I suppose it figures that on what might prove to be my last night in Boston for a long time, my friends and I nearly got in a fight.

Before we go any further, understand: I am not a fighter.  My career record in fights is probably 5-3 (being generous) or 4-3-1 (being realistic) or 4-4 (ok, so that’s what it is).  Aside from that, there have been maybe just under a dozen group fights I’ve been involved in, skirmishes in the neighborhood involving ten or more dudes (usually a lot more) throwing punches at people they know, usually over some dude’s girlfriend or perceived slight.  The best punch I ever threw was as a sophomore in high school and the last real punch I threw was maybe a year or two after college.  Most recently, I’ve been reduced to breaking up fights, which are always more comical than dangerous, and involve me reluctantly putting down a beer, saying "Oh hell," trudging outside some random bar, and ultimately hoping some girl will fellate me because of my valor and peace-making skills.       

So I am not, by any stretch, a bad dude.  I admit it.  However, and I don’t mean to pull the "where I’m from" card, but when I was an infant my dad was arrested for the second-worst possible felony, Non-Sex Crimes Division (you’ll have to buy the book for that story).  Also, in separate incidents, my dad’s been stabbed and has had his neck broken, and if you meet him today, there is a greater than 92% chance that he’s carrying a gun on his person.  My mom’s father, in addition to being the best dancer of the twentieth century, Chubby Irish Guy Division, and a man who ate a bowl of vanilla ice cream covered in crème de menthe liquor every night before bed, was a bookie and collector for the K&A Gang in Philly from after the war until his death in the 1980’s.  My dad’s dad has at last count received last rites a whopping six times (not an exaggeration) and at 83 years old with two half legs and no feet, could still fairly easily kick my ass (not literally, of course, but he could beat me up).  I have an uncle who, despite being in his 50’s, still gets in on average one fistfight a month.  I have another uncle who we are pretty sure killed two junkies, two junkies who robbed, beat up and subsequently killed my 90-something year old great grandfather when I was a kid.  This, I wrote about for the book, mostly on a lark, thinking that once this uncle read the chapter, he’d shoot it down (no pun intended).  Naturally, he loved it.  However, I pulled it from the book before I sent it out to my then-editor’s boss to read because, well, I implicated my uncle in two murders, which is probably not a good thing.

(This is what happens when your dad is one of ten kids and your mom is one of six kids and everyone is Irish Catholic and lives within a mile and a half of each other.  And yet my brother is taking his pick of top ten law schools to attend in the fall, my sister is about to graduate nursing school with a perfect 4.0 GPA, and, well, then there’s me.  I’m going to debtor’s prison – which is single-handedly being reinstated because of me – because every time a woman so much as bats her eyelashes at me, I buy her a Corvette.  Good lord.  I swear, as soon as I have this threesome, I’m getting a girlfriend because I just can’t afford being single.  Seriously, if one of you guys in the Midwest could fix me up a nice couch to crash on for a few months, I would really appreciate it.  Uncle Jason’s gotta close some bank accounts and lay low for a while.  You won’t even know I’m there, honest.)

The point of all this is to at least say that after years of growing up in this environment, then going to a private high school with a lot of rich kids and college with a lot of blue-blood sailing or soccer/lacrosse-playing New Englanders, I know when people are ready to fight and when they’re all bluster.  Growing up, "jawing" didn’t happen or went only as far as this:

Dude One: "Fuck you!"
Dude Two: "Fuck you!"

[punches thrown, teeth fly, women cry, I hide between parked cars]

In high school and college, jawing went like this:

In high school and college, jawing went like this:

Dude One: "Fuck you!"
Dude Two: "Fuck you!"
Dude One: "Well, you’d better watch it!"
Dude Two: "You’d better watch it too!"

[ten minutes later]

Dude One: "I’m serious! You keep talking, there’s going to be trouble!"
Dude Two: "Trouble’s my middle name!"
Dude One: "Well, my middle name’s ’Punch You in the Face,’ which is what I’m gonna do soon!"
Dude Two: "Oh yeah? Well, here I come! Quick – somebody hold me back!"

[thirty minutes later]

Dude One: "You’re lucky my friends are holding me back!"
Dude Two: "You are too!"
Dude One: "Well, then I guess we’re both lucky!"
Dude Two: "Yes, we are lucky – and privileged!"

[people slowly begin to disperse as the incident devolves into something like a near-homosexual mating ritual, I've been in my dorm room listening to Elvis Costello for the past thirty-eight minutes]

Some people can tell within five minutes whether they’re capable of falling in love with a person they’ve just met.  I can tell within five seconds of "trouble" brewing whether there’s going to be an actual fight or a lot of talking shit.  We all have a gift, this is mine.   

I’ve written before that one of the differences between Boston and New York is that in the former, there is a palpable sense that you are being checked out and measured up by 90% of the dudes in the room when you enter a bar.  This is because of the indisputable fact that Massholes are pricks and like to look hard and GO SOX!!!  In NYC, the hipsters are too busy emoting insouciance and having existential crises to even wash their hair, let alone get involved in a physical confrontation with another person.  On the Jersey shore, they do have BENNYs, the New York-equivalent of the Masshole, the acronym that stands for Bayonne-Elizabeth-Newark-New-York, the places in the greater NYC area that breed Jager-shooting, hair-gelled ginzos.  In Manhattan, I would expand this to BHENNY LI (Bayonne-Hoboken-Elizabeth-Newark-New-York-Long-Island), but for the most part, the New York BHENNY LI’s are more concerned with crushing pussy than crushing skulls and will just as gladly leave you alone to hit on the 19 year old with the fake ID and fake eyelashes from Massapequa.  But with the Massholes, look the wrong way and they’re going to say something and make you pay and GO PATS!!! AND SOX!!! PAPELBON!!!

I can tell you in one word what I did this weekend, which, as I mentioned, will be my last in Boston for many months: nothing.  I arrived on Friday at 1pm and went to my buddy Dave’s house where a number of my friends had congregated, and then watched basketball, drank beer, got high, gambled, and ate Italian sandwiches (I brought up 9.5 pounds (!) of Italian meats and cheeses for the occasion) for fourteen straight hours.  So basically it was one of the top ten days of my life.  The next day, I woke up, ate Anna’s, got to Dave’s at 2pm, and set about doing the same thing.  At midnight, my buddies Dave and Bill decided it might be nice if we went to a nearby bar for a friend’s b-day party.  We were all stuffed with beer and pot and capicola by this point, but the bar was literally two blocks away and the birthday girl had sent out numerous invites, so we mustered up the energy and headed over. 

When we got there, everyone there for the party was bombed, as expected.  This was fine, but we had been drinking and eating so much over the past 36 hours that even though we had enough alcohol and nitrates in our system to kill a West African teenager of average build, each of us could not have only flown a plane, but actually given flying lessons.  We had made our bodies so accustomed to egregious amount of intoxicants and unhealthy food that by the time late Saturday night rolled around, we were, for all intents and purposes, perfectly sober. 

The bar was called Shenanigan’s, another charmless new bar like so many in Southie and Dorchester, built in the last few years to take advantage of the areas’ burgeoning young affluent white people population.  Since he didn’t have cash, Bill volunteered to put our beers on his card.  It was 12:10am anyway, so at most we’d have a few drinks and then head back to the comfort of Dave’s place.  Bill went up to get a beer at the not-very-crowded bar, which was being serviced by three bartenders, and waited…and waited some more…and waited some more.

There were three bartenders working: one normal-looking guy, one guy who looked like a mid-30’s gay male model, and one chick who was a 7.5 but thought she was a 11.  Eventually, after waiting several minutes and being given the "hold on" finger by both the GMM (gay male model) and the 7.5, the normal guy came over and gave us our beers.

Now – and I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before or not – but I like to go to bars.  However, I hate crowded bars.  Because of this, and because I’ve guest-bartended a grand total of one time in my life, I’m generally sympathetic when bartenders are busy, and I have no problem waiting to get served.  However, this was not the case on this night.  As I mentioned, the bar was served by three bartenders and was not very crowded – maybe the little dance area was, but there was certainly a more than manageable crowd at the bar.  And these bartenders were regularly looking at Bill each time he went up, ignoring him repeatedly and coming over only when they could not possibly get away with not coming over to take his drink order.  At first, we laughed at how incredibly ignorant they were being - particularly the GMM and the 7.5 – who seemed to hot/cool to serve former Average Joe 2: Hawaii contestant Bill (seriously, that’s him) – but after the second or third time, it got kinda old and we started to get pissed off. 

On the fourth go round, Bill went up to grab our round of three Bud Lights, and again had to wait, and again was given the "hold on" sign, both by the GMM and the 7.5.  Then the lights flashed, signaling last call at the bar.  After a little while longer, the GMM came over to Bill and said, "Sorry, can’t serve you – last call’s already been called."

Well.

Well.

The night sort of slipped away from us all after that.  Bill said, "Terrific – thanks a lot" and walked away.  The GMM barked after him, "What’d the fuck did you say?"  Then our friend Dave, who is 6′5", stepped in place of Bill, who is 5′5", asking what the problem was, and the GMM bartender backed away immediately.  The 7.5 grabbed Bill’s tab, which was $45.  Bill tipped $1.50. 

I’m the biggest tipper I know – the second smoothest thing that ever happen to me when I was on a date and tipped the waiter so much, he came back to our table, thanked me for the generous tip, and offered to buy my date and I a drink – and yet I fully supported this move.  Being busy and being apologetic is one thing; being willfully ignorant and disdainful is another.  A bartender or bartenders who act like these guys acted should not expect a 20% tip when they are doing a piss-poor job just to spite a customer who they think, for whatever reason, isn’t as cool as they are.  F that.     

