Throughout this preseason, I have dived deep into the trash bin, trying to unearth some diamands in the…smelly trash. Ewwwww. P. U. The things I do for y’all. Before I continue, I have to give a shoutout to Laura, for she is the deep league specialist, and I recommend that you all read her work if you don’t already. Now, I like to have some semblance of balance in my life, so I’m going to flip my world upside down, don the hater cap, and throw internet tomatoes on a player who I feel has a chance to disappoint this season. I got no shame in my game, as I’m playing don’t pass at the table if I sense a disturbance in the Force. The stink eye I get from the others ain’t no thing. So, I’m prepared for the internet tomatoes that will more than likely be thrown my way, but such is the life of a hater. 

Please, blog, may I have some more?

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After 40 days and 40 nights of rain in Los Angeles, a respite finally arrived, so I slipped on the Vans and ventured out. The birds were chirping, the fresh after-storm smell was pungent, the sun was glistening off the puddles on the ground, and the Vans were getting soaked because Son is an idiot. As I walked in a trance-like state, I was brought back to reality when a car zoomed around the corner as I was about to step into the crosswalk. Furious, and about to fire off a salvo of expletives, I hesitated because I heard giggling. Not the teenage girl giggling that I’m scared to death of hearing when my daughter gets to the age. No, this was unadulterated joyous and free giggling. I looked left. I looked right. I looked down. Why did I look down? Anyways, I finally triangulated where the sound was coming from with my bat-like abilities. My eyes finally calibrated to expose a meadow, not one flush with green grass and blooming flowers. No, this Austin Meadows may be made of glass but could provide plenty of power. And he’s cheap! Let’s dig in.

Please, blog, may I have some more?

This could be my last baseball post at Razzball. If so, it’s been real and you all shall be missed. The reason why I have my head on a swivel and hear Grey’s cackles reverberting through my dome constantly is because I write up players he hates. In addition, I may be committing the cardinal sin being a writer at Razzball as this post is about a catcher! Yeah, I done F’d up. But such is the life of being the trash man at Razzball. It’s a thankless job but someone has to do it. Last week, I brought you riveting analysis of one Mike Yastrzemski. This week? Another Yas shall be written about: Yasmani Grandal. I am impervious to those internet tomatoes being thrown at my head because I’ve got my helmet on. Suck it! 

Please, blog, may I have some more?

This is a story as old as time. You enter the draft with the fervor of a hormone-raged teenager while donning a cap with YOLO embroidered on the front. Outfield? It’s super deep. Let me handle my business with the rest of the squad. So, you’ve got one hand on the steering wheel while the other is trying to find some good tunes on the radio as you cruise down the fantasy draft highway. The windows are down and the wind blows the hair into Picasso art. Round marker after round marker whizz by, then a dread encompasses the cabin of the car like a nasty fart; I need outfielders. With leagues requiring five outfielders, the once vast player pool dissipates quickly like a Sahara watering hole during the summer. One name that is often dredged up is Mike Yastrzemski. He is far from sexy and there’s a reason he’s in the dredges in the first place, but is he trash or a diamond in the rough?

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Life is all about utility. But one person’s concept of utility is different from another’s. Someone with tons of disposable income may view having a Ferrari as useful because it makes them feel better. Another who is living paycheck to paycheck may view that as silly. It very well may be, but it doesn’t matter because it serves a purpose for the owner. Religion is a hot bed topic that can spoil the most tastiest of dinners. What ever side of the debate you are on, though, it doesn’t matter because religion is a personal experience that provides utility for that particular person. The same goes for fantasy baseball. We all have different perspectives and values on players and go about roster construction in unique ways. One man’s trash could very well be another’s treasure. Which brings me to Christian Arroyo. Who? Yeah, this is not going to be a sexy piece, although most of these aren’t, but whatever. I leave those for the real writers on the baseball side. Arroyo is being drafted as the 490th overall player in NFBC drafts from February so he won’t be an option for standard leagues, but could he have utility in deeper formats?

Please, blog, may I have some more?

Nicky Lopez of the Kansas City Royals is the antithesis of Ricky Henderson, the tsaeb of fantasy baseball. Lopez won’t hit for power and….Well, he won’t do much of anything except get some steals. Will they be a “manna falling down from heaven” amount of steals? Niet, but steals are a commodity and many fall behind in the early part of the draft, forcing them to pay up later. You won’t have to pay up for Lopez, as he’s being drafted on average with the 269th overall pick in NFBC drafts from 3/2022 to 4/6/2022. Here’s why I think he can be useful:

Please, blog, may I have some more?

I’m a fatty, which therefore means that I’m hungry all the time. In my younger days, my metabolism and constant activity allowed me to maintain a svelte, Bruce Lee-esque physique. Nowadays, cranking out posts for Razzball in my mom’s basement has meant that the scale flashes CAN NOT COMPUTE when I step on it. I’ve started to excercise more and am trying to diet but I am still but a human. As I was scrolling through the NFBC ADP, I came across Mike Yastrzemski and became intrigued, and it’s not just because his name made me think of deli meat. Well, it is close to lunch time so that may have had something to do with it. Anyways, digging into Yastrzemski was akin to going to Katz’s Deli, ordering a sandwich, then realizing that the cashier gave me a discount. 

Please, blog, may I have some more?

He’ll battle pitchers whenever the team’s in trouble

Connor Joe is there!

[A real OMT hero]

Connor Joe is there!

It’s Connor Joe against all the naysayers, fighting to play everyday!

He never gives up, he’s always there

Fighting for at-bats on the road and in the mile-high air 

Connor Joe is there!

[A real OMT hero]

Connor Joe is there!

Connor Joe is the name of a man on a mission

Highly trained, overcoming testicular cancer!

His purpose, to play ruin the plans of Bud Black, a naive manager who rosterblocks all the prime candidates away

He never gives up, he’ll stay ’till the games won

Connor Joe will dare!

Connor Joes is there!

[A real OMT hero]

Connor Joe is there!

Please, blog, may I have some more?