Things to know...........

Round 1 ADP	Round 2 ADP	Round 3 ADP	Round 4 ADP	Round 5 ADP		Team Legend	#
Mike Trout	Prince Fielder	Felix Hernandez	Matt Cain	Adrian Gonzalez		Shitface Dickfarts	19
Miguel Cabrera	Clayton Kershaw	David Price	Cole Hamels	Craig Kimbrel		The Re-Tods	14
Ryan Braun	Stephen Strasburg	Justin Upton	Adam Jones	Matt Holliday		Grease Missiles	17
Robinson Cano	Giancarlo Stanton	David Wright	Cliff Lee	Billy Butler		The Pucketteers	15
Matt Kemp	Troy Tulowitzki	Dustin Pedroia	Jacoby Ellsbury	Adam Wainwright		Lord of Nations	16
Andrew McCutchen	Jose Bautista	Jose Reyes	Yoenis Cespedes	B.J. Upton		Handyman Slykes	9
Albert Pujols	Adrian Beltre	Bryce Harper	Ryan Zimmerman	Paul Goldschmidt		Business&Leather	15
Joey Votto	Josh Hamilton	Ian Kinsler	Jay Bruce	Yu Darvish		The Seal Clubbers	12
Carlos Gonzalez	Buster Posey	Jason Heyward	Starlin Castro	Madison Bumgarner		The Bream Team	18
Justin Verlander	Evan Longoria	Edwin Encarnacion	Jered Weaver	CC Sabathia		Twinks & Bears	13
						Free Agents	52
						Total	200
Round 6 ADP	Round 7 ADP	Round 8 ADP	Round 9 ADP	Round 10 ADP
R.A. Dickey	Ian Desmond	Yadier Molina	Chase Headley	Mark Trumbo
Gio Gonzalez	Pablo Sandoval	Elvis Andrus	Roy Halladay	James Shields
Allen Craig	Brandon Phillips	Anthony Rizzo	Matt Moore	Austin Jackson
Zack Greinke	Aaron Hill	Carlos Santana	Michael Bourn	Jason Motte
Hanley Ramirez	Brett Lawrie	Max Scherzer	Martin Prado	Matt Wieters
Joe Mauer	Johnny Cueto	Alex Rios	Victor Martinez	Alex Gordon
Chris Sale	Mat Latos	Curtis Granderson	Ryan Howard	Asdrubal Cabrera
Ben Zobrist	Kris Medlen	Jonathan Papelbon	Shin-Soo Choo	Carlos Beltran
Jason Kipnis	Aramis Ramirez	Desmond Jennings	Jordan Zimmermann	Rafael Soriano
Aroldis Chapman	Jimmy Rollins	Freddie Freeman	Yovani Gallardo	Fernando Rodney
Round 11 ADP	Round 12 ADP	Round 13 ADP	Round 14 ADP	Round 15 ADP
Jose Altuve	Melky Cabrera	Jon Lester	Derek Jeter	Huston Street
Paul Konerko	David Ortiz	Chase Utley	Matt Harvey	Nick Swisher
Mariano Rivera	Jeff Samardzija	Rickie Weeks	Hiroki Kuroda	Joel Hanrahan
Brandon Morrow	Carlos Gomez	Josh Willingham	Doug Fister	Brian McCann
Nelson Cruz	Ian Kennedy	Hunter Pence	Carl Crawford	Will Middlebrooks
Wilin Rosario	Jake Peavy	Miguel Montero	Salvador Perez	Greg Holland
Tim Lincecum	Joe Nathan	Dan Haren	Chris Davis	Adam LaRoche
David Freese	Eric Hosmer	Sergio Romo	Mike Moustakas	Danny Espinosa
Ike Davis	Jim Johnson	J.J. Putz	Anibal Sanchez	Nick Markakis
Shane Victorino	Josh Johnson	Mike Napoli	C.J. Wilson	Mark Teixeira
Round 16 ADP	Round 17 ADP	Round 18 ADP	Round 19 ADP	Round 20 ADP
Brett Anderson	Adam Dunn	Jesus Montero	Marco Estrada	Casey Janssen
Norichika Aoki	Rafael Betancourt	Neil Walker	Grant Balfour	Jeremy Hellickson
Tom Wilhelmsen	Addison Reed	Pedro Alvarez	A.J. Pierzynski	Josh Rutledge
Andre Ethier	Kyle Seager	Homer Bailey	Erick Aybar	J.J. Hardy
John Axford	John Buck	Ryan Vogelsong	Glen Perkins	Kenley Jansen
Dan Uggla	Jarrod Parker	Jason Grilli	Josh Beckett	Josh Reddick
Mike Minor	Chris Perez	Ben Revere	Tim Hudson	Brandon League
Alejandro De Aza	Jonathon Niese	A.J. Burnett	Derek Holland	Brandon Crawford
Lance Lynn	Matt Garza	Alcides Escobar	Michael Morse	Brett Gardner
Angel Pagan	Todd Frazier	Ichiro Suzuki	Jonathan Lucroy	Matt Harrison