I was pissing when the yelling started.  I came out of the bathroom to find Bill being told to get the fuck out of the bar by the GMM and Dave yelling back at the bartender.  I knew, even as I was walking out of the bathroom and over to the scene, that there would be no fisticuffs tonight.  Dave typically doesn’t have a problem with throwing down, but the GMM had already proved his meddle by immediately shrinking away from Bill after Dave stepped in.  He was a bit more emboldened now, trying his hardest to sound intimidating, but he was still not moving from behind the bar.  The normal-looking bartender looked on, concerned, and I immediately checked out the bouncers.  One was probably more of a waiter and appeared to be the GMM’s lover, since he also had a high-fashion/$80 haircut look to him.  The doorman was a baby-faced guy of about 5′9" who looked even more concerned than the other bartender; one of those guys who’s never been in a fight but applies for the job because he thinks to himself, "All I gotta do is check IDs – how hard can it be? And maybe I’ll meet some chicks!"

Among the senseless and moronic yelling, the three of us walked out and started on our way home.  We were thirty feet out of the bar and in the direction of home when a wasted Irish guy, in his early to mid-40’s, stepped out of the bar.  He just stood there, but called from behind us, slurring, "Hey, didya have fun tonight? Didya?"  We ignored him and kept walking, and he continued saying stuff, but when we were halfway down the block, I got sick of his dumb drunk ass saying shit to us, so I stopped, turned around, and asked, "I’m sorry - did you say something?"  Hearing this, the 40-something drunk Irish guy made a beeline for me.

And then my spidey sense tingled: This was going to be a fight.  I got that familiar old feeling back: the tingling sensation that shoots from your neck down your spine; the immediate clenching of the body, teeth and fists; the standing just a little bit straighter and taller - all part of the initial wave of nervousness that gives way to genuine excitement.  I stood there, unmoving, with my hands in my pockets as the guy marched toward me, still halfway down the block, his head slightly down, muttering under his breath.  I know this is weird, but I felt like a kid again.  While I don’t make it a habit to fight with drunk 40-something Irish guys, nor do I seek out physical confrontation in any way, I was almost giddy.  I had said something and this guy had responded immediately.  I kinda respected him for that.  And I kinda looked forward to what might happen, since I knew that the absolutely worst case scenario would be that this guy would roll on me for ten or twenty seconds before my buddies broke the fight up.  In the meantime, fuck it.  Let’s see where this goes. 

But before our little showdown came to a head, GMM and his full crew rolled out of the bar, ran up to hold back Drunky McDrunkster, and the war of words began again.  This time, it was even more comical: GMM was the leader, yelling at us to get the hell out of here, and Dave was yelling back at him.  Meanwhile, the drunk Irish guy was being restrained from me, as I still stood there with my hands in my pockets while he screamed, "He’s looking at me! He’s looking at me!"  Then his girl came out, a fine Irish lass, and started crying.  Then he fell while being restrained, pulling his girlfriend down on top of him.  Then in the hubbub some local kid about 20 years old, presumably on his way home from the bars, came up next to me and asked, "You guys got a problem with these guys?"  He told me that he was on our side, that he liked our odds (counting him, us four against those eight), and told me that he had knocked out three Boston firefighters after the Southie St. Patty’s Day parade the week before.  I looked over, saw the drunk Irish guy writhing around on the ground, his crying girlfriend on top of him, three people trying to help them up, saw the GMM yelling and stepping back with each step Dave took toward him, turned to the Southie kid next to me, practically warming up for a fight, and saw Bill standing there, shaking his head, and realized that before I die I will write a poem about this scene, and I will title it: "it was a march night, it was, it was on broadway."

That was pretty much it after that.  Me, Dave, Bill and our new friend went on our way, leaving behind our adversaries.  We shook hands and parted ways with our Southie brother, went back to Dave’s house, got high, ate sandwiches, got higher, and it was 4am by the time Bill and I left (I was crashing at Bill’s place).  The next day, I woke up late and hopped an Acela back to NYC. 

Ah, Boston.  Such memories.  I probably couldn’t have asked for a more fitting send-off.

Every single one of my guy friends in Boston has a significant other whose title ranges from serious girlfriend (i.e. "I love you"/one year-plus dating) to fiancée, all the way up to wife or pregnant wife.  Every single one of them.  I don’t know if it’s something in the water or because of the cold weather, but all of my Beantown buddies are seriously involved.  Love, love, love. 

Personally, I think so many of my Boston friends are in relationships because the bars close at 1:30am up there, as opposed to 4am in NYC (bear with me here).  The bars close earlier in Boston, which means less time for drinking, which means less time for serious drunkenness, which mean people are drunk enough to have the courage to talk to the opposite sex but not so drunk their eyes are half-closed and they’re spitting on the person they’re talking to.  Whereas in NYC, by the time last call finally rolls around, most people are barely conscious and unable to tell the cabbie where they live, let alone deftly ask a boy/girl to meet up for coffee later in the week.  This may allow for more drunken sloppy hook-ups (I’ve probably messed around with more women than all of my Boston buddies combined), but less long-lasting relationships (the most serious relationship I’ve had in the past seven years was with a sausage).*  For example, on an average Friday or Saturday night at 1:30am in NYC, I’m sober enough to fly a plane.  But by the time 4am comes, my fly is open and there’s a chicken bone and/or my keys in my beard.  Things fall apart – dramatically – between the hours of 2am and 4am, which is why 90% of my NYC friends are single and 100% of my Boston friends are not.**  The end.       

[* Part or all of this sentence was a lie or true.  Thank you.] 

[** It could also be because my friends in Boston are better people than me and my friends here in NYC, but I'm not quite ready to concede that.]

That my friends in Boston have serious ladies does not make me jealous.  Not in the least.  If anything, it’s a warning: This is what the future holds, my dear, so rock out with your cock out (sometimes literally) before it comes for you.  And it’s not that I dislike any of my friends’ girls.  They are all wonderful women, and many of them are dating well below their league.  I can count on one hand the number of times in my lifetime that I’ve had problems with my friends exes, and it each case it was not just me but many of my friends that thought the lady in question was a douche, and each time the relationship ended (and then we all said, "Oh thank god – she sucked"). 

To be honest, I’m actually thrilled that so many of my friends are so deeply committed.  Not because that means more weddings – and more open bars – to go to.  Nor is it because they’re happy and it’s good to see them happy – I like my friends miserable and on-edge, thank you very much.  Why I’m pumped that my friends have serious relationships is because they are so used to playing house (and being required to play house) that when I visit Boston, I am The Excuse.  The Excuse goes something like this: "Honey, I’d love to spend the weekend with you watching movies/going to your parents/having a dinner party/fixing up the place, but Jason’s in town and he’s moving soon and probably won’t be back to Boston, well, ever.  So I really have to spend the weekend drinking with him, since you know he drinks a lot because he’s so lonely and doesn’t have what we have."     

I am The Excuse.  And I am totally comfortable with that.

On Thursday night, I drank on the train ride up to Boston and was picked up by Site Guy Brendan and whisked away to the apartment he shares with our buddy John in lovely Dorchester, Massachusetts.  Brendan and I stopped to pick up sixers, me of Smithwick’s and him of Sierra, thinking we’d have a couple of pops back at the place and then call it a night (Brendan had work the next day, while John had spent the day running errands after having gotten laid off, and I worked all day).   

What followed was arguably one of the more disgusting drinking nights of my life.  After getting home, we eschewed our fancy beer and harkening back to old times, went right for the cheap stuff, which tasted delicious.  Sometime later, I spilled a beer all over myself.  Then it was Brendan’s idea to play beer pong.  We didn’t have any plastic cups, so we filled their dining room table with half full pint glasses and two stein glasses and started playing.  When we ran out of the cheap stuff, we switched to Smithwick’s.  When that was gone, onto the Sierra.  When that was gone, we switched to Harpoon IPA, the last beer they had in their fridge.  It was around this time that I dropped another beer, this time on the ground and not on myself, for no apparent reason.  It was also around this time that Site Guy Brendan casually stepped into the bathroom to vomit.  It was around 4am when I heard a loud thump in the kitchen and walked in to find John sitting on the floor, like he just wanted to take a rest.  Some uncooked hot dogs may or may not have been eaten.  John hit the sack just after 4:30am and I feel asleep on the couch shortly thereafter with Site Guy Brendan sitting on the couch next to mine, drinking and watching TV.  The next morning, Brendan, with the help of Jesus Himself, got up to go to work.  John and I woke up at noon and I proceeded to spend three hours that afternoon showering (three separate showers) trying to shake my tremendous hangover.  We counted 52 empty cans and bottles from the night before, not including the six beers I had on the train on the way up. 

All three of us are 28 years old.  Brendan is successful, a homeowner about to pursue his second masters degree, and is engaged.  John, despite being laid off recently, is successful, has all those silly licenses that financial people need, is a homeowner and is in love.  I, well, I am The Excuse.           

That Thursday night pretty much set the tone for the weekend.  Boston is always a boozy time when I go up there, but I can’t recall such a sloppy series of nights in a long, long time.  Friday night I threw up in my mouth at two different bars.  Saturday night I got hooked up with a cheap hotel room by a friend and fell asleep twice with the shower running – once at the end of a boozing afternoon, while I was sitting on the bed pre-gaming and watching "King of Queens", running the water to help calm me down; and then at the end of the night, while drunk and sitting in the shower reading a book. 

It was a disaster.  I feel like I should be ashamed of myself.  And if the weekend was the first part of my "Later, Boston" experience, I might.  I hoped to stay for the St. Patty’s Parade in Southie on Sunday, wake up early on Monday, and take the train back to NYC to make work.  But when I woke up in that hotel room on Sunday (which was about 78 degrees), there was no way I could do anything but throw my shit in a bag and get the fuck on the train.  Done and done. 

But what I take comfort in, and the reason that I do not feel ashamed, is that I was not alone.  My friends, separated (for the most part) from their girlfriends, also got disgustingly drunk.  I won’t go into detail lest their ladies grow disappointed in them, but it was chaos, pure and utter chaos; men encumbered with the responsibilities of adulthood and relationships absolutely going batshit crazy with booze because they finally have a legitimate excuse to escape the doldrums of married life: Jason is coming up to Boston and he won’t be back for a lone time.*  Finally, after years of searching, I may have found my life’s purpose: act as the primary reason for irresponsible behavior for non-single men everywhere.** 

[* Until I go up again this weekend for 72 hours of NCAA watching.]

