Brought to you by the letter J

You recently started a new job at a company that sells sporting goods. You are a 7’2” tall female and are irrationally shy. When you receive a company-wide email asking if you want to join the office fantasy football league—$30 to enter—you jump at the chance. While you don’t care a whit about football (or any American sport, really), you see this as a way to make friends at work. You would gladly pay $30 to make nine new friends.

While returning to the office after lunch, two of your league-mates are talking about the draft in the elevator. While you do not have time to transcribe the entire conversation word-for-word, the gist of what they say is this:

“No way I’m going to lose to that girl in our league.”
“You might. You suck at Fantasy Football.”
“I’ll bet $100, and give you 10-1 odds.”
“Deal.”
“Did you see what her team name is?”
“Yeah. Pony Flowers.”
“There is no way I lose to Pony Flowers. No way.”

You find this conversation to be insulting and decide you'd like to do what it takes to have "Pony Flowers" beat the elevator guys' team. The draft is tonight and your one friend who likes fantasy football (and who has agreed to run your team during the regular season) is hiking in Vermont and doesn’t get cell phone reception. What do you do?

This year, the solution is easy: In every round, draft the highest rated player whose last name starts with J. This works for every round except four 4, where you should draft Donovan Jamal McNabb. (Otherwise you’d get stuck starting Tavaris Jackson at QB.) Assuming you had, say, the #2 pick in a 10-team draft, you team might look like this:

1. Steven Jackson
2. Thomas Jones
3. Brandon Jacobs
4. Donovan Jamal McNabb
5. Andre Johnson
6. Calvin Johnson
7. Vincent Jackson
8. Julius Jones
9. Lamont Jordan
10. Brandon Jones
11. Kevin Jones
12. Jacksonville Defense
13. Eric Johnson
14. Tavaris Jackson
15. Sebastian Janikowski

You’ll have a competitive team. Your Vermont friend will have something to work with.

Dr. Gravitee’s challenge: If you were to create a team using the same first letter of the first name (e.g., Leon Washington, Larry Fitzgerald, etc.), which letter would you choose?

Tie-breaker: Can you name one player (without looking it up) whose last name starts with the letter z?

Strikeout-Prone-Third-Baseman Ouija Magic

I recently happened upon something delightful. The comments section of a three-year-old post on my favorite Tigers blog has become a means to communicate with Brandon Inge.

More proof that Google is magic. It allows you to find things that don't exist.

STATISTICAL EXCITEMENT!

I was just looking at this statistical breakdown, and it got me thinking about how uninteresting I find Alex Rodriguez, either because, in spite, or irrespective of his chancha.

A while back FreeDarko hypothesized a system of determining how exciting a player is to watch (rather than how effective). I thought I’d try this for baseball. I mean, how often have I had to argue that Curtis Granderson is more exciting than Manny Ramirez? What about A-Rod? Why have to guess at these things when we have so many statistics at our fingertips? In addition, owners and GMs may want to use this stat, which I’ll call Excitement Factor (ExFactor), when deciding how much money to offer free agents.

I’ll start with just hitting and baserunning, and we can work on fielding, pitching, personality, blogging, and funny body type later.

Worth Offensive Excitement Points: Inside-the-park home runs, triples, homers, doubles, stolen bases, caught stealing, thrown out on the basepaths, bunts, HBPs, lining into double plays, and ejections.

Worth Offensive Boredom Points: Walks (especially intentional), groundouts, flyouts, and high pitches-per-plate-appearance ratio.

So let’s start with this equation to determine Excitement Factor:
{(IPHR*5)+(3B*4)+[(HR+2B+SB+CS+TO)*3]+[(B+HBP+LIDP+EJ)*2]}-{[(IBB*3)+(BB*2)+(GO+FO)]*(10P/PA)}

The exciting plays are worth even more when they take place at the ends of close games, with runners in scoring position, and/or with a full count. Let’s say each stat is further multiplied as follows:
Late & Close: *2
RISP: *1.5
FC: *1.1

After those adjustments, we divide by Games Played to determine a player’s Offensive Excitement Rate. This is how fun a player is to watch. The three players I bothered to calculate this for came out as follows (2007 stats, admittedly a down year for Manny):
Grandy ...... 1.49
A-Rod ........ 1.08
Manny ....... 0.33

Musa’s Challenge: Name a player whose OER is higher than Grandy’s.

