dangerous behind the wheel, can still serve a purpose, so it’s important we help them out whenever possible. Wonder if he struggles this mightily in searching for porn???

Anyway, most of my old readers have most likely moved on to new writers…who are we kidding! They have been biding their time, strategizing and plotting for my triumphant return,  organizing a masterful battle plan to destroy all who oppose me, and believe me, it melts my heart guys/gals. Say one thing for Tehol…errr, LT, say that he loves his supporters like the children he never wanted. (I almost deleted this 100 times as it’s extremely difficult to say goodbye to the legend, but it’s time to rip the sutures out and bleed my own blood, and festoon the walls of Razzball with it.)

If you have no clue what I’m speaking of, or have no clue who or what I am, prepare yourself for next level savagery, for play around, I do not. Let’s get down to business, shall we?

Please, blog, may I have some more?

For the Seattle Mariners, all is lost…

Well, well, well…..What in the ever-loving mother of the elder gods do we have here!!? Baseball is upon, guys/gals, and after taking a brief hiatus to give my absolute all to battling some forces that were severely limiting my effectiveness as a writer, I return to thee thirsty for battle, lusting for justice, soothsaying for savants, and fully equipped to do battle with any who shall oppose me in this art form of writing about the game we know and love; Fantasy Baseball. I have missed this so much, truly, I have. Sadly, you are not here to read about me and newfound love of life and everyone in it, but to discover sort of a basic understanding of what the Seattle Mariners are up to…..I will try to put it into words, which may prove difficult, being that I’m not allowed to drop F-bombs or post dick pics, but here’s a hint; IT’S ALL BAD!!!!! Like, it’s rotting badger carcass under your backseat bad, when whom you believe to be your dream girl blows up your bathroom after railing an eight-ball to the face bad, like, any Nicolas Cage movie from the last ten years bad, like, REALLY, REALLY, ASTRONOMICALLY PISS POOR!!!!!! Say one thing for the Seattle Mariners, say they are going absolutely going to be one one of the five worst teams in the sport this season.

Before I get started, did anyone read the Minnesota Twins preview? I was starting to blast the dude on Twitter for buying fake followers, only to realize he’s a professional wrestler!?!?!?! WHAT!?!?!?! Is this real? Can someone confirm? If so, it is with great honor that I accept this cohabitation of mannishness, and look forward to continuing the greatness of Razzball, thee premier site for fantasy baseball. Aaaaahkay, now let’s set it off in this MF.

I am Tehol Beddict and this is your Seattle Mariners team preview. TAKE HEED!

Check out our other team previews here!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Greetings! Tis I, the clairvoyant savant, the heat-seeking missile of truth, the rocket of Gibraltar, the King of D-pics, ME, Beddict, BACK like I never left this BIH, and frothing at the mouth to hand out these awards as my liege lord, Jay Wrong has requested (commanded). The good Lords have given me the power to hand down the proper accolades for those who are truly deserving, and they shall be given their just due or my name isn’t Tehol Beddict, AKA Lo-Well The Messiah. All the answers you seek lie in the depths of my verbiage that resides below. Enter if you dare. Witness!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

You’ve got to be realistic about these things: Stephen Strasburg isn’t the man we all dreamt he’d become. Absolutely, he’s become a very valuable pitcher and member of the invariably underachieving Washington Nationals, but alas, we expected career eliteness, Nicolas Cage in the 90’s level Eliteness. (Capital E for Emphasis.) Instead, we were given 2000’s Cage; Yes, Lord of War and Kick Ass were solid, but the rank stench of Bangkok Dangerous and Ghost Rider shall endure throughout the eternity of human existence. [Jay’s Note: But his hair sure achieved a lot in those two.]

We all recall Strasburg’s seven inning, 14 K performance in what was the most hyped debut in MLB history. Anything less than a first-ballot hall of fame career would be a massive disappointment after the mound mastery we saw displayed June 8th, of 2010. A little while later, as we all know, the dreaded Tommy John surgery was required and he just never became the man I desired him to be. Of course neither did I, but that’s a conversation for my therapist and I to have, but I suppose a botched penile enlargement surgery and Tommy John surgery have similar consequences (Jay, please look that up). [Jay’s Note: Risky Google of the day…] Every season, I would predict Strasburg to have his breakout season, and joining or surpassing the Clayton Kershaw’s and Justin Verlander’s of the world, only to be shamed by my colleagues, family and friends alike. It just never happened. The guy has TWO complete games in his CAREER. TWO COMPLETE GAMES!!!!!?!?!? How is that even possible?. I want to know how many times baby nuts has gone more than seven innings in his career since his debut. It’s one of the more insane stats I could ever imagine, and that’s without me even having a clue what the number is. I just know it’s extremely, mind numbingly low. So I suppose that is having a clue, but I’m not a detective, I’m Beddict the Elder and want JUSTICE!!!!! I could go on, but I’ll spare you the pain and self-loathing Strasburg has bestowed upon me over the last decade.