Keeper Declaration Deadline:  Saturday, February 22nd, midnight

Draft Order Selection Order:  In an email somewhere.....I just know I'm last because I'm the reigning champ.  Suckas.  

From Cole

Either I never saw this back in October or I was still in a champagne induced haze from the Lord of Nations epic locker room celebration.  If I can skip ahead to Cole's snippet about 10th member.  With the extensive research by the crack staff we employ here at The Backstop Boys Fantasy Baseball League, it has been determined that 10th member can get to the draft for roughly $400, or half an hour of billed work.  I check back on the league's message weekly just to make sure I'm still the reigning champ (spoiler alert: I am) and I just found Cole's message.  So in case you haven't seen it yet, without further ado,  Cole's message.

Due to the complexities of responding to the Horns of Construction email notification, I wanted to get a separate discussion started here so we can chat about the brilliance of what is the Chris Martel literature. Once again, I commend you good sir for your beautiful words. No doubt my favorite line from your acceptance speech were "I too was once a lowly peasant filtering through pig shit just hoping to find an undigested corn kernel". This sequence of words will be taken to the grave as one of the most motivating, captivating phrases that have ever entered my brain. Thank you Christopher.

To Martel's 2nd point, we really do need everyone at the draft next year. Although I was not at last year's draft due to some last minute unfortunate circumstances, I was at the 2012 draft. A draft, I might add, I remember only bits and pieces of. I mostly remember eating 8 lbs of sausage from the crawfish boil, chugging Tony Cachere's and getting some in my eye, and drafting Carl Crawford in the 3rd round for some terrible man-crush reason. But did that stop me from getting to the finals? No. I finished 2nd. What I'm trying to say is, we should all be at the draft. We all NEED to be at the draft.

I know there has been some speculation about whether 10th member really exists. We all know that Tod is a lawyer, which automatically makes his endless arguments regarding the authenticity of Patrick Cannon's true existence null and void. I may or may not have been in Baltimore last year and met this 10th member guy. I also may or may not have had, during this same Baltimore/DC trip, spent 6+ hours searching for our hotel room one night, having multiple automatic rifles pointed at me from within 10 feet while laying on the steps of the nation's capitol trying to navigate the fucked up streets of Washington DC, only to find out I was on the right path from the start but didn't go far enough due to the streets changing from numbers to letters to numbers to letters to numbers to letters and finally to Sesame Street character names. I knew I was close all along but never knew my peaceful sleep was just beyond Fonzo's alley. FUCK, i was so close! Regardless of what may or may not have happened during that magical trip to Baltimore, I want this mystery to be put to rest once and for all. Therefore, I am willing to post up some $$$$ to get this 10th member asshole to the live draft next year. If anybody else wants to join me, please speak up. If not, I guess I'll personally drive to Baltimore and drag this son of a bitch to Lake Chuck with me in March so we can get this draft done.