Tie-Breaker: Name a player whose OER is lower than Sean Casey’s.

Watching A Baseball Game At Trimble Technical High School in Fort Worth, Texas

The baseball player described in this post is wholly imaginary. No existing player or team of Commissioner Bud Selig’s Major League is represented here directly or indirectly. No character is derived from any man or woman, living or dead.

Ten men of slovenly appearance watched from the section of stands behind home plate. They were loose-jowled, glassy-eyed, and short-limbed. It was a hot early-April day, and they huddled together as if fighting to sit closer to an air conditioner. They peered about furtively and aggressively chewed tobacco. Each clutched under his runty arm a clipboard curiously devoid of notes. On seeing Yovani Gallardo take the mound, the men closest to the action edged back in their seats while those behind squinted and silently and unconsciously mouthed baseball clichés over their companions’ shoulders.

Yovani Gallardo’s first warm-up pitch hit the catchers’ mitt and, after a brief delay, a sound that was loud and sharp echoed throughout the dilapidated stadium. The ten men recoiled as if the sound had been from their cheeks being slapped, and when they recovered they hunched over their clipboards and scribbled with 3-inch scorecard pencils a "+" symbol. Then they shifted in their seats and looked out of the corner of their eyes, each trying to gauge the reaction of the others.

“Good arm slot,” the boldest one muttered cautiously.
Another snorted out of his nose in agreement.
“Good movement, too,” another added in a slightly more confident tone.
“Good late movement,” the bold one corrected.
“He’s got a real live arm,” said a third, finally sensing that it was OK to gush about Yovani Gallardo.
“That’s a plus fastball,” the bold one said, wanting to be the first to define the pitch.
The remaining men chipped in:
“His stuff is electric.”
“He’s got a great pitchers’ body.”
“Tall.”
“Yeah.”

A-Rod Has Chancha

There is a word in Spanish, la chancha, that has a secondary definition that doesn't have an equivalent in English. The word is street jargon and translates to roughly mean "impossible luck" or "greedy luck" or "lucky pig." The closest single-word English equivalent might be "moxie" or "clutch."

But none of the above definitions do chancha justice.

It also means the slightly more melancholic feeling that, "I am happy with my life because I am a lucky bastard, but if ever my luck takes a day off--nay, a minute off--I might suddenly find my life pursuits unsatifying." Chancha is, to some degree, seen as an affliction, something to guard against, as in "me gusta suerte pero no me gusta el vacio sutil de la chancha" (I like good luck but not the subtle emptiness of chancha).

Or, "no deseo ser A-Rod, porque el tiene la chancha" (I wouldn't want to be A-Rod, because he has la chancha.")

Here is an example to illustrate how it could be used:
Man #1: Goooooaaaaaal!!! (Goal.)
Man #2: Que suerte! (You were lucky to score on that play, punk.)
Man#1: Si, yo tengo suerte. (Yes, I have luck on my side.)
Man#2: No, tu tienes chancha. (No, you have chancha.)
Man #1: No! No es verdad! (No.)
Man #2: No te preocupes. La chancha es un sombrero. (No worries, mate. La chancha is a wide-brimmed hat.)

This last response by Man #2 (the sombrero one) is a common expression which is intended to indicate that la chancha can be taken off like a hat, which is an oblique reference to the fallibility of someone who has chancha; a person's luck can change quickly.

Introducing: The Red-Speedo Man

While Musa D’s girlfriend was busy dreaming about me, I’ve been spending a lot of time with a near-naked Musa D. look-alike.

Let me explain: I recently joined a masters swim team, and there is a man on the team whose physical resemblance to Musa D. is eerie.

He looks so much like Musa D. that I’ve begun to think that we are already very good friends even though we haven’t exchanged so much as a single word together. The Musa D. look-alike wears the same red speedo to every practice.

At our last practice, after another teammate complained that the workout was too difficult, I elbowed the Red-Speedo Man and rolled my eyes. The Red-Speedo Man didn’t react. I had my goggles on and they are tinted, so it is possible that he didn’t see my eyes rolling.

