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…
It was precisely at that moment that I realized Byron Buxton had taken my manhood; How was I hoodwinked yet again by this tantalizing young prospect, whom I drafted in almost every league I’m currently playing in? Shouldn’t I have learned my lesson with Dominic Brown, the man I once looked upon as a son, who now sells fruit bowls on the streets of Tijuana just to send the family he so extraordinarily had forsaken some extra pesos while pretending he’s attempting a baseball comeback? In my head, and possibly in one of the few columns I wrote this year, I may have (please don’t check) even gone as far as to predict a 30-30 season for the young spark plug who finished with 16 and 29 just last year at just 23 years of age. That prediction is not outlandish whatsoever in my opinion, based off what he was able to accomplish last year, an improvement in the Twins lineup, and just the usual upward curve of young star’s careers in this age range. Of course, Buxton started out hitting in the 9-hole…..HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE??!?! The kid played like an absolute savant for a while last season and is arguably the face of the franchise!!! That would be like me winning the Pulitzer Prize and Grey asking me to start making balloon animals out of used Magnums, instead of composing tasteful masterpieces for all of the world to enjoy (are we translated into other languages yet?); It just doesn’t make any sense, aaaahkay!
To absolutely zero surprise, the man formerly known as Lord Byron got off to a brutally slow start, followed by migraines, which they felt required a pit-stop in AAA to return from, where he happened to foul a ball of his big toe, and then for reasons I’m still not aware of, rushed him back, this time without a stop in the minors (WTF) and again, to nobodies surprise, promptly re-injured the toe, and he now resides on the shelf for the foreseeable future. Was that last sentence legal? Jay, what’s the verdict? [Jay’s Note: I have to recuse myself due to personal bias.]
Every Tom Cruise has a Goose, or a Val Kilmer if you will. Goose died in the end (I heard anyway. I’ve actually never seen the movie), so for the sake of our title here, Max Kepler can either be Goose or Iceman, as he is both dead at the dish and one of the primary reasons for Buxton’s demise. The point is, these two young stars were supposed to carry the Twins into contention, not carry them towards the inspiration for a remarkably somber book turned movie, and Kepler ends up missing in Indonesia doing missionary work after completely flaming out with Buxton becoming a mediocre high school baseball coach at his former high school after his high school sweetheart breaks the news to him that she is consenting to having Miguel Sano’s baby, after he hit 45 homers and 130 RBI in 2020 (book it). WTF does this have to do with Top Gun? I DON’T KNOW!!!!!! STOP YELLING AT ME!!!!!
Either way, Kepler is hitting a paltry .240 with 7 bombs while hitting in the middle of the order almost daily, with the injured Buxton batting a robust .156 with ZERO bombs in 28 games. What a time to be alive! Love Top Gun, talk about an American classic.
Since it’s only 2:00AM, let’s check in with a few other players in the world of Major League Baseball, shall we!? TAKE HEED!
Yoan Moncada – Imagine for a moment, if you will, Dog the Bounty Hunter giving back shots to a five point buck, spray-painted like a zebra. Now, you clearly realize that in this dream of ours, the mighty and sophisticated warrior, Dog, is a symbol for Moncada, and the FPB (is this abbreviation a thing? It is now…) represents the American League for the next decade. This highly accomplished wood layer is on pace for a 20/20 season, and that’s with missing a chunk of games on the DL. In all honesty, he hasn’t even gotten remotely hot yet, and believe me, I know a thing or two about dudes banging reindeer, errr, baseball players and what it takes to be great. I would look to trade for Moncada if any man, woman, or child is panicking in your league. Offer Snell and a minor piece or something similar to this. Thank me by wearing deodorant at the gym.
Reflecting on our dream for a minute here, and the one thing I can’t quite decipher, is why the FPB was painted like a zebra. Such is life.
Wilson Ramos – Think back a couple years ago; You were 10 pounds lighter, had a tad more hair, didn’t used to sneak into the spare bedroom to pleasure yourself for the purpose of avoiding sex with your wife/husband, even though it got awkward when you made eye contact with the dog. During this fascinating time period in our lives, Wilson Ramos was turning himself into a top three offensive catcher in baseball. You recall the story, I’m sure; The Cocksure Wilson was 28 years of age, about to be an unrestricted free agent and more than likely receive a contract of at least 80 million dollars after hitting .307 with 22 home runs and 80 RBIs in 131 games for the Nationals of Washington. Sadly for him, he tore his ACL in September, meaning he would miss a huge portion of the 2017 season, so the suitors weren’t exactly lining up to endow Ramos with his dream contract. But oh ho-ho, those crafty Devil Rays snuck in there and got an honorable deal completed, and Ramos has been just as filthy, and a major cause of the Rays over-achievements thus far. Kudos, my good man. Kudos, I say.
Eastbound and Down – Just rewatched, and although a tad on the crude side, I am now demanding another season. I just stopped writing and watched the below video 12 times. I highly suggest you watch it. “Gettin ready to take em to the farmer’s market. Special, two plumbs for one.” LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
Dellin Betances – I can’t get over how dominant Betances was before seemingly out of nowhere falling off a cliff, to the point where the idea of actually inserting him into an important situation (any situation really), was about as appealing as having Andre the Giant sit on your face for five minutes…..naked. It truly baffles me that this wasn’t or hasn’t been a bigger story, as his struggles have continued, although, to a much lesser degree in 2018. Truly, this was one of the most dominant relievers I have literally ever witnessed in life, and they couldn’t even use him in the playoffs. He’s been better as of late and I’m hoping for the best, but mainly I just wanted some feedback from you, as I’ve been whining about this for months.
Cam Bedrosian – I put my hand on the stove, to see if I still bleed… Burning your hand on the stove doesn’t actually draw blood but don’t tell that to whoever wrote the young woman’s verse on that less than mediocre Kanye West album. I keep going back to Bedrosian, just to see if I still bleed…out of my eyeballs every time he ice picks me by giving up mass dongage on the reg. Cam, you were supposed to be somebody, baby. Get it together. For me.
Addison Russell – Don’t ask, don’t tell.
Louis Castillo – Shoutout seemingly every single fantasy baseball writer who hyped this guy up, only for Castillo to lift his leg and urinate all over our hopes and dreams of a fruitful season. Speaking of urine, I accidentally took a large swig of some I had deposited in a Perrier bottle a day or two prior. To make things even better, I had a woman in the car and had to play it off like my mouth wasn’t full of actual piss. Ahhhh, memories.
Ozzie Albies – Albies is fading faster than my chances of becoming a respected and loved writer, but it was fun while it lasted, right? I’m talking, of course, of Albies. I was never loved or respected.
I could never properly display the gratification I received from many of your comments last week. It feels good to be back, doing something I enjoy, and chatting with fellow fans of the game. I will be contributing much more often now, so please hit me with players you’d like me to touch on and I will fulfill each and every request, or my name isn’t Lo-Well aka Tehol Beddict the Elder AKA Grey’s Gelding. If you’d like to get more intimate and be a real part of my journey, please except this exclusive invitation to my Instagram.
Let’s chat later.