With all due respect, I love each and every one of you and look forward to taking your money yet again next year. Long live the Shitface Dickfarts! Good night sirs.

Love,

Shitface Dickfarts

A Draft Day Wrinkle?

     An interesting concept was brought up today.  In our league, you get 3 hold overs from the previous season.  Usually these are either high profile players or players that have extreme value after being dug up from the recycle bin known as the late rounds of the previous years' draft.  Everyone usually has a pretty good idea of which players will be holdovers on their respective teams, but there always seems to be 3-4 surprises.  Will the keeper declarations deplete the starting pitching pool, maybe 3 middle infielders are kept and some managers fill that Andrelton Simmons is now worthy of a Round 4 pick.  The thing is, with the current keeper declaration model people have a month to prepare with an advance look at what the draft pool looks like after 30 of the most valuable picks are off the board.  

     What if this wasn't the case?  Shouldn't the declaration of the 3 players each manager deems the most likely to propel their team to a world championship be met with a little more fanfare than an email chain.  Maybe something like people yelling their names with expletives peppered in for good measure.  Now, if you're anything like me, you love draft day all the way down to your kiwis.  Now imagine it with a double shot of drama.  Should you use your first pick on a power pitcher because you think 4 of the 5 best are being kept, or will 3 of those guys be there in round 4.  I don't know!  It's impossible to know!  If any man knows what will happen on draft day they should be burned at the stake.  Now imagine this.  You know that awesome feeling of euphoria you get when you draft someone and someone else in the room yells, "Fuck you! I've been waiting for that guy the last 6 picks!" (To 10th member:  Imagine when you do a draft and another human is also present, and said human interacts with you, its cool, trust me). Well that feeling of crushing another man's spirit would be amped up to 11 if the newly proposed model passes.  Let me paint a little picture for you.  The Pucketeers keeps yammering on and on about a guy he feels poised to have an uber breakout year.  Three rounds later he's squirming around like a 3 year old doing the pee-pee dance.  "Jean Segura!" he yells whilst fist pumps abound.  "Fuck you, I'm keepin him!" fires back Business and Leather.  How good did that feel?  Shit could get crazy.  Shit could get real.  Shit could get crazy real.

****Editor's Note:  Rather than edit the previous text, I decided to add this tidbit:  This is still in the proposal stage, but something fun to think about.  It would also render the use of an online Yahoo! draft impossible as we would have no way to remove keepers so that someone couldn't draft them if they were secretly being kept.  Also, the person keeping each player would have to pay attention to when their secret player's 2013 ADP is rolling around.  But an added caveat to the above mentioned chaotic fun would be, what if a drunken manager lets a players' ADP spot pass by?  That player is lost and available to the other 9 managers now.  What intensity that would bring in the middle rounds when scrotums are aplenty and distractions are as far as the eye can see?  Would people purposefully be running shell games trying to get people to not pay attention?  I say, if it adds to the madness that is Draft Day, we owe it to ourselves to at least give it a long hard ponder.

Cabrera To Have Groin Surgery

Late last week news broke that the Lord of Nations superstar, Miguel Cabrera, was slated to have offseason groin surgery.  After almost an entire season of carrying an entire team that was comprised of glorified role players, the franchise player's bean bag couldn't take anymore.  "I has to carry extra testosterone in America very good for team make succeed," said the pre-op slugger moments before he was taken back for surgery.  The eternally grateful owner/manager/general manager of the Lord of Nations was seen coming out of Cabrera's hospital room just before the greatest hitter his generation has ever seen was wheeled to an operating room. "I'll gladly shave that man's coin purse after what he's done for me.  Frankly, I pretty much had to beat people off with a stick that were volunteering to Benjamin Button his ball sack," the still elated Lord of Nations skipper said through a euphoric smile.  "I know that man is about to have a razor sharp blade rip through the ol' potato sack, but even with that thought in my head, I can't help but smile knowing the heights he personally took me along with the rag tag group I surrounded him with."  The rag tag group being referred to is putting kindly the motley crew that surrounded the 5 star 4 stat juggernaut.  Nevertheless, despite a revolving door of supporting cast members, Mr. Triple Crown winner took it upon himself and helped secure his squad a 3rd place finish in what was one of the most competitive fantasy baseball seasons in recent memory.  When the playoffs rolled around and the one his teammates refer to as The Miggity Miggity Miggity Mac was still striding to the batters box despite his gigantic balls needing to be in a wheel barrow, his fellow teammates were left with no other option after seeing such fortitude.  Win the whole fuckin thing.  And the rest is a fairy tale that has become reality.