Last night, the former golden boy was taken to the woodshed and bent over a barrel and shown all 50 states by a lineup that features Pablo Sandoval, as he went a whopping two innings, and gave up three, before leaving with shoulder tightness. Here’s what I else I’ve found interesting around the MLB along with your Two Start Pitchers for the coming week!

Take Heed!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Fee Fie Fo Fum, I drafted Buxton in the third round of my fantasy draft, would someone please slap the taste out of my mouth, for being so effing-dumb? Good gracious, the stench of my rotting 12th place carcass (Razzball Experts League) has somehow permeated through the dark web of Fantrax into my once lovely apartment. I say once lovely, for not only did it used to not smell of dead lilac water and festering wildebeest guts, but the windows were once open, the beaming sun warming my immaculate body like a microwave, kangaroo jacking another mediocre real estate agent, while everyone outside roared in applause. The true, raw, beastly, animalistic nature of humans on full display as they awaited the grand finale, the final curtain, where I would take my usual bow and hit the bowflex for a couple hours, a gift to the stragglers, yes, but mostly just a gift to myself. You see, I look at my body like a finely tuned… hold on, I’ve gotten off track here. Ahhhh, that’s right, darkness, misery and terror, back to that. So, sadly, Mt. Vesuvius was unable to erupt on this tragic day. So what if she came six times, the fact is I couldn’t provide the crowd with most potent window cleaner known to man when they needed it most…

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Late last week as I was journeying through the Serengeti Plains with a local group of albino dwarves, I felt a tingling… a tingling deep within my gonads. My mouth started watering uncontrollably, like a beaver when he/she sees a perfect piece of timber, like a b*tch (female dog) in heat when she sees a Great Dane hop over the neighbors fence, his huge beautiful balls flapping in the wind like a kite during a hurricane; I couldn’t decipher the meaning, but then, seemingly out of nowhere, Darweshi, Dwarf Lord and one of the countless mentors who have helped me on my journey to enlightenment, grabbed me by the Geoduck, pulled me inches from his ivory colored lips, fumigating my lungs with the aroma of his hot ass-water breath and told me what I must do: “Reveal your true self to the people!” Darweshi commanded…

“Show the fine children of Razzball all of your talents, all that you bring to the table. Not just your phenomenal writing (His words, not mine), but your stage-trained acting skills you were taught by the gifted yet troubled Tom Arnold, the exhilarating dancing you learned from 15 years of tutelage under (not literally, unfortunately) the great and wise Paula Abdul, your fascinating original poetry that has some calling you a young Shel Silverstein, your rapier wit, your incredible body (which is seemingly molded from iron, steroids free…).”

It’s time to reveal…….LO-WELL, Thee Greatest Showman.” Taking in Darweshi’s lecture hit me like a 60-pound bag of butt plugs, for I have always wanted to maintain my private life, but after three peyote sticks and an intense game of Battleship, I concluded that Darweshi, King butt-breath himself, was correct… No more hiding behind my birth name of Tehol Beddict, for that man is now dead. Say one thing for Tehol Beddict, he had the potential to be the best that ever did it. Sadly, his gluttonous sexual appetite and desire to love every woman on the planet got in his way of becoming truly elite. Lo-Well has no such problems, for he has given up sex for life, had his genitals tattooed shimmery gold and sworn a vow to protect all of those who are weaker than he (everyone). I am back baby, recharged and with enough build up to choke that T-Rex hybrid in the new Jurassic Park flick. Cock the hammer and put the kids to bed! FOR IT’S TIME TO SLAY! HEED MY WORDS!!!!!! AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Anyway, here’s some of my thought about what’s going on in the world of baseball and some other random shizz…

Please, blog, may I have some more?

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!

The 2018 Razzball Commenter Leagues are now open! Free to join with prizes! All the exclamation points!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

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!

The 2018 Razzball Commenter Leagues are now open! Free to join with prizes! All the exclamation points!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

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!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

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!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

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!

Please, blog, may I have some more?