
A weekend recap for those who couldn't make it and those like me that were there but some things are still a little blurry. Friday night I arrive at the commish's house and he immediately shows me an ice chest of beer with about 3 cases of beer in it and asks me if I think it will be enough for the weekend. Earlier on in the week he told me he split about 26 cases of beer with someone and that was what we'd be drinking for the weekend. So ofcourse, I figured the quantity was fine, but the absurd amounts of Bud Light Lime in the cooler was ridiculous. He then tries to sell me on the scurvy preventer by saying it tastes like Froot Loops. Yeah, thats what I want beer to taste like. We arrive at the fine facilities of Copper Mill Golf Course where the commish gives us all a reminder that this is his place of employment and that there is a big tourney going on and we need to remember our manners. Five minutes later, as we are all standing around admiring the "2010 Fantasy Convention (you guys are cool)" welcome sign, the commish asks Christian to show his tennis ball-sized testicle to his boss. Remember manners, check.
After divvying up the beer among the 7 drinkers and watching the Lime get avoided like the plague, a round of golf kicked off. After what started as a competitive round, ended up with no more beer and a failed covert piss on 18 fairway resulting in urine all over yours truly. It was this moment that defined my day. The golf round ended and the moment I have been losing sleep over for weeks commenced. It started off with Liv staying true to form and getting Mr. Wright. Things pretty much went as scheduled untill 1st bomb drop of the draft went off. If you had Ben Zobrist in your office pool as first completely unexpected selection, congrats. My first 3 rounds pretty much went as I rehearsed, but by round 6, beer kicked in and I drafted Herniated Roberts. Second base. Baltimore Orioles. Although I did manage to redeem myself in Round 8 by allowing myself the option to change my team name to "kickem in denards". My personal highlight of the draft was when Jon Lester was taken and the commish kicked a folding chair only to crumple and hit the ground like a wet rag, then was beaten with a ice chest lid a la WWE. Round 10 a minor miracle happened and something that I think should be added to the Constitution occurred. Fantasy magic touched us all when the Keith Law fournicater selected Ian "Shotgun" Stewart. A wonderful follow-up to the shotgun was made in the 12th when Andrew Bailey was drafted, then Soria....could it be... then Heath Bell......do I smell.....Francisco Rodriguez.... a closer run!!! New owners of Heath Bell and Soria celebrate by humping in front of the draft board with what I think should be our league logo, suck it Jerry West. Way to go SFDF for climaxing the run with K-Rod without even being present to feel the suspense.
6 hours into the draft and we are reaching the rounds of the early teens, I become antsy and start rushing everyone along (apologies to all those present and all those I called to rush). Mr. Brad Hawpe joins the ranks with Ian Stewart and the rest is a blur. Apparently Ben Sheets was named Mr. Irrelevant and a new league name was born (I nominate Joey Fatone as the name of our MVP trophy). Post draft celebrations kicked off with some frisbee game and a trip to the appropriately named "Happy's". I offer to buy the birthday boy (the relevant one) a shot as the soothsayer promises regurge. One car bomb later, our good ol' friend Papa John's makes a second appearance. A few bar shenanigans and a taxi ride with the uber-talkative Mike (sarcasm font necessary for the preceeding) and we called it a day around 4. The next day as I prayed for an I.V. drip on my cross country journey, I could only hope that the previous day is an inkling of the festivities to come this season.