[** Easily one of the top ten most homosexualized lines I've ever written.]

I am The Excuse.  And I am totally comfortable with that.   

On Wednesday evening, I decided I was going to go to Boston for the weekend. I packed a bag, came into work today, asked for the day off tomorrow, and in a few hours I’ll be zipping up there on the Acela, crushing Bud Bombers (which, I learned only recently, you can buy and bring on the train – Bombers in Penn Station cost $2, whereas normal cans on the train cost $5).

You have probably figured out by now that I’m leaving the Northeast. I can’t say much more than that, because there are still a number of things to be worked out and it’s not even (close to a) definite yet, but it looks like ol’ Uncle Jason will be retiring to greener pastures soon enough. In the meantime, I’m intent on going on a pretty monstrous bender and maximizing my time here (in the Northeast). I was looking forward to a rowdy weekend when I sent some emails out yesterday and learned that five of my best buds here in NYC will be gone this weekend. This, compounded with the fact that a buddy of mine in Boston was recently laid off, made the decision easy for me. On Friday (tomorrow), he and I are pretty much going to find a bar at noon and then try to sit there drinking until close. Should we accomplish this, it will rank as one of the greatest achievements of my life. Whether that says something about my priorities/goals or the way I live my life, I leave for you to decide. However, I’m also going to Boston next weekend, over Easter, but I’m claiming that since these will be the last times I’m in Boston for awhile, this weekend is Part One of Two of my "Later, Boston" party. One weekend really isn’t enough.

So everyone is now officially on notice: my days in the greater Northeast part of America are numbered. I can promise you that I will not go out without a fight – they are going to have to drag me kicking, screaming, holding and spilling a can of Bud, and maybe even peeing myself a little bit, from this grand part of the country. It is on.

************

For about the umpteenth time, we’ve been having some email problems.

Here’s the short of it: you email me at the jasonmulgrew.com address, which then gets forward to my personal email. Therefore, I no longer log onto the jasonmulgrew.com email website. This latest problem arose because some olderheads in my ‘hood send me forwards, which can be very large, and then one of you sent me a song, which is very large. Because I check only my personal email for your emails now (since they’re forwarded), I hadn’t checked the jm.com account in a long time. And because of the forwards and the song, it was maxed out and kept rejecting emails or putting them into the spam folder. So if you sent me something, say, in the past two weeks, I may not have gotten it.

(Translation: Please resend any boobie pictures and/or pictures of your girlfriend in the shower sent to me during that time. Thank you.)

************

I have a question: who the hell is Tyler Perry?

I mean, I know who he is, because when I’m watching tivo’ed episodes of SVU from TBS, I constantly see commercials for his sitcom, in which he plays a half-dozen characters. It looks hilarious (sarcasm, much of it), and appears to be filled with the characters laughing at each other and then there’s a lot of threats to throw different people of the house. Recently he had a movie out called "Why Did I Get Married?" and ads were placed all over NYC. And now he’s got another movie coming out, "Meet the Browns," with ads everywhere as well. NYC officially has Tyler Perry fever.

What’s most impressive about all these ads and commercials is that they’re prefaced with "Tyler Perry Presents…" Do you know how much of a badass you have to be in Hollywood to get that line on or above a tv show or movie? The answer: extremely, extremely badass. Just-below-God badass. I-swim-around-in-a-room-piled-high-with-gold-like-Scrooge-McDuck-only-he’s-my-fucking-butler-because-I-can-afford-him badass. And yet I, as an average 28 year old white man, have absolutely no familiarity at all with Tyler Perry. And then I read this from wikipedia: 



"Perry produces a television show titled Tyler Perry’s House of Payne, which follows a working-class, African-American household with three generations of family within it. The show seeks to illustrate struggles with faith and love, as well as showing how to coexist with the generation gap. The show ran briefly in Spring 2006 as a 10 show pilot. After a successful pilot run, Perry signed a $200 million dollar 100 episode deal with TBS." (bold added)



In summary, I’m going to drop all you white jerks and focus on cultivating my African-American household-based humor. If Tyler Perry can get $200 million, I can probably squeeze $20,000 out of someone, which would make me 1/10,000th as good as him. I’m totally, totally ok with that.



************

I think the girl in this commercial is just about the hottest girl ever.

[youtube]ybSwzS9L2_w[/youtube]

I mean, I gotta say that it doesn’t hurt that she’s in a commercial that’s overflowing with images of cheap Mexican food, but I think she’s got honey in her hips. For sure.

(God, I love Taco Bell.)

(Honey, not so much.)

************

I hope you guys realize what an incredible guy Site Guy Brendan is. I don’t pay him anything, since I’m going to debtor’s prison and all, and when I did pay him, it was very little and mostly in the form of beer, but yet he still takes all of my frantic calls when something doesn’t post or I get a slew of MySpace messages from you guys saying your emails are getting bounced back/not answered. Also, for a guy who looks like Mr. Burns when he’s naked, he can really, really drink. God bless him. If you have the time, you should really send him a thank you note at brendan@jasonmulgrew.com.

(And no, I’m not saying all this because his brother is the sergeant in my home precinct in Chilita and I anticipate needing assistance – or at least favors – from the NYPD in my final weeks in the neighborhood. Not doing it for that reason at all.)

************

Six Songs

"Rise Up With Fists" Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins

[youtube]-Thz2SOKkGI[/youtube]

I think I am about 98% in love with Jenny Lewis.

"Rainy Day Woman" Waylon Jennings
I truly, truly believe that if I had some sort of ill-fated tryst with a Southern woman, I could become a country music star. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.

"I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend" The Ramones
This is probably my favorite Ramones song. What can I say? I hate the Ramones and love love.

(Although I’m starting to realize that I may not be suited to be anyone’s boyfriend, possibly for the rest of my life. I had a discussion about this – among the company of both male and female friends – and was told by both groups that I might need to seek help. To which I replied, "Help for what? For being too much awesome?" Dicks.)

(God, I’m so lonely.)

(Not really.)

(I think.)

"No One" Alicia Keys
My buddy Mark in LA has a keyboard. He doesn’t really play, but just has one. Last week when I was out there, I was over his place having beers with some friends and I started messing around with it (the keyboard). Though I don’t play piano either, I pretty much figured this song out (it’s really easy) and started singing along. And a little note for anyone who sings this song in public: the line is "people keep talking/they can say what they like," and not "people keep talking/niggas say what they like." Because I thought it was the latter. And it’s not. So I was told by everyone. So there.

"Let Your Loss Be Your Lesson" Robert Plant and Alison Krauss
I want to kiss her throat.

"Gila" Beach House
A recent addition to the "Let’s Make Out or Something" playlist. Although I’m not sure how long it’ll stay there, because in the middle of the song the singer sings "oh-oh-oh-oh-oh" over and over again, and it sounds mildly creepy and sexual. The only song that actually got removed from the "Make Out" playlist was Broken Social Scene’s "Anthem for a Seventeen Year Old Girl." Yes, the title is really creepy, but a ladyfriend I was bedding pointed out that it sounds like kids are singing, which is not what you want to hear while bedding. Of course, she could have been using this as an excuse, because once I plied myself from her to change the song, she threw sand in my eyes, temporarily blinding me, and ran out of my bedroom. And yes, I was sleeping with Mr. Fuji. Or maybe Mr. Fuji’s sister. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with the Asians, especially with the chubby ones. Anyway, this is a good make out song. For now, I think.

[Have a good weekend]

Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve been asking about it for weeks and it’s finally here: my 2008 fantasy baseball preview.

If you’re familiar with the site, you know what I’m going to do, since I do it each year.  The following preview applies to roto drafts (fuck off, auction people) in a standard 5×5 category leagues: runs, rbis, home runs, stolen bases, and average on offense; wins, saves, strikeouts, ERA, and WHIP for pitching.  I will confess that because in my two main leagues we use OBP instead of average and total bases instead of home runs, I may be biased a little bit and offer insight in line with that bias.

Before we get to the position-by-position breakdown, some general, timeless, and possibly extremely obvious rules about drafting:

1) Know your enemy.  Certain owners have certain inclinations.  For example, if you’re drafting with a bunch of guys from Boston, you can probably expect that Ortiz, Manny and Beckett (and Papelbon – especially Papelbon) will go off the board sooner than they should.  Alternatively, you might know that some guys favor offense to pitchers, or don’t care about closers, or will stop at nothing to get David Wright on their roster because they have a man-crush on him (Site Guy Brendan, I’m looking in your direction).  Knowing whom you’re drafting against, when possible, is important in determining how to draft your team.  

2) Know your categories.  This only applies to those that are not in standard 5×5 leagues (again, 5×5 meaning Runs, Home Runs, RBI, Stolen Bases, Average and Wins, Saves, Strikeouts, ERA, WHIP).  Some leagues only have minor changes; for example, as mentioned above, my main league uses on-base percentage instead of average and total bases instead of home runs, which makes for a much better league in our opinion.

But what you have to watch for duplicative categories.  For example, in another league I’m in, the categories are: R, HR, RBI, SB, AVG, and OPS.  This means that power hitters should be especially favored in this league, for every time a power hitter hits a home run, it will affect R, HR, RBI, AVG, and OPS.  That’s five different categories.  I was even in a league once in which both strikeouts and strikeouts/9 innings were categories, so of course those high-K guys were doubly valuable.        

3) Embrace the home run.  Here’s something very simple that took me many seasons to finally realize: when in doubt, take the power hitter.  You can’t think of home runs as a single category, since every home run directly results in one run, at least one RBI, and a help in average.  Each homer affects four categories.  Some people will get cutesy and draft speed guys (affects SB and possibly average and runs) or high average guys (will affect average and potentially runs and rbis), but let them.  One home run is a guaranteed benefit for three other categories.  If you have a lot of power, you will have a lot of HR, runs, and RBIs (and as long as your team isn’t full of Adam Dunn’s, then your average shouldn’t be too bad either).  Let the other guy grab Carl Crawford, he who’s averaged 15 home runs and 80 RBIs the last three years, with his 9th pick; you grab Prince Fielder, with his 45+ homer/120+ RBI potential, with your 10th.    

