Mocked NFL Draft: The First Ten Picks

So we only know baseball, you say? Bah. Gameday projects the first ten picks of the 2008 NFL Draft.

1. Miami (1-15)
The Pick: Bill Germanokos, OL, Winner of NBC's "Biggest Loser"
The buzz: In Germanakos, NFL’s biggest loser lands a proven winner already accustomed to humiliating himself on national television. Should have no problem regaining dirigible proportions; elephantine buttocks could anchor O-line for a decade.

2. St. Louis (3-13)
The Pick: Paul Douglas, QB, Meteorologist
The buzz: Consensus number two a supremely talented backpedaller who always manages to avoid being exposed when fronts collapse. Polished, cerebral improviser has mostly dodged concerns over accuracy. Toolset includes spectacular Doppler Unit. Needs to bulk up a bit.

x - 3. Atlanta (4-12)
The Pick: Steve Irwin (deceased), QB, Animal Planet’s "The Crocodile Hunter"
The buzz: After the Vick debacle, Falcons must rate character over physical ability. Strong commitment to animal rights will offset Irwin's figurative, literal lack of pocket presence.

x - 4. Oakland (4-12)
The Pick: Pat Robertson, RB, Host, The 700 Club
The buzz: Al Davis and company looking for battering-ram type back. Robertson, who believes the earth is 9000 years old, comes with rocks in his head.

x - 5. Kansas City (4-12)
The Pick: Rachael Ray, OL, Celebrity Chef
The buzz: Chief's once dominant O-line in need of some help. Ray is a pancake machine. A no-brainer here.

6. N.Y. Jets (4-12)
The Pick: Fox NFL Robot, DT, Fox NFL Pregame Show
The buzz: Robot tumbles all the way to six after disappointing Super Bowl showing against the Terminator. Jets enamored with jumping, knee bending, finger pointing abilities.

7. New England (From SF (5-11))
The Pick: Cloverfield monster, DE
The buzz: Monster has size, strength to dominate the edges. Performance in East River puts to rest doubts concerning swim technique. Patriots love proven track record against New York.

8. Baltimore (5-11)
The Pick: Michael Jackson, RB, Pop Superstar
The buzz: Shifty and elusive with plenty of dazzle. Scouts agog over unusual "moonwalking" gait, which can make him seem to go forward even while he's losing ground. Nose for football, nose lacking.

9. Cincinnati (7-9)
The Pick: David Blaine, WR, Street Magician
The buzz: Dynamic performer with great hands and magical skills. Signature levitation move will make him unstoppable in end zone fade routes.

10. New Orleans (7-9)
The Pick: Dennis Kucinich, LB, U.S. Representative
The buzz: New Orleans in desperate need of Douglas and his Doppler but may have to settle for Kucinich instead. Tenacious but undersized, inability to range to his right limits his appeal. Probably a reach here.

Tim Tschida's Neighbor Questioned: The Shocking Transcript

Yesterday, Major League Baseball was accused of sending investigators into umpires’ hometowns to ask neighbors “ill-contrived questions”, a form of background checking that some likened to the actions of a secret police. Gameday's crack investigative team has secured the transcript of one such conversation between major league baseball investigator Tom Christopher and a long-time neighbor of St. Paul native and MLB umpire Tim Tschida.

***

Hello ma’am. My name's Tom Christopher (TC) and I'm with Major League Baseball. We're talking to neighbors of our umpiring crew. Just want to make sure we have the right people for the job. Mind if I ask you a few questions?

I don't have a lot of time--

TC: Won't take but a few moments. Here, let's just get started. How long have you known Mr. Tschida?

Well, since he and his wife moved in next door. That was quite a while ago. Ten years?

TC: Are they nice neighbors?

Oh yes. Very nice.

TC: No disruptive behavior? Wild parties? Visits from the police?

Oh no. Just normal people.

TC: Have you been in their basement?

Their basement? I don't think so.

TC: Bear with me now. Has Mr. Tschida ever offered you a “poop sack"?

What?

TC: A spliff? A doobie?

I don't—

TC: Marijauna, ma’am.

Marijauna? They're not growing marijuana, if that's what you're asking.

TC: Fine. Has his wife ever stopped by with a swollen, bloodied face and said, "I can't see nuthin. You gotta open my eye. Cut me, Mick."

What? My name's not Mick--

TC: That's a Rocky reference, ma’am. Victims of domestic violence will often use humor to cover up incidents of abuse.

