Trash Can Fire Report

I'll try to keep an updated list of the offseason info that is relevant to the upcoming draft. Keep in mind that this information is taken from what league members say or my own speculation, and all parties involved may be full of poop.

Draft Order Selection Order (D.O.S.O.)

1. Re-Tods
2. Cowhide Joyride
3. Seal Clubbers
4. Twinks & Bears
5. Business & Leather
6. Pinstripe Pirates
7. Lord of Nations
8. The Bream Team
9. Pucketteers
10. Shitface Dickfarts


Keepers & Draft Picks Extra/Lost (via Keepers and Trades)

1. Re-Tods- Jose Buatista (4) , Ryan Zimmerman (3), Cain (9) & taking #1 overall
2. Cowhide Joyride- Adrian Gonzalez (2), Cliff Lee (3), Josh Hamilton (2)/Matt Holliday (3)?
3. Seal Clubbers- Jacoby Ellsbury (9), Vogelsong (20)/Kennedy (20)/Castro (15)?
4. Twinks & Bears- Votto (1), Granderson (11), Hamels (7)
5. Business & Leather- Mike Stanton(9), Bumgarner(17), Brandon Beachy (20)
6. Pinstripe Pirates- Kemp(3), McCutcheon(4),Kinsler(3)/Reyes(3)? Traded: Rd 4,6 Gained: Rd 4,6
7. Lord of Nations- Cabrera(1), Kershaw(4), Jennings(20)/CC(5)/CJ Wilson (20)/Kuroda(18) Traded: Rd: 6 Gained: Rd 5
8. The Bream Team- Tulowitzki(1), Fielder(2), Hosmer(20)/Lowrie(20)?
9. Pucketteers- Braun(1), Pujols(1), Justin Upton(4)? Traded: Rd 4,5 Gained:Rd 6,6
10. Shitface Dickfarts- Verlander(6), Weaver(8), Felix(2)?


***I'LL UPDATE THIS ONCE I GET THE ADP or MORE PEOPLE ANNOUNCE CONCRETE KEEPERS****

Trash Can Fire Report

First off, I beg of you guys, I need you to please make comments after this post because I feel like I need this support group to move past the shellacking I watched Alabama put on the 11 parking cones lined up across from them this past Monday. Deer everywhere are now referring to their fallen brethren's lack of evasive maneuvers as Jefferson in linebacker eyesights. I've decided to move on to my next relationship, but I can't do it without your help. Like a weeping 34 year old lady that just got dumped and is now sitting in her flannel fat pants and calling over her other pathetic friends to watch a Lifetime movie and eat Bluebell ice cream straight from the tub, I need your help. Grab a spoon.
After seeing a bunch of your ugly mugs (and pictures of some of your shirtless mugs on party buses) this weekend, I've decided to throw out my own little Backstop Boys League version of the uber-informative Hot Stove report on espn.com that gives us such gems as, "AL East GM claims many teams still interested in Fielder?". I love a good question-statement, so I present to you "The Trash Can Fire Report". I hope to throw a bunch of shit that may or may not be construed as knowledge into these reports, light it all on fire, and hopefully a bunch of bums, and god willing, hobos, flock to it. Ultimately, I hope this will be the first of many installments of the TCFR, but thats also what Benny wanted when somehow he was introduced to the greatest collection of fantasy baseball minds in 2009, but after only 2 years, he is nothing more than a slogan.



* Kendrick a Keeper? After rumors floating around that LoN may keep Kendrick to add to his Kershaw Kabrera 2-headed monster, mainly for the alliteration that will ensue, the young second baseman now floats everywhere. "The fact that I've gone from 4-time fantasy kryptonite for Mr. LoN to now being a possible completely over valued keeper is superdy duper!", quipped the levitating Angel