4) Embrace the K.  I wrote a bit about this two years ago, when a reader took me to task for leaving Roy Halladay off my end of season Top 25 players (turns out that he stunk the next year and I was right).  To recap, I wrote: 

Few roto baseball players realize that having a pitcher on your team with a low K/9 rate actually hurts your team.  To prove this, let’s take one of my leagues from this year.  Each of the eleven teams maxed out their allotted 1400 innings.  The person who "won" strikeouts, getting 11 points in that category, finished the year 1242 strikeouts.  That’s an eyelash under 8 K/9.  The person in the middle (earning a 6) averaged 6.9 K/9 and the person in last (getting a 1) averaged 6 K/9.

Roy Halladay threw 220 innings and struck out only 132.  That’s only 5.4 K/9, well under the average for a typical last place finisher in strikeouts in any roto league.  So if you draft Halladay, you’re putting yourself in the red for K’s.  And as he will likely be your first pitcher taken, you will need to subsequently draft many high K guys, which might be difficult, as these guys typically go off the board faster than other pitchers.  And if you pick up another low K guy – Wang (3.13 K/9), Garland (4.77 K/9) and Kenny Rogers (4.36 K/9) all finished in the top three in the major leagues in wins, but were downright embarrassing in the K department – you’re basically submarining your team and guaranteeing a finish in the bottom three in strikeouts. 

The references are a little dated since it was two years ago, but the point remains the same.  I don’t need to tell you that taking a pitcher with a high-K rate is better than taking one with a low-K rate; of course you’re going to take Carlos Zambrano over Derek Lowe.  But what I’m suggesting is that it might be worthwhile to took a flier on a young, high-K guy with potential (Chad Billingsley, Yovani Gallardo, Dustin McGowan and my boy Ian Snell come to mind) over vets who will give you good stuff, but nothing spectacular (like Brad Penny, Lowe, Tim Hudson or Halladay). 

[And I realize the contradiction here: in one point, I espousing the home run, as it affects four categories.  In the next, I'm advocating strikeout guys, strikeouts being just one category.  My defense is that you can't compare offense and pitching drafting strategies.  I'm not saying that you should abandon the other pitching peripherals, but rather suggesting that if given the choice between two similar options, always take the K guy.  Whereas in offense, I'm saying that you should almost forsake speed and go like a hawk from hell after power hitters.  Dig?]

5) Know when to draft and when to pass.  People forget that the most important rule of any fantasy draft, much like the most important rule of love, is that the right person comes along at the right time.

An example will help.  I really like James Loney this year.  I think he’s going to be terrific hitting in that lineup, possibly as good as a B/B+ Todd Helton (in his prime) – I would not be surprised with something like 100-28-110-2-.320, which are lovely, lovely numbers.  Optimistic, yes.  But not entirely unreasonable. 

But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to take Loney in the fourth round of my draft, because I won’t have to take him then.  I know (or rather, I’m confident in betting) that other guys in my league are not as high on Loney as I am, and will take guys like Konerko, Swisher, Delgado and a host of others not just ahead of him, but waaaay ahead of him.  So instead of taking Loney early, I will wait on him until later in the draft when I feel it is the right time to take him.  Until that time comes, I’m going to draft other guys I like, who I know are on my competitors’ radar screens, either because they’re highly ranked, highly touted, or they have said that they like that player. 

So I will meet James Loney early in the draft, and though I may be enamored with him, I will have to let him go and set him free.  If he comes back to me later, say in the 14th or 16th round, well, then it’s really meant to be.  And we will be together.  Forever.  Or at least until the end of the season. 

6) Early on, don’t go crazy on the young or the old.  An immutable law of life is that young people need time to grow into their abilities, and as we get older, our skills decline.  Applied to fantasy baseball, that means in the first five rounds of a fantasy draft, I will try – to the extent possible – to steer clear of younger, less experienced/proven players and veterans with years and years (and years) of mileage.  Practically speaking, that means that I will generally not use any of my first five picks on Ryan Braun, Brandon Phillips, Manny Ramirez, BJ Upton, Curtis Granderson, Troy Tulowitzki, John Smoltz, and Felix Hernandez, to name a few.  These guys are players who I don’t feel comfortable taking high in a draft and building my team around.  While again, this isn’t a hard and fast rule – if Ryan Braun, who’s generally ranked as the 14th best player, falls to me in the 4th round, I’ll take him – I’m saying that all things being equal, I will stay away from this guys, take a similar, more-proven or not as old commodity, and let someone else deal with them.

*****************************

I’ll pick the top few at each position (based on Yahoo position eligibility), give a little analysis, and then name sleepers and busts.  I realize that "sleepers" and "busts" are objective, but I’ll define a sleeper as someone whose performance will exceed his draft position and a bust as someone who won’t live up to his draft position.  Since the tier system as recently become very popular, I will not just break down players by rank number but by tier as well.  Let’s go.

CATCHER
1) Victor Martinez (Cle)
2) Russell Martin (LAD)
——
3) Joe Mauer (Min)
4) Brian McCann (Atl)
5) Jorge Posada (NYY)
——
6) Ivan Rodríguez (Det)
7) Geovany Soto (ChC)
8) Kenji Johjima (Sea)
9) Jarrod Saltalamacchia (Tex)
10) Bengie Molina (SF)
11) Jason Varitek (Bos)
12) A.J. Pierzynski (ChW)

Analysis: Here’s the thing with catcher: if you miss out on one of those first five guys, you have a choice.  You can either take an established vet, who’s got the starting gig and will almost definitely put up something like 50-12-60-0-.250 (i.e. Pudge, Johjima, Molina, Varitek, A.J. Pierzynski, LoDuca, etc) or you can take a younger guy with more potential – sometimes much more potential – but who may not even have the starting gig and will possibly split time or spend time in the minors (Soto, Saltalamacchia, Napoli, Towles, Suzuki, etc).

Ever since I started playing fantasy baseball, I was of the mindset of, "Give me LoDuca in the 21st, thank you very much."  But just this past season, I’ve begun to alter my stance.  If the average catcher’s numbers in a 12 team league (so we’re including the five big guys, as well as the shittiest of the bunch) is something like 50-10-55-0-.260, and you have a guy who puts up 70-20-85-5-.290, you have a big advantage over your competitors.  In no other position is there such a great disparity between what the average catcher numbers are and what the average Big 5 numbers are.  So unlike a lot of other fantasy experts, I think it is certainly worth it to grab a good catcher.  The only catch (no pun intended) is that you must be careful not to do this too early.  I would value the Big 5 (in a 12 team league) as follows: Martinez in the mid 4th, Martin late 4th/early 5th, Mauer mid 6th, McCann late 6th, Posada early-mid 7th.  Those are rough guidelines, but I think it’s more than appropriate to grab one of the Big 5 in that draft position.    

Sleeper: Geovany Soto was the Class AAA Pacific Coast League MVP last year, batting .353 with 109 RBIs.  How can you not take a chance on this guy over someone like Johjima or Varitek?  Sure, he may struggle and he doesn’t even definitely have the job, but the potential reward is too great to pass up.  Of the more named stars, Joe Mauer’s injury history is really scaring people off, but this guy is a special player who won the batting title two years ago.  Don’t let him fall too late – 24 year-old catchers who can hit .340 are hard to come by, even if they do miss games.

Bust: Russell Martin in 85 games before the All-Star break: 51-11-60-15-.306 (caught stealing 3 times).  Martin in 66 games after the break: 36-8-27-5-.275 (caught stealing 6 times).  I don’t pay too much attention to second-half surges, since come September the competition is for the most part weaker, as teams call up younger players, especially pitchers, to run them out to see what they’ve got.  And while I’m won’t turn totally doomsday about second half slumps, I still place value in them.  I don’t think Martin will be terrible, but if anything I expect similar or lesser numbers than those he put up last year.  I know the SBs are key from the catcher position, but those taking Martin over Victor Martinez, who’s averaged 78-20-96-0-.307 and 149 games over the last three years, are crazy.  Stone crazy.  I’d rather pass on Martin and grab Mauer/McCann/Posada two or three rounds later.  Worth mentioning is that though I think he’ll be fine, there’s no way Jorge’s putting up numbers like he did last year.  But you should already know that.  C’mon.

FIRST BASE
1) Ryan Howard (Phi)
2) David Ortiz (Bos)
3) Prince Fielder (Mil)
4) Albert Pujols (StL)
——
5) Mark Teixiera (Atl)
6) Lance Berkman (Hou)
7) Travis Hafner (Cle)
8) Justin Morneau (Min)
——
9) Carlos Pena (TB)
10) Derrick Lee (Chi)
11) Adrian Gonzalez (SD)
12) Victor Martinez (Cle)
13) Carlos Guillen (Det)
14) Garrett Atkins (Col)
——
15) Todd Helton (Col)
16) Nick Swisher (ChW)
17) James Loney (LAD)
18) Paul Konerko (ChW)
19) Alex Gordon (KC)
20) Ryan Garko (Cle)
21) Adam Larouche (Pit)
22) Carlos Delgado (NYM)
23) Chris Duncan (StL)
24) Joey Votto (Cin)
25) Mark Teahan (KC)

Analysis: Ah, 1B – the deepest of all positions.  Really, as long as your starting 1B is one of those top 14 guys, you should be in good shape.  Because of this, and because I’ll usually walk out of a draft with three or four guys who are 1B-eligible, I really don’t place too much emphasis on 1B.  That being said, Ryan Howard, David Ortiz, Albert Pujols and Prince Fielder are all first round picks (maybe Fielder slides to early second), and everyone is the top eight should be gone by the early third round.  Personally, if I’m walking out a draft with one of the top eight and then Loney and Teahan, I’m feeling pretty good about that.    

Sleeper: Travis Hafner had a bad year last year and people are avoiding him like the plague.  Especially if you’re an OBP league, do not let this guy slip too far – two years ago he hit 42 homers with a .429 (!) OBP.  Konerko also had a bad year and is a tremendous value pick for as late as he goes.  Alex Gordon was extremely hyped last year and has been totally forgetten this year, and I like Mark Teahan as well.  People are all up on Nick Swisher, but maybe it’s me, because I just don’t see it.  And of course, I talked about James Loney above.    