But he doesn't abuse his wife --

TC: This wife of his, has she said that Mr. Tschida regurgitates his food? Stamps the ground while she's folding red towels? Moos plaintively, or possibly with window-rattling violence, during lovemaking?

What on earth --

TC: Side effects of certain performance enhancing injections. Steer hormones, specifically. Doesn’t ring a bell? Fine. Does Mr.Tschida believe in reincarnation?

I haven’t the slightest. Why?

TC: Their's not to reason why. Their's but to do and die.

Excuse me?

TC: A bit of Tennyson, ma’am. The sort of thing that a reincarnated member of the 19th century planter class might drop into casual conversation. Ever hear Mr. Tschida say something like that?

I'm not following you.

TC: I'll cut to the chase then. What are the chances that Mr. Tschida owns slaves?

Um, about one in a billion?

TC: So, you're saying there's a chance?

That's not even funny.

TC: Wasn't meant to be. Has Mr. Tschida ever flown a passenger jet into a building?

A passenger jet? Wouldn't he be dead if he did that?

TC: Technically speaking, yes. We'd be dealing with a zombie then.

A zombie?

TC: A zombie. Your arm. Has he eaten it?

Eaten my arm? You mean, actually eaten my arm?

TC: Yes.

Does it look like it?

TC: Could be a prosthetic.

This is a joke, right?

TC: Ma’am, I wish. Have you heard of Tim Donaghy? He's an NBA referee who bet on games he officiated. We can't allow a Donaghy into our umpire crews. So we're covering all the bases, if you'll pardon the pun.

But -- a zombie? Zombies don't even exist.

TC: Maybe not. Can't be too careful, though. Now then, crop circles. Have they appeared in his backyard?

He doesn't have any crops--

TC: Bright lights? A cigar-shaped craft?

You mean a UFO?

TC: Is Mr. Tschida a pod person?

(stunned silence)

TC: I need you to focus, ma’am. Is Tim Tschida a pod person?

No, he’s not a pod person. What's that helicopter—

TC: Never mind the helicopter. Nothing to see there.

I think I have to go now.

TC: Please don't make me waterboard you, ma’am.

Waterboard? What? What are you doing?

TC: Henderson, secure the witness!

Who's that? What's he doing in my bushes? Wait! Isn't that -- that's Bill Johnson!

TC: No, that's Jim Henderson, ma’am. He's been surveiling the area.

But he's been my mailman for four years!

TC: Deep cover, ma’am.

Now hold on! You can't do this!

TC: Ma’am, I work for a man with the power to contract entire franchises out of existence. I can do anything.

Truck Commercials: Like A Crock

Televised football with its frequent breaks usually finds the sun of my intellect partially eclipsed by a fast-approaching, truck-commercial induced brain aneurysm. On Sunday, I fear that aneurysm struck as the cognitive equivalent of a global killer. For today I feel compelled to go out and buy a pickup truck.

Not so long ago I believed that I lived in a nation of paved roads. Not anymore. Pickup truck commercials have convinced me that I'll have to drive up and over the Ozarks to get to the grocery store. Probably I'll be hauling something -- a bunch of rocks, or possibly a disabled eighteen-wheeler. Somewhere along the way I'll find myself braking at the maw of a bottomless crevice, that after navigating a gigantic, erector set obstacle course that threatens me with plunging, skyscraper-high steel beams. Carhartt-accessorized men in hardhats will look on. They will cheer me.

But not only men. Admiring women will recognize the strong correlation between the size of my truck and the size of my genetalia. What's more, the wholesome manliness of my vehicle will send my pituitary gland into a compensatory overdrive, flooding my testicles with testosterone-producing hormones. Probably some will gaze at my suddenly splendid physique and impossibly strong chin and mistake me for Fox NFL analyst Howie Long. Of course I will set them straight. Guys capable of slamming shut with authority a door on the bed of a truck hardly require the security of a contrived identity.

It’s pleasant to imagine myself rolling up to my place in a shiny new truck. That rusting Mazda 626 always parked on the street will remind me that some would sacrifice their manhood to the false idol of a superior fuel efficiency. "Poor bastard," I'll mutter, forgetting for the moment, and probably forever, that I drove that car once. And as the sun sets on another star-spangled day, I'll lay my head down pondering a question that has troubled me since the first telecast of this NFL season : am I really getting everything that I need from my cell phone plan?

