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.

Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts

So I was listening to Matthew Berry and Nate Ravitz's ESPN: Fantasy Focus Baseball Podcast the other day, and I heard Matthew tell Nate that he (Matthew) is signed up to receive google alerts when his name is mentioned on the web. So, I thought I'd conduct an experiment:

Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts. Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts. Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts. Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts. Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts. Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts. Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts. Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts. Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts. Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts. Talented Mr. Roto Matthew Berry Has Google Alerts.

Hi, TMR. This is kind of funny, right Matthew? That I got your attention in this way? Maybe you're right, maybe it isn't funny.

Anyway, now that I have your attention, I though I'd tell you a quick story: I'm currently co-managing a fantasy baseball team with my wife. She is fairly knowledgeable about baseball, but she'd always scoffed at fantasy sports, so I was amazed that she agreed to team up with me. It wasn't until last night, when she said she'd refuse to let me pick up Emilio Bonifacio until I agreed that we'd buy a dog, that I understood why she had agreed so readily manage with me.

I initially said no to the dog (we live in a small apartment), but a few hours later (right after Bonifacio stole his third base) I broke down. I had to have Bonifacio. So I made a deal with my wife that we could have a dog as long as Bonifacio was on our roster.

My wife left our apartment and returned thirty minutes later with a full-grown golden retriever mix.

“Should we name him Bonifacio?” I asked.



“Nah. Golden Mucho is his name,” my wife said.

The plan was for Golden Mucho to sleep on the linoleum in the kitchen, but after we’d gone bed, he opened our bedroom door and joined us in our bed.

“Did he just open our bedroom door?” I asked.

“Maybe it was open a crack already.”

“Shouldn’t we kick him out?”

“Let him stay.”

I was too tired to argue.

In the middle of the night, I woke up and went to use the bathroom. When I opened the door to the bathroom, I found Golden Mucho squatting over the toilet bowl and using it for its intended purpose. When he was done, Golden Mucho used his nose to flush the toilet, and then he bounded out of the bathroom, past my legs, and into our bed.

This morning, as I ate breakfast and started to get ready for work, the stereo began to play at an acceptably loud level. I don't know what it is with this dog, but he's really good with knobs and levers. How cool is that? There is no way I'm dropping Bonifacio now. He can bat .217 for all I care. We're keeping Golden Mucho.

Okay, Matthew. Thanks for listening. As you were.

Related Reading(s):

Matthew and Razzball have some polite back-and-forth.