Bust: Here are three people that I can guarantee will not end up on any of my teams: Albert Pujols, Carlos Pena, Carlos Delgado.  Pujols is just about the only hope in St. Louis and everything I hear about his health is bad.  They look like a 75-win team this year, so why not let him have whatever surgeries and/or rest he needs to protect his future?  Pena had a monster year, but I’m not using any of my first six round picks on him.  Just not.  Don’t trust him.  Can’t tell you why.  Some people see Delgado as a value pick – bum hip and all, he’s still hitting around Reyes, Wright, Beltran, etc.  Maybe, but not me.  Again, I could be wrong about each of these guys, but given the depth of options are 1B, I’m not going to take them.  

SECOND BASE
1) Chase Utley (Phi)
——
2) BJ Upton (TB)
3) Brandon Phillips (Cle)
4) Brian Roberts (Bal)
——
5) Robinson Cano (NYY)
6) Chone Figgins (LAA)
7) Ian Kinsler (Tex)
8) Dan Uggla (Fla)
——
9) Rickie Weeks (Mil)
10) Howie Kendrick (LAA)
11) Plácido Polanco (Det)
12) Dustin Pedroia (Bos)
13) Kelly Johnson (Atl)
14) Aaron Hill (Tor)
15) Jeff Kent (LAD)

Analysis: Call me a homer, and call me biased because I have him in my keeper league, but Chase Utley is so far head and shoulders above the competition that he rightfully deserves his own tier.  Brandon Phillips put up incredible numbers last year, but Utley’s done it for three years now (and he missed 30 games last season!).  I like Upton in his last year of 2B eligibility and though I think his average drops, I think 28-28 is a fair guess at his first full season.  If Brian Roberts leads off in Chicago, he becomes more valuable.  2B is deeper than people realize; it’s only after the first three tiers that things get a little shaky.  Do Weeks and Kendrick finally explode?  Or is it wiser and safer to go with Polanco and Pedroia, from whom you know what you’re gonna get?

Sleeper: I have been on Rickie Weeks for so long, it’d be unfair for me to abandon him when he may actually put together a decent year.  Kelly Johnson has a lot of potential for someone you can get very late in a draft.

Bust: Brandon Phillips.  I’m sorry, but stop this train, because I’m getting off.  Yeah, he went 30-30 last year, which is legit from the second base spot.  But you’re talking about a guy who’s shown very little to this point in his major league career and who in 2700+ at bats in the minors hit 67 home runs and stole 107 bases.  To put that in perspective, in his career year last Phillips had 650 at bats, so using this as a basis, an average season in his minor league career would look like 16 home runs and 26 steals – nearly exactly his numbers in 2006, his only other full season in the bigs, when he hit 17 home runs and had 25 steals.  He may be a fine or even good and pull a 20-20+ season, but I suggest that if you have the 25th pick in the draft, please don’t use it on him.  Take Lance Berkman or Mark Teixiera and grab Robby Cano three or four rounds later.  Let Phillips be someone else’s worry.

SHORTSTOP
1) Hanley Ramirez (Fla)
2) Jose Reyes (NYM)
3) Jimmy Rollins (Phi)
——
4) Derek Jeter (NYY)
5) Carlos Guillen (Det)
6) Troy Tulowitzki (Col)
——
7) Rafael Furcal (LAD)
8) Miguel Tejada (Hou)
9) Michael Young (Tex)
10) Edgar Renteria (Det)
11) Orlando Cabrera (ChW)
——
12) JJ Hardy (Mil)
13) Khalil Greene (SD)
14) Jhonny Peralta (Cle)
15) Julio Lugo (Bos)

Analysis: Shortstop has, I think, the deepest talent pool of any position aside from 1B.  The good news is that it’s also the easiest to manipulate.  By that I mean that Ramirez, Reyes and Rollins all should be gone by the 9th pick in the draft.  Jeter will go first after that, higher than he should, probably in the late 3rd or early 4th.  Then Tulo and Guillen, in that order, shortly after.  Then no one will draft a shortstop for a long, long time.  Any of those guys in the third tier will put up terrific numbers and can be had as late as the tenth round or after.  Seriously.  I love the Dodgers this year and I think Furcal’s healthy and going to score a lot of runs.  People are terrified of Tejada because of the Mitchell Report and because he was hurt last year, but he’s hitting in a ballpark practically built for him and is batting 5th behind Hunter Pence, Lance Berkman, and Carlos Lee.  How does that sound?  Michael Young, please take your 90-15-90-10-.310 and put it in the bank.  And Edgar Renteria and Orlando Cabrera are terrific options that can be had in the 14th or later.  Seriously.

Sleeper: Well, I kinda blew my load about the sleepers in the above paragraph.  But one last thing: does anyone realize that Khalil Greene is playing in a pitcher’s park and last year put up a nice 89-27-97-4-.254?  Those last two numbers ain’t great, but I’ll take the first three.

Bust: You can probably guess that I’m going to go after Tulowitzki.  Look, I’m all for taking a risk with a young player, but when your options are a young guy like Tulo in the 4th or a steady veteran like Orlando Cabrera in the 14th, I don’t see how anyone can choose the former.  If you go young, do it by drafting a guy like Soto, who can be had in the late, late rounds.  So I give you the same advice I gave about Brandon Phillips: let someone else take him in the 4th and wait to get a proven proven guy 8-10 rounds later.

THIRD BASE
1) Alex Rodriguez (NYY)
2) David Wright (NYM)
3) Miguel Cabrera (Det)
————
4) Ryan Braun (Mil)
5) Aramis Ramirez (ChC)
6) Garrett Atkins (Col)
7) Chipper Jones (Atl)
8) Ryan Zimmerman (Was)
9) Chone Figgins (LAA)
————
10) Mike Lowell (Bos)
11) Adrian Beltre (Sea)
12) Kevin Youkilis (Bos)
————
13) Edwin Encarnacion (Cin)
14) Evan Longoria (TB)
15) Josh Fields (ChW)

Analysis: Very top heavy and thin, 3B is.  Those top four guys will be taken in the first 15 picks, then it’s anyone’s guess: I’ve seen Ramirez, who’s typically always the 5th taken, goes as high as the early 3rd and as low as the late 5th.  One thing that can be said is that the top 3 guys are as close to guarantees as you can get, but after that, because of youth/age or health concerns, it gets pretty shakey.

Sleeper: It’s tough to call anyone a sleeper, but two guys who are going much later than they should are Ryan Zimmerman and Chipper Jones.  I think Zimmerman, who’s still only 23 (!), will show improvement this year and he shakes off his minor sophomore slump.  In his last four years, Chipper’s played in 137, 109, 110 and 138 games, but hit 30, 21, 26 and 29 home runs, with very nice peripherals, and last year put up a stellar 108-29-102-5-.337 campaign.  I’m not saying you should count on him for 150+ games, but if you grab him in the eighth and a young guy from that last tier in one of the final rounds, you’ll be in better shape at 3B than most of the teams in your league – and just might snag 30+ homers and a nice average in 162 games from the hot corner.

Bust: I love Ryan Braun and I kept him in my keeper league, but you simply cannot sustain a 1.480 OPS against lefties, even if your name is Ty Cobb or Ted Williams or Ron Christ, Jesus’ sweet-swinging lefty-hitting shortstop brother.  I think he drops off this year, maybe not dramatically, but enough not to warrant your second round pick.  3B isn’t deep, but I’d be happy to take a more secure player in that round and grab another 3B later.

OUTFIELD
1) Matt Holliday (Col)
————
2) Alfonso Soriano (ChC)
3) Carl Crawford (TB)
4) Grady Sizemore (Cle)
5) Vlad Guerrero (LAA)
6) Carlos Beltran (NYM)
7) Ichiro Suzuki (Sea)
8) Magglio Ordonez (Det)
9) Carlos Lee (Hou)
10) Lance Berkman (Hou)
11) Curtis Granderson (Det)
————
12) Manny Ramirez (Bos)
13) BJ Upton (TB)
14) Alex Rios (Tor)
15) Bobby Abreu (NYY)
16) Nick Markakis (Bal)
17) Adam Dunn (Cin)
18) Torii Hunter (LAA)
————
19) Hunter Pence (Hou)
20) Corey Hart (Mil)
21) Gary Sheffield (Det)
22) Brad Hawpe (Col)
23) Eric Brynes (Ari)
24) Chone Figgins (LAA)
25) Chris Young (Ari)
————
26) Hideki Matsui (NYY)
27) Jason Bay (Pit)
28) Vernon Wells (Tor)
29) Andruw Jones (LAD)
————
30) Jeff Francoeur (Atl)
31) Nick Swisher (ChW)
32) Matt Kemp (LAD)
33) Juan Pierre (LAD)
34) Delmon Young (Min)
35) Shane Victorino (Phi)
36) Jacoby Ellsbury (Bos)
37) Kosuke Fukudome (ChC)
38) Josh Hamilton (Tex)
39) Pat Burrell (Phi)
40) Jack Cust (Oak)

Analysis: After Matt Holliday, in that second tier you’re looking at a couple of speedsters who are generally overvalued, a few guys with injury concerns, and two really fat guys who play in Houston.  I love that there are a number of second OFs who are young and show a lot of promise, namely Upton, Rios, Markakis, Pence, Hart and Chris Young – the sky’s the limit and I love all of them, although I’m a bit concerned with Young’s similarity to Mike Cameron.  A general rule I try to follow is that between your three starting OFs, you should ideally walk away with around 70 home runs and 60 steals.  You get this any way you can – three 25-20 guys; two 30 homer guys who’ll steal 10 combined and one speedster, etc – you’ll be set.

(Also, I had to stop at 40 because I’m starting to get dizzy, but there are a number of other guys I like very late, namely Jeremy Hermida, Josh Willingham, Nate McLouth, Chris Duncan, Rick Ankiel, Michael Bourn, J.D. Drew, Mark Teahan, Lastings Milledge, Corey Patterson, and if anyone in that LA OF gets hurt, Andre Ethier.)

