The Fantasy League Guru Due to unforeseen
circumstances, the last Fantasy League Guru was forced to resign.
Schain was the only writer whose head fit the Guru hat, so the job
was his by default. E-mail comments to gregoreo@ucla.edu.
Click Here for more articles by The Fantasy League Guru
I, the fantasy guru, made a rare appearance outside my
midtown-Manhattan apartment today. I left my bungalow in search of
answers to some of life’s (i.e. fantasy baseball’s) most pressing
questions. Namely, how can I improve my team for the lowest
price?
Wearing nothing but felt polka-dot boxers and my stylish Guru
hat, I proceeded directly to the corner of 6th Avenue and 42nd
Street, where many people experience divine intervention on a daily
basis. I stood there for a few minutes, when I heard what I thought
was the divine voice I had been seeking.
It was a female voice, like that of the Fantasy Baseball Angel.
It was a soft whisper coming from the sky, and I had to focus my
ears to pick up what she was saying. Slowly, I made out what the
voice was saying.
"Get hans-ON. Get hans-ON. Get hans-ON."
"Hanson?" I asked myself. "There is no one in the league with
the last name Hanson. Does the angel mean Dave Hansen? He is having
a horrible year for the Dodgers, batting just .247 with two homers
and 10 RBI. But could he turn it around?"
"Get hans-ON. Get hans-ON," the angel repeated.
"OK!" I said to myself as passersby gazed at me and my boxers.
"OK, I will take a chance. I will trade for Dave Hansen!"
I proceeded to look up into the sky to thank the angel, but to
my disgust, it wasn’t an angel yelling from the sky. It was my mom!
She was looking out the window of her office and noticed me wearing
just the boxers.
She wasn’t saying, "Get hans-ON." She was saying "Get PANTS
on!"
"Yuck," I thought to myself. "How embarrassing to get caught in
boxers by your mother."
I knew Dave Hansen couldn’t be the answer that I sought. So I
moved to another street corner, in hopes of finding that elusive
player who would be the answer to my prayers.
I went up to 53rd Street, where I walked into a fancy diner that
had just opened up. I sat down at a table, and after pondering the
menu for a few minutes, I was still baffled as to what I should
order.
"I crave fish," I told the waitress. "What kinds do you
have?"
"The salmon is great," she responded. "I recommend salmon."
She recommended salmon. That sparked some weird fantasy baseball
chemicals inside of my brain. All of a sudden I went into a haze,
kind of like what happens when some lame sitcom show cuts to a
flashback.
"Salmon?" said the little, squeaky voice who lives inside of my
head. "Salmon? Salmon? Tim Salmon? He couldn’t be the answer I was
looking for, could he?"
The deeper voice called the notion a farce.
"Of course he can’t be the answer, you stupid squirt," said
Butch, my kinky name for the deeper voice. "He is only batting
.205, and has been plagued by injuries. So shut up, you squeaky
idiot."
The two proceeded to fight over the prospect of acquiring Tim
Salmon while I sat there and watched until I was jolted out of my
daze.
"Sir! Sir! SIR!!!!" screamed the waitress, pointing to a woman
seated at the next table. She sort of looked like Betty White from
"The Golden Girls." "Please leave the restaurant. Your fantasy hat
is obstructing her view of the mugging on the street!"
So I got up and left, still hungry and without any clear-cut way
to improve my team. I walked straight home, crying over how
difficult this had become.
Immediately upon my arrival, I called my therapist, Dr. Beisbol,
and asked him what to do.
"Calm down, Fantasy Guru," he said. "Take a minute and think
about it. Improving your team can be done easily."
"Easily? EASLEY!" I shouted. "EASLEY! YES, EASLEY!"
It was like a lightning struck my brain, and I had just seen
God’s face. Why didn’t I think of that before? Damion Easley! He is
having a decent season so far, batting .265 with 7 homers, 42 RBI,
48 runs scored and 7 stolen bases. And those numbers should only
improve, as the Tigers play dozens of games against weak division
opponents such as the hapless Royals, the faltering Twins and the
pathetic White Sox.
So the next day, I traded for Damion Easley, and now I am
content for the time being.