A Perfect Evening

I had all of these big plans to start writing here regularly again, but I got sick instead. Shameful. In an attempt to jump-start my productivity, I camped out with a laptop in front of Saturday’s Patriots-Giants Quest for Perfection. Apparently, this game was a big deal…
-----
The Giants hit a deep one to Burress on the second play of the game—an excellent grab. I haven’t even had the chance to figure out which channel I want to watch this thing on. So many choices. Unfortunately, everybody is just using the NFL Network feed, meaning there is no escape from the horror that is Bryant Gumbel. It’s like listening to Kermet the Frog calling a game. Tom Coughlin just wasted a challenge on a pretty obvious incomplete pass, too. Nice work.

We really should have just gotten every network involved here. Think of the possibilities:
Discovery Channel:
Bear Grylls shows you how to survive if you ever find yourself being chased by the Giants’ pass rush. DISCLAIMER: Bear may in fact let his crew take the beating, then take credit for it on camera.
Lifetime:
Instead of showing the game, we get a made-for-TV movie about the trials of Bridget Moynahan’s struggles as a single mother.
MTV:
Pseudo-reality shows about people who kind of like football, and occasionally talk about it, but mostly just spend their time going to crappy clubs and doing embarrassing crap.
VH1:
The Top 50 Plays from tonight’s game, as commented upon by C-list comedians.

New York finishes off an impressive opening drive with a score; 7-0 G-Men. Perhaps we’ll have a game tonight—the Giants are pumped. The Patriots answer with a figgy, after Brady overthrows Moss in the end zone. This next possession for New York is a big one. If they can answer right back with another score, the pressure will be on New England in a hurry.

…or not. Three and out, and the Pats take over at midfield. And just when it looks like the Giants came up with a huge third down stop, a sketchy illegal contact call gives New England a fresh set of downs. That’s the sort of swing that can really change a game. Yikes. The Pats roll down the field, getting a first and goal from the six as the first quarter ticks down. Randy Moss takes a hell of a shot to the head, but returns after a short break…

…just in time to make a spectacular touchdown catch. That score breaks the single-season scoring record (sorry, 1998 Vikings), Brady ties Manning for the single-season passing touchdown record, and Moss ties Rice for the single-season receiving touchdown record. Plus, Moss gets a 15-yard unsportsmanlike, apparently because Kool-Ade Maroney decided to dance a bit. Alright, then. Quite the eventful play: 10-7 Pats.

Zounds! The Pats have to kick off from their own 15, and the Giants promptly take it to the house. This is going to be fun. Maybe I’ll actually have a reason to watch past halftime—unless, of course, Gumbel drives me to commit capital crimes. Don’t think it can’t happen. Another Gostkowski field goal leaves us at 14-13 Giants, by the way.

Not only are NBC and CBS using the NFLN game feed: they are apparently having to run the same commercials, too. That seems strange. I wonder how the revenue for that gets split up. Did Snickers just have to pay three different networks for that spot? If not, what are NBC and CBS getting out of this? More questions than answers, my friends.

The Giants seem to be taking the bend-don’t-break approach. A potential Brady-to-Moss score bounces off of a New York helmet, so the Pats settle for yet another field goal. 16-14 now, and I’ve discovered the Dave Chappelle Killing Them Softly special running on Comedy Central. Classic. But, I must maintain focus. New York really hasn’t been doing much, when you think about it. New England has wasted a few chances, and that kick return is keeping the Giants close. Easily the most one-sided 16-14 game I’ve seen.

…I should stop saying things like that. The Giants march straight down the field for the score, running a snazzy two-minute drill. 21-16 Giants heading to halftime, and at least I get a Gumbel break.

Back from the half, the Patriots are going to have to wake up soon. They open the half with a punt, and now the Giants are crossing into enemy territory. Brandon Jacobs is starting to rip off some big chunks of yardage on the ground, and New England is reeling.

Yes sir, real trouble now. A Burress touchdown, and we’re at 28-16. New England looks flat. Well, let me amend that: the New England defense looks flat. Tom Brady is having an excellent game, other than the whole lots-of-field-goals thing. The Pats are headed right down the field, inside the Giants 30. New York is getting a lot of pressure on Brady, but so far the Golden Boy has been able to stand in there.

Ski-U-Mah, kids. Maroney dances in from six yards out, leaving us at 28-23. This is going to come down to the New England defense: if they knock the lead out, the Pats have a good chance. But as long as Eli keeps the Giants moving down the field, Shula will be a happy man...