Sleeper: People who are going later than they should: Magglio, Manny, Torii Hunter, Jason Bay, Pat Burrell.  People I lust after: Markakis, Pence, Hart, Kemp, Ellsbury, Hermida.

Bust: Something about trusting Vlad or Carlos Beltran to anchor my OF scares me a little bit.  Neither Magglio nor Eric Brynes are going to repeat what they did last year, but Magglio should hit .300 with 100 and 100 and Brynes should still steal 35 with pop, so if draft them accordingly.  Alex Rios is going very, very high for a guy with a low walk rate who hasn’t proved he’s more than a 25-15 guy.

STARTING PITCHER
1) Johan Santana (NYM)
————
2) Jake Peavy (SD)
3) Brandon Webb (Ari)
4) CC Sabathia (Cle)
5) Erik Bedard (Sea)
6) Josh Beckett (Bos)
————
7) Cole Hamels (Phi)
8) Justin Verlander (Det)
9) John Lackey (LAA)
10) Dan Haren (Ari)
11) Carlos Zambrano (ChC)
12) Aaron Harang (Cin)
13) John Smoltz (Atl)
14) Chris Young (SD)
15) Scott Kazmir (TB)
————
16) Tim Lincecum (SF)
17) Brett Myers (Phi)
18) Daisuke Matsuzaka (Bos)
19) Roy Oswalt (Hou)
20) Felix Hernandez (Sea)
21) Javier Vazquez (ChW)
22) Roy Halladay (Tor)
23) Fausto Carmona (Cle)
————
24) Rich Hill (Chi)
25) Kelvim Escobar (LAA)
26) Francisco Liriano (Min)
27) Yovani Gallardo (Mil)
28) AJ Burnett (Tor)
29) John Maine (NYM)
30) Chad Billingsley (LAD)
31) James Shields (TB)
32) Pedro Martinez (NYM)
33) Ben Sheets (Mil)
34) Oliver Perez (NYM)
35) Matt Cain (SF)
————
36) Jeremy Bonderman (Det)
37) Randy Johnson (Ari)
38) Chien-Ming Wang (NYY)
39) Ted Lilly (ChC)
40) Andy Pettitte (NYY)
41) Dustin McGowan (Tor)
42) Phil Hughes (NYY)
43) Ian Snell (Pit)
44) Tim Hudson (Atl)
45) Derek Lowe (LAD)
46) Jered Weaver (LAA)
47) Jeff Francis (Col)
48) Jon Lester (Bos)
49) Rich Harden (Oak)
50) Adam Wainwright (Stl)

Analysis: Counting the first two tiers as one, there you go: five tiers, take a pitcher from each.  As I mentioned above, one of the most important things I look at for pitchers is their K-rates, particularly historically.  For example, I’m down on Roy Oswalt because for the past three years his K-rate has declined.  On the other side, I loved CC Sabathia last year because in the previous two years he decreased his BB-rate each year.  If you feel like you like a particular guy, or if you’re faced with a choice of two pitchers, check out their last three years and look at the K/9 and BB/9.  If that’s a wash, take the higher-K guy.  If that’s a wash, grab the guy on the better team.  A lot of fantasy experts say that wins are hard to predict, and I agree to an extent.  But if a pitcher is starting 35 games for a team that wins 60, what’s a reasonable number of wins for that pitcher, 10?  What about a guy getting 35 starts for a team that wins 90+?  Isn’t 15 a real possibility?  So does anyone want to bet me that Dice-K is going to have more wins than Tim Lincecum?  

(For the record, I realized that I just completely jinxed Dice-K’s season for writing that.  God would seriously mess him up just to spite me.)

Sleeper: Instead of traditional sleeper picks, I’m just going to tell you who I really like/who I think isn’t being valued properly:

Brandon Webb: You can beat that consistency; his team, which was good last year, is a year older and better; and he’s not “the guy” with the addition of Dan Haren, the return of Randy Johnson, and the improvement of Micah Owings.

Carlos Zambrano: He’ll finish second or third in the NL Cy Young voting this year

Brett Myers: People forget that this guy was one of the best second starters in the league before becoming closer.  A lot of K’s on a hungry team.

AJ Burnett: Lots of K’s, little WHIP, little health.  This guy gets 200 innings and he’s a top ten pitcher.

Chad Billingsley: I am so hard for this guy.  Seriously.  He really buy some mace.

Pedro Martinez: If you like 150 innings, 13 wins, 170K’s, 3.30 ERA and 1.00 WHIP, you’re in luck.

Jeremy Bonderman: Two years ago, very nice.  Last year, hurt.  This year, his lineup will score 1000 wins.  If he’s healthy, 17 wins and very nice peripherals could happen, which is worth a shot in the 15th round or later.

Randy Johnson: Remember what I said for Pedro? 

Ian Snell: The best fifth (or possibly sixth) fantasy starter possibly in the history of fantasy baseball.

Rich Harden: Last year he was considered sleeper.  This year, I think people actually hate him and wish him ill.  If you’re comfortable with your four other SPs, why not?  And hey, if it doesn’t work out, you’ll get another roster spot when you move him to the DL on May 3.

Bust: Same as above – these are guys I really don’t like/are going higher than they should:

CC Sabathia: Matthew Berry, who is excellent and whose brother is a friend of mine and a true prince among men, made an excellent point: last year, including the playoffs, CC pitched 256 innings.  Never before had he topped 200 innings.  I’ll add something to Berry’s point: CC is 300 mother fucking pounds.  Sometimes the lure of a $160 million contact from Steinbrenner & Co simply pales in comparison to the gnocchi at the clubhouse buffet. 

Josh Beckett: The 20 wins last year were great and if there’s a guy I want pitching Game 7, it’s him.  But you know he had a 5.01 ERA the year before, right?  And you know he’s been plagued with blisters throughout his career?  And he’s already hurt this year?  And you’re gonna use your third or fourth round pick on him?  Really? 

Dan Haren: This guy collapsed in the second half, got a big contract, and now will miss out on foul territory roughly the size of Kansas in the Coliseum.  The AL to NL switch usually always results in better numbers – this guy will be the exception.  Maybe he won’t decline too much, but I don’t think he’ll improve. 

Roy Oswalt: For reasons mentioned above.

Fausto Carmona: Gut feeling, but I don’t dig this guy.  Do I always need empirical evidence?

Ben Sheets: This isn’t business – it’s personal.  This guy has burned me for some many years that I think if I were to see him, it might get physical.  And I don’t mean that in a good way.  I don’t think.

Any of the young pitchers on the Yankees or Red Sox:  Let you moron friends from New York/New Jersey and Boston draft these guys way, way higher than they should be drafted.

[One final note on starters: If you’re in a keeper league and keep four or more players, please, for the love of God, draft both Tim Lincecum and Francisco Liriano.  Lincecum is like a hybrid of Billy Wagner and Brandon Webb and Liriano is Pedro Martinez the year before he won his first Cy Young.  Just promise me you’ll draft them.  Please.] 

CLOSERS
1) Jonathan Papelbon
2) JJ Putz
3) Francisco Rodriguez
4) Joe Nathan
————
5) Francisco Cordero
6) Billy Wagner
7) Jose Valverde
8) Bobby Jenks
9) Mariano Rivera
10) Trevor Hoffman
11) Takashi Saito
12) Jason Isringhausen
13) Matt Capps
14) Manny Corpas
15) Joakim Soria
————
16) Joe Borowski
17) Todd Jones
18) Rafael Soriano
19) Brad Lidge
20) Eric Gagne
————
21) Huston Street
22) Chad Cordero
23) Brandon Lyon
24) Carlos Marmol
25) Brian Wilson
26) C.J. Wilson
27) Troy Percival
28) Kevin Gregg
29) George Sherrill
30) Jeremy Accardo
31) B.J. Ryan

Analysis: Notice I titled this section “closers” and not “relief pitchers.”  This is because I draft these guys for one thing and one thing only: saves.  That’s it.  They can have a 4.98 ERA and a 1.46 WHIP, because they’re only pitching 60 innings anyway.  As long as they give me 30+ saves, I won’t complain.

I won’t do sleepers or busts here either, because these rankings do not reflect closer ability or potential peripherals, but rather how safe their job is.  This doesn’t mean that peripherals are totally disregarded, but if I draft a closer, I want to be as sure as possible he’s going to stay that team’s closer (barring injury).  For example, Papelbon is the closer in Boston.  It’s pretty safe to say he’s not going to get pulled from that role.  Same with Putz and K-Rod, though I was tempted to put Nathan in the second tier because he’s a free agent after this year, meaning he’ll be a huge bargaining chip come trade deadline time.  But because he’ll most likely be the closer of whatever team he’s traded to (if he’s traded), he stays in the top tier. 

Francisco Cordero just got a huge contract to close.  Billy Wagner’s not going to set up anyone, neither is Mariano Rivera.  Jose Valverde was traded for to close.  Bobby Jenks had a stellar second half, securing his role.  Trevor Hoffman’s a borderline bum, but in what could be his final season, the all-time saves leader is not going to pitch in the seventh.  Saito could be a steal at where I have him ranked, but the Dodgers are built to win if not now then soon, and Saito’s 38 and he has the 280 pound Jonathan Broxton throwing 101 in the eighth, looking like his daddy said to his mommy while they were doing it, “Let’s make us a closer.”  And if not Capps, Corpas and Soria, then who?

After that, you’ve got two guys who pitch only slightly better than I do and a couple of fairly serious question marks (although Soriano might thrive in the role, I admit).  I’ll bet that either Huston Street or Chad Cordero are traded before the deadline and might possibly not close in their new homes.  And after those guys, it’s a guessing game. 

I always try to walk out of a draft with two guys who I know aren’t going to lose their jobs, and then take a few late-round gambles.  If you’re in a daily transaction league and are not on top of things, it’s worth it to take two or three closers who aren’t going anywhere.  If you’re a stoner who watches Sportscenter at 2am after the west coast games finish and can pick up whoever will close now that Brian Wilson got hit with a line drive, then maybe you only need to draft one closer.  Your call, homies.