*BamBam Thank You Ma'am? Ryan Braun, seen here with his trainer, (Sorry sir, costumes do not work, Brian McNamee was found even though he refuses to get out of that giant douche costume) may be done filling the cum dumpster he calls the Pucketeer's. After getting busted using PEDs, most probably administered by the villainous lobsterdog, Braun may be faced with a 50-game suspension. After failing to even come up with a crazy excuse like getting his steroids mixed-up with french vanilla coffee creamer or something real feminine like that, one can only assume he's as guilty as getting caught hiding in the bed of a pick-up truck after a smoke bomb mysteriously went off on someone's screen window. When the question came up of whether Braun will become a free agent and could possibly wind up with a new home in 2012, the superstar quickly said "Please God"




*New Home for Aramis = New Home for Aramis? Hopefully




*Holliday Over For Joyride? After vowing "I will never be a fantasy free agent again!" (and apparently having it tattooed on his arm) when the Re-Tods made him the 2nd overall pick back in 2010, it appears that Matt Holliday may again be found at singles mixers this offseason. With offensive juggernaut and completely legal alien Adrien Gonzalez and fankiller Josh Hamilton already on the Cowhide Joyride, it appears that the man with the coolest haircut in the league not named Cody Ross may be in search of a new home assuming his current owner looks to start the season +1 in the SP position and holding onto mid-season acquisition Cliff Lee.





*Possible Trade for Crawford? Hopefully Crawford does take up a trade, possibly major league hitting. Drum, drum, cymbal. Pinstripe Pirates has about as good a chance of unloading this guy as a lactose intolerant fiber deprived octogenarian unloading a bowl of ice cream cereal.







*Possible Keeper for Business & Leather? B&L manager doesn't get all the "You like em young" comments. Really? Maybe Mike Stanton (22), Michael Pineda (22), Mike Minor (24), or Mike Trout (20) can explain it to you during one of their diaper changes. P.S. Please change your name to the Young Mikes.

A Heart With 2 Counterparts is a Heart Alone

As fall is now setting in, the time of year that many men across the country long for annually is finally upon them. The intensity of playoff baseball is heating up and the anticipation of football season has climaxed into a reality. But it's not a magical time for every man in America. All across our great country, athletes are having to leave their families behind to head out on road trips or having to cancel that family vacation they had planned assuming their team would miss the playoffs. This can be extremely hard on them, but very few people get to see the damage that is done behind the curtains, in the players' home. Fortunately, I was lucky enough to report on a very unique circumstance with a person going through this very thing, on two fronts.
For this story, I was headed down to a town in southeast Louisiana that somehow seems to be simultaneously up and coming and completely stagnant all at the same time, a future metropolis/wasteland known as Zachary, Louisiana. Like I mentioned earlier, the reason I ended up here is a very unique circumstance. The recent lonely lover I'm here to cover is named J.C. Anderson Jr. and his heart is being torn in two differentdirections. He recently received the phone call all baseball wives' both pray to receive and hope never comes. "We had been planning all summer to spend a magical fall in the Poconos watching the leaves change, so when BamBam called to cancel due to the postseason I was happy for him, but crushed for us," stammered a still heartbroken Anderson through held back tears. Seeming to sense his dismay at this very moment, one of his many cats quickly nestled in his lap to try and offer comfort to the now obviously choked up Anderson. With the high reward that comes from his partner's job, a demanding schedule also follows. Ryan Braun of the Milwaukee Brewers has to report to training camp in early spring and is guaranteed to be out of pocket through the summer and into early fall. "BamBam usually makes the all-star team so that ruins the chance of us having a midsummer lover's soiree during peak bathing suit season, so most of our get togethers are for a night here and there usually leading to one too many mai tais and way too few sexual relations."
This heartache is nothing new to Anderson, but this year in particular looked to be extremely more taxing on the daintily clad lover. "BamBam said he'd only catch for the playoff run in order to save energy, problem is, he most definitely knows I'm no pitcher," muttered Anderson as he wiped his now running nose on the sleeve of his Easter pink polo. "This lead me into something I often thought about on my lonely summer nights, but believed I would never have the stomach to actually act on, I found comfort in the arms of another man." Problem is, that other man is also forced out of his partner's arms this time of year. "In my head it all worked out so perfectly, BamBam could keep me warm in the winter months and Tom would be there to cool me off in the summer months." But like Steinbeck once wrote, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry."
"When the phone rang and it was BamBam telling me the Poconos trip wasn't happening, I thought that it couldn't get any worse, then last week happened," sobbed Anderson after excusing himself for a few moments seemingly to gather himself and also to put on some Abercrombie pajama pants at 2:00 in the afternoon.
"I helped Tom pack then drove him to the airport and seemed to be doing ok, I had come to grips with the life I had chosen, my men had men to lead and a man to leave. But when I saw those Ugg boots walking down the jetway, I felt like a 1,000 pound weight was placed on my chest and the heartache came rushing back."
Now, just because Anderson is left alone this time of year, don't jump to any conclusions about him being unsatisfied. Everyone has heard various stories about army wives or other lonely ladies that are left alone for long stints of time.
Many of them manage to keep themselves "occupied" with a little self-stimulation and our featured character is no different.
Suddenly, Anderson's demeanor switched from a mentally defeated victim to someone who seemed to have a secret that no one else knew. "Before Tom left I had him cram a 4-leaf clover, a rabbit's foot, and a horseshoe up my ass," grinned Anderson through a smirk that strangely resembled an evil villain that just concocted a fiendish plan to conquer the world, "they're all up there right now!"
At least this is how I suspect his playoff run is happening.

