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One misses their weekly column for reasons few enough to mention. The author found that after a minor surgical procedure, sitting up or holding a laptop in the self-same location became unbearable. A potent combination of painkillers and procrastination led to a dereliction of my duties, and for that, I can only apologize to my editor Truss, my benefactor Grey, and my three fathers in Heaven, John Cassavetes, Peter Falk, and Ben Gazzara. One day they again will smile upon me roguishly. 

Please, blog, may I have some more?

The anonymity of the internet lends itself to a very silly recklessness. If one is to climb the peak of jacked-in skullduggery, one must recognize the effect of becoming the Nameless (I’m sure this Game of Thrones mention ends up being the new show’s top related search result, hello new followers). When one writes with a nom de plume, they tend to take chances regarding style and content that they may not otherwise attempt. It’s like the concept of liquid courage, except it’s not really like alcohol, but the courage thing has the word ‘courage’? Grey will never know the true joys of a good nom de plume, which is a pity, as I’d love to hear his sardonic wit rend his name into something fresh and exciting. You know he’d think of something really kooky, like Auburn Nonedark. What a maroon!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Let me tell you all how the rest of this season will go. I will not tweet this out, because that’s giving free content to my nineties of followers. Instead, I will give this information out for free on this website, although if you’re smart you are paying to kill the myriad advertisements that helps fund Grey’s continued head-specific cryogenesis. You didn’t know that we refresh his profile picture every day with a new photo of his head frozen in a solid block of ice, hoping one day to release it after Manfred has finally destroyed the baseball? You didn’t know that? Or that like that prisoner Languille after his guillotining, according to Dr. Beaurieux, Grey responded to his name, turned to look at us before the freezing agent kicked in, and said, “Fantasy baseball blog?” He has not stopped posting since, using pupil movements to write his posts, much like the protagonist of Feel Good Movie of the Century The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. There I go again, showing you how the sausage is made, how gauche. How will the season of fantasy baseball content wind itself down?

Please, blog, may I have some more?

It’s the dog days of summer, I think? I could look that up, but Google broke the other night, and I’ve been having a recurring nightmare about the AskJeeves butler tearing me to pieces using the lawnmower from Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. I have been shrunken down in the dream, to give you proper context, and yes, Amy O’Neill is my girlfriend. What I’m trying to say is that it may or may not be the dog days of summer.* Much like that lull that occurs at the beginning of the last quarter of any given school year, the time seems to stretch like taffy. However, we begin to make moves as if MLB’s season ends in the next week. Articles begin to appear talking about stretch runs, which is gross (Keep bathroom humor in the bathroom!). One reads another article explaining how you should spend your FAAB now, as the chances that a new closer or impact bat appearing on the wire is slim to none.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Happy Post-Trade Deadline week, where we all come down harder than Aaron Rogers after a heavy weekend in New Mexico with another bowl of ayahuasca and trying to commune with a plateau. Indeed, the fever dream of the past week is the Ross and Rachel of fantasy sports, a classic Will They or Won’t They premise. Will the Pirates finally trade their closer? Won’t the Rockies be folded into the minor leagues just so Dick Monfort’s investment in the team tanks? 

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Hello again from the world of speech-to-text. since last week wasn’t a burn down the barn failure. I am trying once again to have a computer help shape my voice, my opinion, and my blood cells. The blurbs came hot and fast this past week, and well, there’s a reason I don’t let my mom read my articles. Now that I have confirmed that speech-to-text brings out my worst stand up/dad chops, let me remind us all that to be grateful.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

This week I will be trying an experiment. Seeing as how when I am home I am constantly attached to an infant, thus rendering me one-armed, I will be attempting to use Google’s dictation software to write this week’s intro and outro. This comes with pros and cons. The pro is that I can write one armed. The con is having to listen to the sound of my own voice asking a machine to provide a punctuation mark, thus interrupting my flow of thought, which is already rather ruptured.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

This is going to be less on the flowery introduction, and more on the blurbs. This will be a mega blurbstomp, and I hoped you packed a big lunch, and something to drink, maybe a kettle and a convection oven, some cast iron skillets, a gas range, a refrigerator, a sink and garbage disposal, custom Ikea cabinets with a marble countertop, maybe an island unless it’s going to be a small space, a herringbone backsplash, sealed linoleum floors, fan for the range, a Danish Modern dining room table with 4-6 chairs, candles for mood, flower petals, a heart-shaped hot tub, and finally, a roll of quarters for the vibrating bed. 

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Fellow Blurbstompers, witness lust:

Julio Rodríguez went 2-for-5 with a two-run homer on Monday in a 7-4 victory over the Astros. 

With the score 5-4 in the top of the ninth, Rodríguez added some insurance with a two-run roundtripper to make it 7-4. That’s the seventh homer of the season for the outfielder, and he’s now plated 26 over his 55 games. After a shaky start, the 21-year-old has looked like a star, and while there will likely be some ups-and-downs, it’s reasonable to expect more good than bad from one of the most talented young players in the sport. He’s going to be a superstar (Rotoworld).

You know this feeling. It searches, fumbles, and excites. It feels akin to remembering that person you almost asked out in high school, who ends up being a successful entrepreneur and model, who years later admits they would have dated you. It’s not enough that you got cold feet, but to receive confirmation that your own lack of confidence and self-love obstructed your path to a more interesting and maybe fulfilling life? Talk about getting hit with a steam roller going 60 mph! Julio gives me that feeling all the time, and I am a prisoner to this feeling.

Please, blog, may I have some more?