MLB Opening Day: A Fiancee’s Greatest Nightmare

Opening Day. It’s a day to reflect – to reflect upon the misery and loneliness of last season. And the previous season. And the one before that. Perhaps, three seasons ago you were single, or in the midst of a breakup. But it makes no difference now.

Opening Day represents a recurring sea change in the relationship. One that usually passes, come late October – and reverts to something resembling the loving and nurturing you once knew. But until then, you’re pretty much on your own.

With opening day comes months and months of seemingly endless baseball games. Unlike football – which basically only ruins Sundays - the innocent bystander (aka - girlfriend, fiancée, etc.) experiences Major League Baseball’s season of never-ending 3.5 hour ignore-a-thons.

162 games per team. 32 teams. 2,112 possible game combinations. Factor in the fantasy baseball implications, and you have millions upon millions of potentially impactful outcomes. That’s a whole lot of ignoring to be done.

And with that ignoring comes shouting at the TV, jumping on the sofa, drinking beer, and – oh yeah – ignoring you.

But the baseball season is only April through October - just a little over the half the year. And did I mention it’s only 162 games long? Not including the playoffs and World Series, of course.

If you pick up a couple of hobbies – like reading, knitting, or traveling to Mars and back – then the baseball season can really seem to fly by.

I wouldn’t know firsthand. After all, I’m the guy watching all the baseball games, and ignoring poor Jaimi (my fiancée) more than usual. The upside is that she gets less of my smart-ass lip, and more time to do whatever she wants. She can totally monopolize the computer or read her beloved books in peace, without me bugging her to watch how many pushups I can do, or see how fast I can drink a beer – you know, typical guy stuff.

So maybe it’s not all bad for her.

April 6th to October something-or-other (not including last night’s Phillies-Braves game, which I also watched). The MLB season has arrived.

A-Rod can do steroids, Manny can be Manny, and David Wright can continue being as cute as a button. For most of the rest of the year, I’m all theirs.

Sometimes, during the season, even Manny wants to be alone. "If you need me...tough shit," he says, as he disappears into the scoreboard. Lesson learned: We all need our own scoreboards to hide inside.

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A-Rod and Steroids - The Couric Effect

So it turns out that A-Rod’s not perfect. Finally, the fans have something for which to hate him. Previously New York’s poster boy sweetheart hero-under-pressure, A-Rod is now the target of slanderous remarks, and some really mean looks.

Yes, I’m being sarcastic. I realize that Rodriguez cheated on his wife with a stripper, and he really sucks balls come playoff time – or whenever the Yankees are behind in the later innings.

Wait a minute. People have hated this guy wherever he’s played. And people will always hate him, no matter what he does or does not do. Or what he puts or does not put into himself. If he eats 25 hot dogs for lunch, people will say he’s unhealthy. If he eats a large, delicious salad, those same folks will say he’s harming the environment by consuming all those innocent plants.

These people are known as “player haters.” The etymology of the terms is as follows: Alex Rodriguez is a baseball “player.” And these intolerable fans “hater” him.

Still, one has to admit that there’s a lot to hate about A-Rod. He’s fabulously successful beyond comprehension, highly handsome, and the absolute best in the world at what he does – steroids or no steroids. In fact, I’m beginning to seethe right now as I think about how awesome he is.

Is it the guy’s fault that he’s so cool and awesome?

No. But he doesn’t have to be such an asshole about it. The steroid revelation only adds fuel to the fire. At least he publicly apologized for this transgression - but only after being outed by an anonymous source, and perhaps most despicably, after lying to Katie Couric’s face back in December, 2007.

Alex, how could you lie to Katie? And right to her face, no less. This is something that one just does not do without suffering major repercussions. Couric controls a worldwide network of anonymous sources, ready to investigate and report back to her on anything she commands. Legions of newspaper, TV, and radio goons at her disposal. Her word is their marching order. They fear her because they cannot see her. But she is always watching.

Couric can ruin your life with one phone call.

ALEX, YOU DO NOT FUCK WITH KATIE. It’s a simple matter of fact. And it would seem that you learned it the hard way. Ms. Couric could probably sense that you were not entirely truthful with her during that fateful interview. And she spent over a year trying to bring you to your knees.

Guess what? She won. She always wins.