The Trade Winds: They Are A Blowin'

Here we are a whopping 1/3 of the way through the baseball season and there have been more trades than a man who happened to lose 3 of his fingers in a tragic meat grinder incident could count on both of his hands combined. The players swapping sides aren't role players either, we're talking some high quality shit changing hands here. Among those players changing hats thus far this season have been a 1st rounder, a 2nd rounder, a 3rd rounder, 3 keepers, and a pitcher who happened to throw a no-hitter this year. Maybe it has something to do with the keeper/franchise tag rule, or maybe it has something to do with the option of manager's trading future picks, but something has got this league in quite a tizzy and no one knows that better than Francisco Liriano.
With the historical distinction of adding his name to the no-no list this year, Liriano is quoted as saying that his "No-no isn't even the craziest thing he's accomplished this season." Francisco Liriano has become the first baseball player ever to have been traded three times in a season that I can remember without doing any research whatsoever. Lirian-hoe is the sure thing being passed around the Backstop Boys league like the horny sorority girl on homecoming week that just seems to always leave her drink unattended. After being drafted into sluttery by the Re-Tods, their relationship soon soured (I suspect boredom), and he was then traded to B&L on April 12th, feeling crushed, "The village bicycle" decided to open up his back door to keep things spicy for his new manager. Unfortunately butt ramming can only last so long as even the brown eye can lose it's elasticity and on May 10th he was again traded, this time to the LoN's. "I'm not sure how he passed his physical before the trade went through, he was clearly suffering from what I call a shot balloon knot when he got here", said Liriano's newly disappointed manager. After a whopping 13 days on already his 3rd team, LoN's decided to hit it and quit it and ship the damage goods on it's way. This time he landed on the Pinstrip Pirates squad and remains there to this day. As some of us know first hand, you can try your best to make an honest woman out of a crack whore who lets you rail them in the back of a 4runner, but eventually she will cheat on you with a parapalegic and it will be time to kick that ass to the curb.
There is no telling what kind of kinky stuff that Lirian-hoe has opened himself up to for his new manager with the Pinstripe Pirates. The only thing to know for sure is that since crack whores almost never have personalities, eventually the fireworks in the bedroom won't be able to fill the chasm that will soon separate the hoe from her pimp. The way this year is shaping up, there will no doubt be many more trades to come, just be careful you don't catch something.