Practices are two hours long, but ninety-nine percent of that time is spent swimming. When we swim our ears are below water. This makes it difficult to get to know people. That is unless, of course, you are good at talking with people while changing out of a wet speedo or while soaping and ‘pooing up in a communal shower. I am not good at these two things.

Still, I think it is my duty to chronicle the exploits of Musa D’s look-alike, who I will heretofore dub the RSM.

You did not see this coming.

My girlfriend dreamt last night that I’d died and Dr. Gravitee had, because he knew I’d want him to, taken over as her boyfriend. When, months later, after an appropriate mourning period, she asked him if he’d like to sleep with her, he became irrationally angry. He picked up a Felix the Cat wall clock by the tail and waved it at her threateningly.

Thank you, Dr. Gravitee, for honoring my memory in dreams.

Others are honored this week. My friend Carnahan has a surprise birthday party tonight. He thinks it’s someone else’s party, and it is, but it’s also a party for Carnahan. I don’t approve of this surprise, since he’s fully expecting a party, and the surprise is that he’s being shoehorned into the festivities at the last second. Similarly, my girlfriend’s parents are throwing her a party on Saturday. She knows this, but doesn’t know that they’ve invited childhood friends she hasn’t seen in fifteen years, or that the theme is “Bali Luau” and the dress is “Business Tropical.” These are, in a sense, a surprise parties.

Other recent surprise parties:

Yi Jianlian
Thought he was going to: His coronation as Prince of San Francisco Chinatown.
Was actually going to: Milwaukee.

Joey Renard Gathright
Thought he was going to: Jump over a car without untucking his polo shirt.
Was actually going to: The minors. But he got to be on YouTube.

Musa D
Thought he was going to: Free LaserBall Day at Comerica Park.
Was actually going to: Neifi Perez Bobblehead Day at Comerica Park.

Frank Wychek
Thought he was going to: Eat free pizza every night for several weeks, and twice on Sunday.
Was actually going to: Remove jacket and pants to reveal Titan blue and white wrestling trunks!

Musa D’s Weekly Challenge: Correctly predict any one of my girlfriend’s dreams this week.

Tie-breaker: Write something in the comments no one could ever have expected.

Winner gets a Neifi Perez Bobblehead!

Anson Mountain Has a Friend

On the subway this morning I read a great piece of sports writing. It’s a memoir about taking the LAPD entrance exam by Anson’s friend Ann. The story’s not about sports, but it is about her relationship to her father, measuring up, scaling the walls of the Harvard Divinity School, and the particular pain of physical exertion. I’d describe it as a track-and-field story, in a way. She’s discussing it online at noon today.

I like well-edited online chats, but I hate comments on the online version of newspaper sports sections. They’re generally asinine, mean-spirited, and use horrible grammar and spelling. They’re an outlet for cranks, and they add no value to the online versions of these papers. Blogs are far superior, of course.

Musa’s Challenge of the Week: Send Ann a question in which you mention Anson, Mountain High Publishing, Frank Wychek, or TKS.

Tie-Breaker: Find and link to one correct usage of the word “whom” in an online chat or in the comments section of any online newspaper.

Winner gets the leftovers from yesterday's brunch and an invitation to my birthday party on Friday!

A Titan in the Ring: An Experimental One Act Play

Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that this play is subject to royalty. It is fully protected by Mountain High Publishing, and the copyright laws of the United States. All rights, including professional, amateur, motion pictures, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, and the rights of translation into foreign languages are strictly reserved.
Whenever the play is produced the following notice must appear on all programs, printing, and advertising for the play: —Produced by special arrangement with Mountain High Publishing.“
Due authorship credit must be given on all programs, printing and advertising for the play.
Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

CHARACTERS
Frank Wycheck – Former Tennessee Titans tight end, current sports radio host and professional wrestler. Wearing Harley Davidson motorcycle jacket.
Max Wycheck – Older Brother of Frank. Frank’s endorsement agent. Has a slight, so small it’s almost not worth mentioning, coke problem. Wearing a Steve McNair Titans jersey.
Bo Rice – Frank’s sport agent. Right arm in a cast. Wearing a suit with the right sleeve cut off.
Wrestler #1 – Wearing face paint and long black tights.
Wrestler #2 – Wearing silver wrestling trunks and boots.

SETTING
The set consists of card table with three chairs around the table. In the background, Wrestler #1 and #2 wait for instruction from the actors.