***********

I’m going to bed now.

Late last week, in a 24-hour span, I got a letter from the IRS saying that my 2006 taxes were done improperly and that I owe them several (several, several) thousand dollars, took the first steps to bring suit against my landlord, and learned of one of the more ridiculous family developments just about ever.  The stress of all this has been so great that recently I woke up in the middle of a night from a dead sleep, believed someone was in my bedroom, screamed "What are you doing?" and dove out of my bed and into the darkness to tackle this person, only to grab air and slam myself into my wall.  So if you’re keeping score at home, that’s fractured ribs from a bachelor party and a hurt (let’s say, "partially dislocated" for effect) shoulder from having a nightmare and tackling an apparition.  Whoops.  So needless to say, this weekend I needed to blow off a little steam.

[By the way, we're going to have a Jerry Lewis/public television-style "Help Jason Mulgrew Beat IRS" fundraiser soon.  Good god.  I don't really have much to offer, and anything I'm able to offer you can probably get for cheaper during my eventual estate sale, but I will certainly be able to send you pictures of me in various stages of disrobing based on donation - and I work cheap.  Alternatively, if any of you are wealthy and need an in-house blogger/fuck-up/masseuse/fantasy sports guru/poor musician/bearded guy, please contact me asap.  In exchange for free rent, a monthly cash stipend or a large single donation, you can do pretty much whatever you want with me, but please, no greek.] 

[And while we're here, ever since my dad started taking me shooting, I've been thinking of getting a gun, since it really makes you feel like a man.  However, Exhibit A as to why I cannot get a gun is these nightmares that I have that now physically make me leap from my bed to fight something.  The way my luck is, I'd buy a gun, finally find a nice lady to spend the night with me, and then in the middle of the night when she gets up to go to the bathroom - or more likely, spends two hours in the bathroom alternatively sobbing and vomiting - I'd be mostly asleep and shoot her when she walks back into the room.  So I don't think I'm going to run out to buy that gun just yet.]

Fortunately, this weekend was a good one to blow off some steam, as my buddies and fellow members of my fantasy league, Iron Sheik, descended upon NYC from Boston, Jersey, Hartford, Atlanta and Chicago for our first-ever live draft.  Joy.

My love for fantasy sports is well-documented.  I love sports, but since God didn’t bless me with grace, athleticism or the ability to shower in front of other men without a necessary minimum level of GHB in my system, I never really played them growing up.  But I am good at numbers, better at studying, and best as dominating opponents to feed my ego; in short, I’m an insecure nerd.  In shorter: I’m the guy fantasy sports was made for.

But even more than that, it’s not just about the sports, but the camaraderie.  There are ten guys in my league, one of whom I met for the first time this weekend, and if I were getting married, I’d invite all of them (since my wife will be rich, because somebody’s gotta pay these back taxes).  Our league is like a social club, but without the drinking and the seeing each other; we have a common interest which we explore together year-round in the form of baseball, football and basketball leagues.  And of course, it gives you something to do at work to kill time.  Which is key. 

On Friday night, it rained buckets.  Though on Saturday night six dudes (including me) would be staying at my place, only my friends Joe and John made it in from Boston on Friday.  It was a low-key night, as we were joined by our friend (not Site Guy) Brendan and spent the night in my apartment drinking, the torrential rain keeping us in.  Brendan left at 3am and Joe and John and I stayed up until 5:30am, drinking and talking sports sports sports sports sports sports.  So…awesome.

On Saturday, it was go time.  The rest of the guys arrived via car, train or plane and at 3pm we met at the Sixth Ward in the LES to get the draft underway.  Prior to the draft, I really liked the Sixth Ward (and the bartender Tina) but I had two concerns: one, there was no private room for us, but rather a back area; and two, the beer prices were a little expensive.  Not necessary expensive by NYC standard, where $5 for a Bud draft is considered ok, but these guys were covering from all over the place.  The draft figured to take several hours and we would certainly order food, so I was concerned that when the check came and I said, "It’s $1100," there would be an actual riot in the bar.  But for the moment, I did not let it bother me, and a-drafting we went.

Eight of the ten IS members were there, two were not.  Missing was Ricky, who’s a sportscaster in Austin and could not get away from covering UT.  In his place we had Ace Cowboy, friend to all and former driving force behind Slack Lalane.  Missing also was Site Guy Brendan, who for womanly reasons I shall not disclose, could not attend.  In his stead was Don Fiedler, friend to all and named charter member of Slack Lalane.  The beers were flowing, the giant draftboard was taped to the wall, the stickers (colored by position) laid out on the table, and the drafting began.

The technical stuff: This is the first year of our three player keeper league, so each team started with three guys from last year’s roster.  Our rosters include 23 total players, and the position breakdown is C, 1B, 2B, SS, 3B, OF, OF, OF, Util, Util on offense and SP, SP, RP, RP, P, P, P, P on pitching.  That’s 18 starters to go with 5 bench spots.  We use standard 5×5 categories for pitching – W, K, Saves, ERA and WHIP – but slightly different categories for offense – Runs, RBI, Stolen Bases, Total Bases and OBP.  I won’t argue the merits of using TB instead of HR or OBP instead of AVG except to say that a single and triple should not be counted the same and if we learned anything in Little League, it’s that a walk is as good as a hit.              

Yours truly had the 6th pick in the draft.  Also, because I so dominated last year and had such a deep pool of players on my roster, I was able to get three extra picks for the draft: one in the second (when I traded Erik Bedard away) and two in the fourth (when I traded BJ Upton and Chone Figgins away in two separate deals).  Because of these extra picks, I forfeited my last three rounds pick (roster size is 23, remember).  Below is how my team turned out.  "K" stands for keeper and the numbers in parens are the rounds in which that I made the picks.   

C: Joe Mauer (5)
1B: Lance Berkman (1)
2B: Chase Utley (K)
SS: Carlos Guilen (4 – 1st pick)
3B: Ryan Braun (K)
OF: Alex Rios (2 – 1st pick)
OF: Hunter Pence (4 – 2nd pick)
OF: Corey Hart (6)
Util: Chipper Jones (4 – 3rd pick)
Util: Torii Hunter (8)
B: Kosuke Fukudome (14)
B: James Loney (16)

SP: Brandon Webb (K)
SP: Carlos Zambrano (2 – 2nd pick)
RP: Billy Wagner (7)
RP: Bobby Jenks (9)
P: Aaron Harang (3)
P: AJ Burnett (10)
P: Chad Billingsley (11)
P: Ted Lilly (13)
B: Rich Harden (14)
B: Matt Capps (12)
B: George Sherill (15)

I won’t dissect the team too much – I’m doing my humongous fantasy baseball preview tomorrow, so I have to save my energy for that – but I’m happy with the team.  It’s a typical Mulgrew team: don’t sacrifice the power categories for speed, try to draft a top six guy at each position, take a lot of high-K pitchers, and walk away with two closers who are very safe in their jobs.  Every single guy on my offense is capable of 100 runs and 100 RBI, and every pitcher on that team averaged .8K/IP last year and did not have an ERA over 4 (it’s only one year, but still, that’s pretty solid). 

The draft took nearly five hours, during which Tina served us beer and food and took care of us like the gentlemen we were.  Needless to say, we got properly drunk.  I was drinking cans of PBR the whole time to get that "sitting around the living room" feel going, and twice I walked up to the bar thinking I was walking to my fridge to get another one.  My concerns about not having a room were forgotten immediately; the bar wasn’t that crowded and those who were there ignored us or looked at us curiously.  And as for the bill…let’s just say that Tina is amazing and really, really hooked us up.  We drank and ate so much I was concerned that I was going to have to personally subsidize part of the tab (hence another reason for the canned PBR), lest I be embarrassed to ask these out-of-towners for so much money.  But it was affordable.  Definitely.

After the draft, the local guys headed home, buddies Jon and Ryan stayed out with some friends, and me, Joe, John, Bill, Don and Ace went back to my place (after stopping to get pizza) to watch the Duke-UNC game and have some beers.  After the game, Don and Ace went home and the rest of us went out to meet Jon and Ryan and we drank liters of beer until 5am (daylight savings time).  Then we got more pizza.  I had an incoming call from Bill at 6:27am, as I had just laid down to sleep and he was stuck in my bathroom.  Fat bastard. 

It was a solid fourteen hour drinking day that featured a five hour fantasy baseball draft, and not one, but two drunk visits to Rosario’s to get pizza/chicken rolls/frankie and cheeses/beef patties.  I don’t think we talked about anything but sports, I don’t think a woman came within twenty-five feet of any of us, and I think I must have drank five gallons of beer.  It was easily the greatest day of 2008, and arguably the greatest of my life.

And next year: Iron Sheik comes to Austin, Texas.  Mark it down, and God help the beer and late-night pizza of that fair city.   

Since I have been coming back and forth to California once a month for the past few months, my friends here in LA have been lobbying for me to move to Cali full-time.  The reasons they give for living in Los Angeles are wide-ranging and not without merit.  “It’s cheaper than in NYC, and you get much more for your money.”  I can’t argue with this.  $2000 will get you a barely livable one-bedroom in Manhattan but a full-fledged goddamned palace (almost) anywhere in Los Angeles.  I could essentially move from an apartment above an Italian restaurant filled with 500 Chinese neighbors (in the remaining seven apartments) to a loft overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Marina Del Ray or somewhere in the South Bay.  But you do have to get a car in LA, which is not only an added expensive, but a major hassle.  So for me, the cost of a car and insurance – several hundo a month –  and the mess of dealing with traffic equalizes the perceived lower cost of living in LA.   

“Look at the weather! Practically year-round you can spend your morning at the beach and your evening in the mountains!”  This is also true.  But anyone who knows me, or even sees me, can tell that I’m neither a beach nor ski bum.  I like the beach to the extent that I like to go out on a boat and sit there and drink beers and pee off the side.  I like the mountains to the extent that I can go to a cabin and sit there and drink beers and pee outside in the snow.  So trying to convince me to move to California by arguing the merits of the beach and the mountains is like saying I should stay in New York because there are plenty of opportunities for me to practice my Russian.

