You owe it to yourself to read up on Bess

A few months ago, my wife said she would only let me pick up Florida 2B Emilio Bonifacio for the fantasy baseball team we were co-managing if I let her buy a dog.

Since the All Star break Bonifacio has hit .244 with two stolen bases and has been caught stealing twice. The dog, on the other hand, has been quite a hit. The dog, which we named Golden Mucho, has changed my life. More on that later.

Soon after nabbing Bonifacio, our fantasy team began to tank. I was distraught. To relieve my stress, I joined a local cycling team. Some members of the team, sensing my immense reservoir of talent, convinced me to race. During my third race, I was caught up in a crash and hyperextended two fingers and broke my clavicle. Surgery was required on my clavicle. While some folks do the Giro d'Italia a few weeks after clavicle surgery, I was placed on the fantasy 60-day disabled list. My doctor banned me from typing. I feared my season might be over. And so fans everywhere began to wonder, could The Sinkhole pull out victory with a team managed only by a wife who cared more about using fantasy sports as leverage to buy pets?

The short answer is no. My fantasy season this year mirrored that of the real-life Mets. The Sinkhole fantasy baseball team is currently in 11th place in a league with twelve teams. Not that my wife didn't try. She recognized that the league favored starting pitching and traded BJ Upton for Johan Santana, but both players have been mediocre since the trade. She tried to sell Matt Wieters to the highest bidder, but no one was interested, even though this is a keeper league. Anyway. We suck.

But now, football season is here. And my wife has agreed to co-manage again. I am insisting that we draft Devone Bess. She is insisting that Golden Mucho needs a friend. G. Mucho is, she says, lonely. The other day, when I came home from work, I found him on the couch, pawing through a month-old issue of US Weekly. The TV was on, and was tuned to Top Chef marathon. He was the most bored-looking dog I'd ever seen.

When I was out with my broken clavicle, Golden Mucho nursed me back to health. He dutifully carried bags of ice to me. He helped me pull my shirt over my head. When I was finally well enough to leave the apartment, he made sure that nobody bumped my tender shoulder. I owe Golden Mucho a friend.

You owe it to yourself to read up on Bess:

A luke-warm Bess article.

A hotter Bess article.

Hottest: Bess, PPR Here.