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.