 Get well soon.  If not, get a really big jock strap and get your ass on the field next May.

Bring My Baby Home

Bring Me My Bucket

Hopefully the above link works.

I tried my best to encapsulate the the pain I've gone through when my baby was taken from me and the joy that would once again be mine when he returns home.  I've done my part and filled out the proper paperwork for my child to be returned.  Now I just need the deadbeat holding him hostage to turn him over to the proper authorities.

I Have Been to the Top of the Mountain

I'll start off by tooting my own horn (of construction). I'm fucking awesome. I truly am the greatest fantasy owner the likes of this league has ever been graced. Of all the past champions, I'm pretty sure I'm the championest. That being said, don't be mistaken. I'm completely serious. As soon as I saw that some moron left Aramis Ramirez available for me to bolster my playoff blitzkrieg, I knew the Puckett Bucket was all but mine. Nevermind the fact that it's current stable boy's existence is still highly debatable at this point and the mere thought that The Bucket will most likely go the way of Omar Little and see it's days come to an end on the streets of Baltimore keeps me up at nights. I know that soon my baby will find it's way back to it's maker and rest comfortably in my warm embrace. To all you feeble serfs out there, just know that I have all the intentions of being a just lord. I too was once a lowly peasant filtering through pig shit just hoping to find an undigested corn kernel, but now I feast at the bountiful bosom of The Bucket. It wasn't easy, but I made it inside the castle walls. That being said, don't be fooled, not everything is golden under my reign. I logged onto the ol' blogosphere only to find that my most recent post was made following the draft. Utterly unacceptable. I can only promise to try harder next year. I sincerely hope that I am remembered as a champion of the people, and that my loyal subjects will sing songs about The Golden Age of tBBFBL.

We are now into the offseason which means the glory that is March is only 5 months away.  This draft needs to be a good one.  If we need to call Sally Struthers and setup a "for only pennies a day" campaign to get you pussies to the draft, please let the proper authorities know (the commish).  We are all now fantasy adults, everyone knows what it takes to be a champion.  I'm living proof that attacking the draft with a ferocity never before seen by man results in hardware.  I'm pretty sure it was all clinched when everyone was a little too afraid to get wet and left me, the lone klansmen, on the back deck showering in champagne in what turned out to be a harbinger of reality.  Get yo' mind right fools.

Another Year Another Draft

     Another year and another successful draft has been committed to the annals of history.  It seems the hurdles are getting a little higher these days, but in the end 6 dedicated souls overcame what many would consider insurmountable odds.  There were 11th hour flights purchased, well thought out flights purchased, 10 hour round trip drives traversed, 10 minute round trip drives traversed, people's fate in the American judicial system put on hold, and even a human birth postponed.  It may have taken a little greater effort to officially kickoff the 2013 fantasy baseball season, but that is what makes it a just a little sweeter.



The below is a loosely based first hand encounter of a fantasy baseball draft seen through the eyes of one extraordinary man.  Although some of the experiences may be personal, they are meant to be tailored to the experience of the everyman.  