O.J., Sonny Bono, Pac-man Jones, Mark McGwire, Bryant Gumbel. They all paid the price. And now she can add you to the list. A figurative notch in her literal bedpost, if you will.

For A-Rod, the worst is probably over. The damage has been done, and he can move on with his career – albeit a now tainted career. He’s lucky that Katie Couric let him off easy this time. She probably thinks he’s cute.

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MLB All-Star Game 2008 - A Well Deserved Break for the Fans

As a reminder to those of you who aren’t citizens of Red Sox Nation, Mets Country, or the People’s Republic of the Phillies, MLB’s All-Star Game is this Tuesday.

The All-Star break gives us a chance to rest – after weeks and weeks of seemingly nonstop baseball action. They really do play pretty much every day.

It’s a time to catch a breather from all the home runs, strikeouts, jockstrap adjustments, and unassisted triple plays.

It also offers us a great opportunity to step back and try to calculate how much time we’ve spent/wasted on baseball during the first half of the season.

I guess it depends on whom you ask.

I myself would simply say I’ve utilized a non-trivial amount of time watching live games, checking stats, and viewing highlights.

My girlfriend would say I’ve squandered a dreadfully high percentage of my waking hours obsessing over the most boring of all professional sports.

She’s also second-guessing how all this baseball could impact my ability to be an effective parent and caregiver – unless we adopt a 10 year-old Cuban refugee with a 90 mph fastball.

In any case, the break is a nice respite from the rigors of daily baseball fandom.

How about those of you who juggle multiple fantasy teams, check game updates on your iPhone, and stay up late (on a weeknight) to see who will get the save in the Mariners vs. Angels game? You know who you are. And you know exactly what I’m talking about.

It’s hard work. Grueling, even.

Thank God it’s half over, and there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

But that light, it’s not so far off as the playoffs and the World Series. It’s actually quite a bit closer and brighter than any MLB playoffs could be from this point in the season.

And that light’s burning white-hot, accompanied by some really kickass background music.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, the 2008 NFL preseason begins on Sunday August 3!! Colts vs. Redskins.

And so the circle of life continues. And I will not rest until after the Super Bowl.

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A Night With The Yankees

I went to see the Yankees play the Blue Jays on Tuesday night - the special occasion being that I was one of the first to respond to an email that went around work with an offer of free baseball tickets.

I've always been one of the quickest draws in town when it comes to email responses - especially when free sports tickets are on the line. I'm also lightning quick to respond when invited to dinner, offered free air travel, or notified that my car is parked illegally.

And so it came to pass that I was blessed with some pretty sweet seats to see Joba Chamberlain start his first Major League game.

Robinson Cano throws totally like a girl during warm-ups, but then slowly transitions to throwing more like a man as the game wears on.

So I'm not exactly a big Yankees fan. But I'm also most certainly not a Toronto Blue Jays fan. Under normal circumstances, I'd be rooting hard as hell for the Yanks. To throw a wrench into the works this time was the fact that Roy Halladay, the starter for the Jays, is my top fantasy baseball pitcher.

The seats would have been much better if they came with a catheter. so you didn't have to get up at all during the game.

I needed him to pitch a good game, and get the win, and strike out 20 Yankees batters - including A-Rod 5 times, and Jeter 5 times. And somehow hit a few home runs even though the pitchers don't bat in the American League.

Technicality.

I had to covertly root for my fantasy pitcher, while outwardly cheering the home team. Anything else would be disrespectful to those who gave me the tickets, and to the fans around me.

You can almost see the guilt in my eyes as I secretly cheer for the Blue Jays.

To add to the realism of my fictitious fandom, I decided to boo the shit out of Scott Rolen - former 3rd baseman of my hometown Phillies, and current player for the Blue Jays. He had a serious falling out with Phillies management several years back and refused to re-sign with the team for any amount of money.

The general manager of the Phillies at the time was Ed Wade. I can only imagine what sour memories Rolen has of Wade. I think it got pretty ugly during their break-up.

So I screamed "ED WADE!!" each time Rolen came to bat. If you watch a replay of the game, you'll hear it pretty clearly - especially during the 7th inning, by which time my vocal cords had been thoroughly lubricated with beer.

Rolen went 1 for 5 with a strikeout.

Mission accomplished. I got inside his head.

But for the most part, it tore me all up inside - this internal conflict. Cheering for someone, yet secretly wishing for failure. I was Hillary Clinton, to Joba and the Yankees' Barack Obama.

