What the Deuce?

Here we are a whopping month into the fantasy baseball season and I'm already looking for what went so terribly wrong. My draft day preparation and state of mind was exactly on par with where it was last year when my team made an improbable playoff run, so that couldn't be where the problem was. That can only mean one thing, if it's not the manager's fault, the crime being committed here must fall squarely on the shoulders of his shitty players. (This is the part where David Caruso takes off his glasses and says something like "It looks like someone has....struck out"---cue Roger Daltry)
The leading suspect for the murder committed on my dreams is none other than, The Carcass of Carl Crawford. No I'm not referring to the lost Mark Twain volume in which Huck Finn pokes a dead bloated black man with a stick after finding him floating on the mighty Mississip, it's how the South Shreveport fantasy sports media is now referring to Red Sox left fielder. Why, because he smells like shit and there are always buzzards flying around him trying to see if they can get an easy meal off me (No I don't want anything involving 2014 draft picks Eric). The guy just signed a $142 million dollar contract and has a sperm tatooed on his neck, did I really think he would stay hungry? It's no secret that Crawford is from a real sketch neighborhood in Houston and is an inner-city kid to his core. To understand the complex life of someone who has been through such trials and tribulations as The Carcass of Carl Crawford, I think one must turn to a brilliant mind of our time that has also gone through such travesties himself. For that brilliance, I turned to the great Fiddy Cent who once said, "Get rich or die tryin." Well, The Carcass is now rich, I guess there is no longer a reason to try.
Another very substantial breakthrough I've had when studying the history of Tiger Bait fantasy baseball is this cutting edge theory. If you want your team to be good, you can't miss on any of your first 3 picks. Miss on one, you may make the playoffs as a low seed, miss on two pieces of your triumvirate and you'll be figuring out your next year keepers by May 3rd. I feel like if you've made it this far through this poorly written expose' that is being used to help me deflect personal thoughts of baseball shortcomings, you should know that as of today, The Carcass could be construed as a miss. Well let's take a look at the other fellas that comprise my triumvirate. First off, there is my rock, my northstar. His position in the night sky never waivers, it just pulls over to sober up and hope no cops find him before he can sleep it off. Miguel Cabrera, I thank you, scotch is in the mail my friend. Now, in order for this theory to hold true, the genius that created it said that if your team is in the basement, there must have been atleast 2 misses in the triumverate. Well since my team is now rooming with Anne Frank, I feel like I should back this theory up. My 3rd pick was Victor Martinez who decided to break up his uber slow start with what Al Michaels would refer to as a groin (I really fucking hate when he does this by the way, "Randy Moss is out with a knee." What the shit does that mean, and hopefully now you'll notice it and it will drive you nuts as well). Anyway, Victor Martinez apparrently has a groin and decided to sit out for a few weeks. Miss.
Well, that explains my lack of offensive prowess, let's see how I manage to re-write the Un-record book on the other side of the plate every week. Pitchers 1 and 2, same as last year's awesome staff. Pitcher 3, second year in a row has decided to personally aid his family after a Tornado destroyed their home. Excuse me Roy, you make millions of dollars, buy your family a steel encampment and get back to work. At the very least, send them a check that your employer so graciously gave you in return for your services. I once read an article where your father is a a fifty-something year-old logger that never missed a day of work in his life and refuses to retire although his son makes enough money for him to do so comfortably. Quit being such a disappointment to him Mr. Oswalt, get back to Philly and earn your check. Also, while I'm at it, why must every pitcher I touch lay an absolute turd for me. It's like somewhere between last year and this year I turned from King Midas to his evil twin brother that can magically turn things to shit just by touching them. Everytime I pick up someone for a spot-start they manage to post a solid 9.00 ERA. If Cole didn't make such an irate rant this offseason about changing your fantasy team name, I would have already changed mine to "5 IP, 5 ER's".
And there you have it folks. The explanation for what may be a truly monumental year. After looking a little closer, final verdict on this case is that there was no one murderer, it has been a real team effort. As I said in my opening paragraph and will now reiterate in my closing paragraph, because that's how Mr. Hurlbut taught me, it's not my fault, it's my team's fault. I've obviously done my part, they are all working toward a common goal as a true unit. Unfortunately, that goal is, Lord of Nations.....You have first choice, what position would you like to draft from?