     There is something about the night before the draft when you realize things are finally coming together.  You put in your legwork calling other managers to see if you can get a feel for what may play out the following eve.  Everyone claims to have done even less work than you this year, "Ah, I bought a magazine back in January," they say.  You're not buying it.  No one has read a fantasy baseball periodical since the internet was invented, but still, you have no idea how things may unfold.  The next morning after you pull up your knee-highs and strap the ol' stars and bars across your forehead, the anticipation is ramped up for the first time of what will be many times throughout the day.  The next ramp is crossed when you first meet up with a fellow attendee.  You instantly exchange pleasantries and ask for the dirt on what the other guys may be thinking.  After notes are compared, 2 becomes 3 when a bearded vagabond is picked up from the airport and quickly schools his cronies on the intricacies of couch surfing.  You all quickly reminisce about how much cooler you could have been 10 years ago if only you all  knew what you know now, when really if that were truly to happen, even less girls would've been banged and even more dorky fantasy would've been played.  Finally, you arrive at the scene of the crime.  You know some crazy shit will go down here in mere hours, but besides somehow involving dicks and satchels, you have no idea exactly what it will be.  All of the sudden the hands of the clock seem to be on cocaine and redbull after what felt like it was an eternity away is now getting here faster than you're comfortable with.  The draft kicks off and as each pick is made you fight between the urge of dissecting every pick with the other attendees and doing last second decision making knowing your 1st pick looms near.  Then shit, here it is,  your pick.  Somehow the guy you would've wet your tip over if someone told you would fall to you is still on the board.  You can't believe it as you look around the room trying to figure out what you're missing.  Is he hurt?  Did someone else fall that shouldn't have?  Fuck it, stick with what you knew yesterday.  You make your pick and then lather, rinse, repeat for the next few rounds.  Then, this.  This is where an in-person draft becomes special.  There is something about having a group of guys sitting in a war room as you anxiously await your next mid-round pick.  Sitting, hoping the guy you have your eye on manages to fall 3 picks further so you can scoop him up.  You turn to your left and see a klansman pouring over leagues of data.  The sweat builds on your brow as you see him casually take a sip of ice cold Natty Light with 30 seconds still on the clock.  This man has ice water in his brains and a super computer for a brain.  Surely he sees what you're hoping he didn't.  His hands seem to move in slow motion as he makes his click of the mouse causing you to nervously look to your computer to see a nearly 40 year-old starting pitcher taken off the board as the room erupts in jeers and calls of "Reach!".  Fewf.  Your man is still available.  Only one more pick to be made.  This time, you peer across the room and see a man with a golden chin-dong protruding from his forehead.  He holds the fate of your team in his hands.  The other guys in the room are still talking about the pick made 4 rounds earlier, "What the fuck was he thinking, that guy is fighting to be a platoon player?" or "Holy shit, great pick, how did that guy fall that far?", but you aren't sucked in.  You just know your season can hinge on the acquisition of this one player.  Eventually, the golden-donged general manager makes his pick. "ASSHOLE, I'VE BEEN FUCKING WAITING FOR THAT GUY FOR THE LAST 7 FUCKING PICKS!!" you scream as Enrique Iglesias's "Bailamos" blares in the background.  Instantly, what was a look of extreme doubt on the other guys' face is transformed into a look of success.  Slowly, the available players have a much greater range between their rankings and the in-between-picks antics increase drastically as the rounds creep towards the twenties.  You half-heartedly look to see what reliever may fall into a closer role only to feel something tap on your shoulder as you turn to get a face full of beanbag.  Next you try to vulture some late round stolen base specialist as a 487 pound yellow lab eats peanut butter off a 96 pound man's strap on dildo.  Eventually, it's all over.  Everyone immediately starts comparing teams and claiming, "Look at this, y'all are fucked", "I may not lose strikeouts all year", or the annual comment of "Hey everyone, let's all eat disgusting jelly beans".

     Different years have brought on different post draft ceremonies.  Some have involved frisbees, some crawfish, and some liquor and tits.  All have involved puking.  But all that's just dessert.  The real main course is what happens when you wake up the morning of draft day until about 30 minutes after it ends.    I can't promise I'll be able to attend every draft from here on out, but I'm only cheating myself if I don't.  Who knows how my team will perform this year, but right now, I sleep just fine knowing that for one day, that one single day, we were champions........(If that was unclear I'm talking about me and my team, not you fucking homos)