How do you resolve this kind of fantasy/reality incongruity?

The only way would have been to bench Halladay, or not go to the game.

With Halladay pitching lights-out over his past few starts, and the aforementioned super-sweet seats being offered up for free, neither of those was about to happen.

So the answer is - as Shaquille O'Neal once famously said, "...it's like the Pythagorean Theorem. There is no answer. "

What Shaq meant by that is, well, sort of unclear. But what we can all learn from his unintentional wisdom is that, just like Pythagoras, we need to persevere until we find an answer to our problem - fantasy sports-related or otherwise.

In the end, I got my fantasy baseball win and had a great time at the game. But to all those thousands of true Yankees fans who joined with me on the cheers for Jeter and the boos for Rolen, I have to say I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I can't promise I won't lie to you again, but I assure you that it will only happen if the fantasy baseball stakes are very high.

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Are You Ready For Some Taxes?

(My weekly article from The Love Of Sports. It's tax time folks. And everyone's looking for deductions - including pro athletes.)

It’s baseball season. I should be solely focused on my fantasy team, and the National League East race. I should be looking forward to months of hot baseball action, as the boys of summer begin finding their grooves, and we’re able to separate the stars from the has-beens. The cream always rises to the top after a month or so.

It’s a great time of year and one of my favorite seasons in the sporting calendar – second only to the early fall, when the NFL is gearing up for their grueling and exciting 17 weeks of violent fun.

However, when I look at the calendar right now, there is one absolutely massive obstacle in the path to my personal enjoyment of, well, just about anything.

Tuesday April 15th.

I’m not talking about the Mets vs. Nationals game at Shea – although it promises to be a real barnburner.

No, I’m talking about the deadline to file your taxes.

Have you forgotten about it? If so, it’s pretty much time to start panicking. But I’m glad I reminded you.

Normally, I’m way ahead of the curve with this. I loves me some refund checks from the IRS.

Things are different this year, though.

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m in a new tax bracket, or just don’t have as many deductions as I used to, but Uncle Sam will not be sending me much, if anything in the way of refunds this year. So there goes my motivation to gather my forms, fill out the worksheets, and fire up the TurboTax software.

And thus, here I am, with the April 15th deadline screaming towards me like a Dice-K gyroball, and my taxes have yet to be filed.

The pressure’s on. It’s the bottom of the ninth – and since there are still several days left before the 15th, I guess the proper analogy is that I only have one out. But I’m down by 7 runs, and I can’t find my 2007 W-2. Also, I’ve just received notice that my 2006 Form DTF-686-ATT (New York Reportable Disclosure Statement and Request For a Determination) is incomplete, and will need to be submitted again. I’m pretty sure I don’t know what the hell that is.

Anyway, all this anxiety-inducing tax talk got me to thinking – it must be nice to be a pro ball player and have someone do your taxes for you. Also, it must be nice because I bet the deductions you can take are rather extensive when you’re always on the road, and your body is essentially your business.

For example, here are a few baseball player tax deductions – at least as I’d imagine them:

- Manny Ramirez’s Maserati: Non-reimbursed transportation and commuting expenses. Whatever keeps Manny happy and showing up for work is a legitimate deduction, according to Red Sox accountants.

Manny claims a deduction for this awesome grill. He wheels it into his parking space when he drives to the ballpark - "Manny no like when space gone when he come home." Funny thing is, Manny has his own 4-car garage.

- A-Rod’s $1200 designer sunglasses: Legitimate business expense, as the glasses protect him from sun and paparazzi camera flashes, preserving his eyesight so as to strike out only when his at-bats actually matter.

- Prince Fielder’s aerobics class membership: The Brewers and the IRS understand that if Prince isn’t careful, his body could soon resemble that of his father’s. In other words, a cross between Jabba the Hut and a Butterball frozen turkey.

- Derek Jeter’s scented hair crème and almond butter body lotion: Jeter’s business is as much about slick fielding and solid hitting as it is looking oh-so-fine for the ladies. It’s almost a no-brainer that the IRS would allow for this deduction. They’re probably in love with him as well. I just wish they'd admit it.


Best of luck to you as you race against the IRS clock, and try to get your act together by the 15th. May your deductions be as plentiful as your frustrations and anxiety.

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