Max: The Long Bomb? (Wrestler #1 does a Five-Star Frog Splash on the prone Wrestler #2.)

Frank: No.

Bo: I still like The Hail Mary. (Wrestler #2 lifts Wrestler #1 in the air and tosses him off of the stage.)

Frank: No.

Max: (smacks the table with palm) Oh, god, why didn’t I think of this before?

Frank and Bo: (in unison) Yes?

Max: The Frank-enstein. (Wrestler #1 chokes the life out of Wrestler #2.)

Frank and Bo: (in unison) No.

(A knock comes from off-stage. All three men turn towards the sound.)

Frank and Bo and Max: (in unison) Pizza!

(All three stay seated. Max and Bo avoid eye contact with Frank until Frank sighs and goes to pay for and retrieve the pizza. The pizza is placed on the table and the three of them eat in silence for thirty minutes. While the pizza is being consumed on stage, index cards should be handed out to the audience by stagehands. At the twenty-five minute mark, cards should be collected with audiences’ suggestions for the name of the finishing move. These cards should be delivered to the stage and placed in a pile on the table. The suggestions should be worked into the play at the discretion of the actors and will be improvised by the wrestlers.)

Max: The Run-n-Shoot? (Wrestler #1 bounces off the (imaginary) ropes and then spears Wrestler #2 in the stomach with his head.)

Frank: No.

Bo: The Wycheckmate? (Wrestler #2 performs a basic neck crank on Wrestler #1.)

Frank: No.

Max: The Onside Kick? (Wrestler #1 executes a kick to the groin of Wrestler #2.)

Frank: No, no, no, no.

Bo: Roughing the Passer? (Wrestler #2 lifts Wrestler #1 into the air and drops him on his shoulder.)

Frank: No.

(Remainder of play to be performed once the actors have exhausted the possibilities from the audience)

Max: (Pushes his seat away and stands.) Fellas!

Frank and Bo: (in unison) Yes?

Max: Fellas!

Frank and Bo: (in unison) Yes?

Max: Fellas!

Frank and Bo: (now standing) Yes?

Max: (arms outstretched) The Music City Miracle. (Wrestler #1 lifts Wrestler #2 into a Argentine Backbreaker Rack and runs towards one side of the stage before stopping suddenly and performing a Spinning Airplane Toss.)

(Silence)

Frank: Yes! (Removes jacket and pants to reveal titan blue and white wrestling trunks. Raises one arm in the air and confetti falls from above the stage. Lights dim. Curtain falls.)

End.

Can't Wait For September

I own a lot of action figures. I own the entire 1990 line of Dick Tracy figures (yes, Dr. Gravitee, even Prune Face). I own Marvel 3 Age figures of Iron Man and Wolverine made to look like little toddlers. I own, still in the box, the 1992 Dream Team Olympic Basketball set of figurines from Starting Lineup. And, come September 2007, I will own this action figure of Vince Young. This is incredible. It's the perfect pose for Mr. Young, searching downfield for receivers that have either fallen down or are covered, already gearing up to bootleg this damn thing all the way to the end zone.
This will go on the shelf reserved for sports related figures, including a 1990 Starting Lineup figure of Mark McGwire (in the super awesome pose of covering first base...since that's what I still remember about McGwire, his play in the field) and a vinyl figure of Gnash, the Nashville (Ontario?) Predators' mascot.
This said, I wonder what fan is anxious for the release of the William Thomas figure. Though I had to look it up, he's gone to the Pro Bowl, but is there a huge demand for William Thomas action figures? Not to say that offensive lineman shouldn't get their own action figure. If there had been a Bill Fralic figure in the late 80's, I would have bought one. But William Thomas? Not to mention that the sculpt has him balancing his entire weight on his toes in a pose that seems to defy gravity.
Still, even with the Vince Young toy, I won't be happy until someone produces a Joey Gathright figure, complete with Misubishi Galant. Perhaps we should create a line of Sinkhole Superstar figurines with a build-a-figure of Colonel Powell for people who buy the entire set. The license for Eileen Shea and Steve Logan shouldn't be prohibitively expensive. And there's already a Drew Henson Bobble Head Doll. Just say the word and I'll get in touch with my "toy guy".