Greatest Love Story Never Told

This heart-warming human interest piece is based on a little known fact to even the most dutiful baseball fan. In the 1980's a young man known as "El Chulo" (English Translation, n. pimp) landed his dream job aboard the "The Carnival Breeze", a luxury cruise liner amongst the famed Carnival Cruise fleet. "My yob, it was muy beueno", said El Chulo, as he stared in the distance almost watching the memories of a better time take place all over again. "My yob was to clean dishes aboard el ship, but when we docked is when I really did my work."
Rafeal "El Chulo" Cabrera Jr. was born in a poor Dominican village and it wasn't long before his thirst for life outside the slums could not be quenched. As a wide-eyed 8 year old boy, he once wandered to the bustling city of Santo Domingo. It was here that young Rafeal saw a cruise ship unload a cargo of knowledge seeking tourists. These tourists looked so different than what young Rafeal was used to and this intrigued every fiber in his being. He finally gained the courage to speak to one of these strange people and learned that simply by getting on this ship they were able to see many parts and people of the world in a relatively short period of time. It was exactly what he wanted. He would finally break the chain of landscaping and tortilla rolling that had plagued his family for generations.
After many years of laying on the dust ridden streets of his village and imagining traveling from port to port as he stared at the stars, a now 17 year old Rafeal worked up the strength to tell his father that he would not carry on the family landscaping business. He would go out on his own. A dejected Rafeal Sr. peered up at his son through teary eyes and said, "promise me this son, you will bring the name Cabrera all over the world." "I will Papa", returned the emotionally torn Jr. as the sadness of departing and the angst of starting anew set in.
One week washing dishes on the ship couldn't pass soon enough. Finally the ship made port in the South American country of Venezuela. Rafeal Jr. finished his work and decided to mix in among the locals of the community to learn their way of life. It wasn't long before Rafeal began laying the foundation to lay the pipe that would earn him his nickname. He got hammer drunk, hung out in an alley behind the local watering hole and grabbed the first nina' that walked by. He held a steak knife from "The Carnival Breeze" to her throat as he forced his "excavadora" (literal translation to english is "shovel", but apparently it Mexican slang for dick, also) in her hooha. After spraying he heard the departing words of his father ring true in his head. He then, almost instinctively, pressed the steak knife even closer to his lover's neck as he said, "Bitch, no matter what, if this baby is a boy, his last name must be Cabrera, if you do not follow my wishes, I will be back to end you!" This romantic ritual took place all over the Caribbean.
Flash forward 20 something years to the Grapefruit League in Arizona. Three Cabrera boys, Melky, Asdrubal, and Miguel, all playing for different Major League squads, get together and discuss how great it is that despite being from different areas they all have the same last name. Their stories soon turned to their families and each tells the story they've heard all their lives about their father. All three stories are eerily similar and they conclude that it has to be more than a coincidence, they were all sired by the same man.
May 2nd the 3 Cabrera's were united on a fantasy baseball force known as the Lord of Nations. Melky was the last to come along and was a little aprehensive at first. "I didn't know what to expect, new places are always different, the new manager may be cool, he may be a dick," said a still uneasy Melk-man. "Manager is super awesome, after my epic night of partying he not only kept me, he kept me as a first rounder!" said the senior and senor Cabrera, Miguel. "It's so nice to be here with all my rape brothers," adds Asdrubal, "we're pretty sure our Papa also rape-loved Orlando's mama, but he's a real dick and he also plays my position so we asked the LoN to just limit it to us three."
We caught up with this Lord of Nations and asked him how this brotherhood took place on his squad. "We weren't worth a flying shit, so I figured a little familiarity would be a good idea," bellowed the saintly GM/Owner/Manager. "Plus, have you ever seen how many Mexicans can fit in a car, I was hoping Yahoo! would let me cram the 3 of them into 2 positions in my lineup." Things may be turning around for the lowly Lord of Nations. Now if only El Chulo had produced a pitcher.

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?