“Have you seen the women out here! They’re gorgeous!”  Another valid point.  But just as if I were to move to LA I couldn’t properly enjoy the beach and the mountains, I couldn’t enjoy the women here either.  As I’ve said before, I like going out in NYC because, even though I’m no Steve McQueen, I can still feel confident that I got it going on, in my own way.  Whereas when I walk into a bar in LA, I’m immediately in the bottom 5% or 6% in terms of looks – and I was one of People’s 50 Hottest Bachelors for Chrissake (three years ago, but not much has changed since then).  I’m a big believer in odds – that eventually, if I keep going out and surrounding myself with beautiful women in an alcohol-filled environment, something has to break my way (read: my bird, two fake boobies, several weeks of one-sided regret in the aftermath) – but consistently being the third or fourth ugliest guy in the bar is not how I want to spend every Friday and Saturday night. 

“There’s so much to do around here! Not just in LA, but in the surrounding areas!”  This is not a bad one at all.  Part of the reason why I love NYC is because I can be home with my friends and family in Philly in an hour and twenty minutes on the train, or getting bombed with my buddies in Boston in three hours and thirty-two minutes via the Acela.  Once every five weeks, perhaps more frequently, I take advantage of this and am in either of these cities.  But though I love visiting Boston and Philly, as I’m getting older, I find myself filled with wanderlust and seeking out new experiences and travels.  And I know that Boston and Philly (and New York, even) will always be there – I’m not only 98% sure that I will settle and put down roots on the east coast, but I will always have friends and family and thus a reason to visit these cities.  So if you want to convince me that LA is the place to be, this here is your strongest argument.

To that end, the last time I was out here in LA my friend Selena suggested that we go wine tasting, as part of the “Jason Mulgrew Experience Southern California Living” tour.  Let’s backtrack a second: I like wine.  I also like tasting things, preferably with booze, sugar or cream in them.  And one of the most important lessons I’ve learned in 28 years on earth is that if a woman asks you to take a mini-road trip with her, drink (literally) all day long, and stay at a hotel, you say yes.  Quickly, too, before she realizes what a mistake she’s made and changes her mind.  So on Saturday morning, I got up early, headed over to Selena’s, and we were shortly driving on one of the 4412 freeways in Southern California out to a town called Temecula. 

I had never been wine tasting before and consider myself much, much more of a beer person.  To be honest, I only like to drink wine when I’m smoking pot.  Otherwise, I could live without it.  But for the reasons mentioned above, I welcomed the idea of wine tasting: something different, something fun, something with a girl who wants to spend the day drinking.  

But the experience of wine tasting was totally, totally awesome.  Even though I had to wake up early and take a potentially traffic-filled drive, the weather was great and the drive was scenic and traffic-free.  Even though I was concerned that the tour would be filled with rich snobs who’d see right through my rich-and-yuppie veneer (“His combined parental income isn’t even close to six figures – let’s stone him!”), Selena and I met wonderful people.  And even though I was far too full of wine and food by the end of the day to create some sort of awkward environment with Selena, it was still nice playing the rare role (for me) of “Date Who Doesn’t Fart Explosively, Freeze in Place, and Then Say ‘Somebody, Quick – Get Me Some Paper Towels!’”  Four things I noticed about wine tasting:    

- One thing that immediately struck me at the first vineyard was the incredible lengths that people will go to to create new and different ways to get fucked up.  As I mentioned, I’m a beer guy.  I like my beer like I like my women: cheap, American, and hissing when I crack ‘em open (please read this reference sexually, and not murderly).  For this reason, I think I’m simple when it comes to drinking.  But in reality, a lot of work goes into making that beer.  The barley is planted, then harvested, then, I don’t know, put in a vat and the beer is made.  Then it’s canned and shipped to my local bodega in NYC, which charges me double what the rest of the country is paying.  Then into my belly and out my bird.  It’s the cycle of life, and it’s beautiful.

Because I (obviously) know so little about beer-making, I was surprised at how much work goes into making wine.  I thought that you grabbed the grapes, threw them in a barrel, stomped on them, and then drank up.  Not so, my friends.  It was at the first vineyard when we were drinking something called ice wine that I was struck by how much work goes into producing wine, especially just picking the grapes, which for ice wine must be frozen within a specific temperature range, and the lower the temperature, the sweeter it is (the more sugar it contains), and if the frost comes late, the crop will be lost, but if the frost is too long, then no juice can be extracted, then there’s a special yeast one must use, and on and on and on.  Halfway through the explanation, I wanted to say, “Jesus, lady – you’re killing my buzz.  Pour me a glass, take off your top, and put a smile on Uncle Jason’s face, ok?”

So as I sat there drinking this wine, which went through such a process that just hearing about it me tired, I thought that those farmers in South America had the right idea: cut a coca leaf from the soil, chew on it, get high.  That’s what I’m talking about.  When I’m getting messed up, I don’t want to think about how what I’m drinking has worked out more than I have.  Give me a plant, light it on fire, and let the good times begin.  I’m just a simple, simple man.

- Guys, a suggestion: get a bunch of buddies together and go wine-tasting.  Only two types of people go on wine tastings: couples and groups of women, either for birthday or bachelorette parties.  Every tour group had five or six couples, then a group of six to eight girls getting fucked up.  There was not a single (or uncoupled) straight guy in sight at any of the five vineyards we visited.  Not one.  All you need is you and two buddies and you almost can’t lose.  The only potential disadvantage is that the wine tastings end around 4pm or 5pm, which means you have to face a mortal enemy of mine in the realm of seduction: sunlight.  But the sheer numbers speak for themselves: dozens of girls drinking all day and looking to have (consequence-free) fun versus zero unattached guys.  I mean, c’mon.

(In a related story, I’ll be in Cali again next month and if any dudes want to go wine tasting, let’s do it.  And yes, I realize how gay that sounds on paper.  But trust me.  Focus on the numbers.  It’s almost a no-lose proposition, because at least you get drunk in the process for fairly cheap.) 

I thought I was a genius when I suggested that my friends and I, instead of hanging around our pseudo-hipster bars and striking out with local girls, should start hanging out in touristy spots to pick up girls from out of town, looking for a good time.  Of course, this didn’t work because, long story short, my friends and I are ugly.  But I really think I’m onto something with this wine tasting thing.            

- Temecula is a quaint little town with a main street fashioned and flavored by Old West influences.  There’s lot of cowboy stuff for sale, which I could understand, but also a lot of motorcycle stuff, which was less understandable.  But during the course of the day, I learned something else: Temecula = motocross.  Or is it “motorcross”?  Either way, it’s a stoner getting on a dirt bike and jumping off a ramp or mounds of dirt.  Sweet.  Apparently, this “sport” was founded in Temecula, and you can see mounds of dirt in the open spaces as you drive along the road and as Selena and I discovered later, every person in town between the ages of 13 and 30 not there for wine has that alternative/motocross look to them, like they listen to the Bravery and wear wristbands and wallets chained to their pants (for girls, it means dark hair with streaks of blonde or vice-versa). 

(By the way, I have no idea what the Bravery is or sounds like.  I’ve never heard a single song of theirs.  It just felt like the right thing to say.) 

I don’t mean to hate on motocross; if I lived in a place like Temecula, which seems lovely to visit for a day or weekend but rather boring to live in, I would probably be riding my dirtbike off a mounds of dirt too.  And I won’t disagree that it’s impressive – you need balls the sizes of small moons to do this.  But I don’t know if I’d call this a “sport.”  Riding a dirtbike very fast over several mounds of dirt or off a giant ramp is cool and ballsy and there is a degree of athleticism involved, but I like my sports a little more complicated than this.  If motocross is a sport, I’m going to invent a new one: At Houston and 2^nd Ave, I’m going to hand you a bag of leaves on fire, and you have to run and throw it in the East River before it burns your hand off.  That’s it.  There’s your sport.  Let’s call the X Games.    

- The wine tasting wrapped up around 5pm, leaving me and Selena with a nice buzz and little else to do.  The hotel receptionist directed us to a bar called the Barley House.  So we cabbed it on up the road and were dismayed to see the bar was in the strip mall.  Terrific.

However, this bar was pretty f’ing awesome.  There we were, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, in a bar in a strip mall, and it had one of the more impressive beers lists I’ve ever seen, which was a welcome change from drinking wine all day.  Not only that, but they have these appetizers called crispy corn nuggets, served with ranch sauce, that were amazing.  Girls, you know how in high school or early college you thought you were having orgasms with your boyfriend, and then you started dating a new guy or f’ed a guy who knew what he was doing and you popped off for real for the first time and were like, “Yeah, ok – that’s an orgasm”?  Well, that’s what eating these corn nuggets were like.  That is delicious fucking food.  That’s the only way I can explain it.         

If you live in the area, I highly recommend this bar – the corn nuggets and beer list would be enough to keep me coming back over and over again. 

(That’s another thing I like about LA – there seem to be a lot of low key “brewing company” type bars that I would never go to in NYC, because I’d look down upon those who do as tourists/meatheads/morons, but in LA are perfectly nice and have a diverse crowd of all types dining or eating there.  I feel like every bar in NYC is loaded with so much association – hipster bar, frat bar, shitty sports bar, faux dive, meat market, dbag lounge/club, etc – that as soon as a friend tells me where he/she is going, I think, “Oh, no way.”  So maybe it is time for me to move on.  Or maybe I should just be less judgmental.  Whatever.) 

******

All told, wine tasting was excellent and not so much unlike a wedding.  You go out of town, drink the whole time in as classy a manner as you can, keep your date company, meet other nice couples, take a shuttle to and from your hotel, and then pass out before any funny business can happen.  Unlike a wedding, there’s no dancing and no love, which I always thought were overrated anyway, but you can wear what you want and it’s much cheaper than a wedding.  Advantage: wine tasting.  Finally, a significant reason to live in Southern California, one that relies not on my weakest asset (my physical in-shapeness and prettiness), but my best (my ability to consume alcohol and corn-products).