A Rockie and a Rocker

After a few good seasons, and no longer being considered an up-and-comer, Colorado Rockies shortstop, Troy Tulowitzki, has decided to work on his image. "Now that I'm a mainstay on the club, I decided that I can afford to focus on being totally awesome and not worry so much about my two strike approach." It is this new philosophy that lead the all-star shortstop to seek the help of an unlikely mentor. That mentor is none other than Misfits founder, Glenn Danzig. Yes, that Glenn Danzig.
I then sat down with the student and teacher to dig a little deeper into their relationship. Turns out this rather unlikely pair made their connection in a rather unlikely way. "I was on my bi-monthly visit to my general practitioner when I saw the most unusual message on the sharps container in his office," recounted the now giddy shortstop recollecting the beginning of his relationship. "I watched the nurse dispose of the needle she used to give me my vaccinations and there it was." The "it" that Tulowitzki is referring to was a giant label that ordered all used needles be delivered to one, Glenn Danzig. After seeing this, Tulowitzki was puzzled. "What on Earth would a man want with used needles?" he asked the nurse. "He has his house servants place them in random articles of clothing that he may wear throughout the week," the nurse replied. "I don't get it," said the befuddled MLBer. "His house servants (aka black people) hide the needles everywhere from inside headbands to inside fingerless gloves." It turns out that Danzig thinks that the piercing of his skin with unexpected needles keeps him tough, and the fact that they are all used needles keeps his immune system tough. "How can I expect my immune system to beat the fuck out of disease if I let it become a pussy?", growled Danzig. "Thats it, that's the kind of stuff I want my brain to say!" Tulowitzki interjected.
For those of you that don't know, Glenn Danzig is quite the intimidating force. Imagine a grizzly bear that just knocked down 2 rails of coke and drank a case of Red Bull and you would have Danzig in his sleeping state. It is this shear intensity that drew the softspoken shortstop to the rocker for tutelage. "I was tired of the guys giving me doodoo in the clubhouse for my music selections, so I figured one offseason of work with a guy like Mr. Danzig might change all that for me." Each afternoon, the pair wakes up and starts their day gnawing on stainless steel construction grade chain. "This is how you weed out your pussy teeth," explained Danzig, sensing my confusion. After this breakfast, it's on to metal working. Armed with either a cutting torch or a metal grinder, the two cut/grind on re-bar for about an hour, no purpose in mind, just need to see sparks flying. "If your shirts still on at this point you fucked up during breakfast" adds the teacher. Following this warm-up, it's on to a game called cinder ball. For this game, "Mother" is blared from speakers while the two stand roughly 10 feet apart and exchange tosses of cinder blocks. No defense is allowed and hits below the neck don't count, first to receive 5 hits wins. The next part of the workout is where the Rockie had the hardest part adjusting. This part of the training takes place in what Danzig refers to as the "Rape Room". Inside this 30'x 30' room framed by, you guessed it, stainless steel walls, no beds can be found. Only empty stainless steel toolboxes, the kind you see in the back of pick-up trucks with Salt-Life stickers on the back windshield. The two bleeding men wait inside the Rape Room while the harem of the Rocker is injected with pure adrenaline. The women are then released in the room where they began to scatter like ants running out of a freshly kicked mound. "I understand the getting our dicks wet part, but wouldn't it be easier to just slip a little date rape in their morning coffee?" asks Tulowitzki. "T-Rex doesn't want to be fed, T-Rex wants to hunt," snaps back the furious mentor. This elaborate exercise goes on until the wee hours of the morning, the group sleeps, then repeats the regimen the very next day. 7 days a week, like clock-work.
"The only reason I granted this fucking interview is because a rumor started that I may want to walk up to the Biebs, thats bullshit!" snarled the now angry Tulowitzki. There is no doubt that his training is already shining through in the pupil. He appearred to be way more edgy and intense even as this interview took place. Look for a new brand of baseball out of the perennial MVP candidate. This year when you see Troy Tulowitzki break up a double-play or go into home standing up, don't feel sorry for the player that felt the brunt of Glenn Danzig's schooling, feel greateful for he was allowed to live. And if you are the opposing pitcher and #2 steps to the plate for the Rockies and you begin to hear "Mother" playing on the house system, remember, no defense and only hits to the head count.