A change in tactics for New England on the next drive, as they really start to ramp up the pressure on Eli. We cross over into the fourth quarter: Pats ball at about the 25 after a Giants punt, still at 28-23.

The Giants hold this time, and force the punt. 13 minutes left, Pats down 5.

I assume NFLN is trying to make a positive impression on all of the people watching this feed who don’t get the channel. That’s why I’m confused by the existence of this strange mail-bag feature they keep running. Some guy named Dukes keeps popping up to answer viewer e-mail, but it’s the same ones every time. Just so we’re clear: Tom Brady is the MVP, and Bill Parcells knows something about football. We’ll be reminded of this another half-dozen times, I’m sure.

The Giants are not exactly milking this clock. A fumbled snap, a dropped pass, and now a pre-snap timeout. They have the chance to really put the screws to the Pats here, but aren’t taking advantage. Their third-down pass comes up short, so the punt goes back to New England.

Whoa boy. Brady had Moss wide open waaaaaaaaaay downfield, but the throw is short and Moss doesn’t manage to haul it in. Of course, on the next play, Brady drills Moss down the sidelines for the touchdown. Just an incredible sequence. Records fall, and Giants Stadium gets very quiet. Maroney runs in the conversion: 31-28 Pats, with 11 minutes left. I can’t get over those back-to-back Moss throws. Scary stuff. Can Eli respond? The Giants looked pretty bad on their last possession.

Somewhere on the kick return, there was a personal foul on the Giants that push them back around the 20. No one can quite figure out why, though. A quick holding penalty, too, on a nice first-down run. Are the Giants self-destructing?

The answer appears to be yes: Ellis Hobbs picks off Manning. He does a nice job getting both feet down, too. The Pats have a chance to work up some breathing room, and Brady is playing well.

On third and 11, Brady dumps one off to Kevin Faulk, and Faulk breaks a few tackles on his way to a first down. That’s a huuuuuuuge play, and New England is creeping inside the red zone now. Another third-and-long conversion to Welker, inside the 10 now with five minutes left. Welker has 11 catches tonight.

Allow me to gloat: Ski-U-Mah! Another Maroney touchdown. 38-28 now, and the Giants are searching for signs of life.

We reach the two-minute warning with the Giants inside the Pats 20. They’re really taking their sweet time, though. Very odd. They let a solid 30 seconds tick off between plays just now, bringing us all the way down to 1:18, second and goal from the 4. They eventually get the score to a wide-open Burress (the safety fell down in the end zone), so we’ve got a game again. 38-35, with 1:04 left. Cheers for the onside kick!

Pats recover. With that, it’s game over and 16-0. Now the pressure really starts. The Giants looked pretty good tonight, actually. It’ll be interesting to see if they carry that into the playoffs. That’s not really the story here, though…

GM 2 GM

A recent item in the Pioneer Press contained this tidbit:

"We've had a number of talks on a lot of different fronts," Smith said.

Those talks, which apparently never resumed Thursday because most teams cleared out early, will resume by phone, e-mail and text messages over the next few weeks.

Naturally, this got us very curious as to what exactly goes on when two GMs text each other. And, thanks to a loophole in FISA, Batgirl was able to obtain this super secret transcript of one such conversation between new Twins GM Bill Smith and the Red Sox's Theo Epstein, which she posts here for your edification.

[Need help? click here]

TE: yo homes its theO
BS: sup sk8er
TE: sup newbie
BS: did u c da rumor bout johan 2 oak 4 dan haren
TE: LOL!!! haren is so lamo
BS: sing out louise!
TE: so wuz da 411
BS: ?
TE: wuz it gunna take 2 get dis deal done
BS: ok we need 1 mlb reD playa & 2 A-level prospects & 1 nice (_(_)
TE: ?
BS: we lost torii if we lose johan we need a nice (_(_)
TE: how nice? not givin u Tek
BS: mayB not A-level (_(_) at least B+ (_(_)
TE: & whoz got B+-level (_(_) IYHO?
BS: ellsbury
TE: 2 things retardo montalban. thing 1: ells has A-level (_(_) ells is 6 tool playa
BS: ?
TE: (_(_) is 6th tool
BS: u a tool
TE: thing 2: u not gettin ells
BS: no deal den no johan no kkkkkkkkkkkkkk
TE: no ells
BS: gotta go txt cashman
TE: ok ok how bout coco coco has A+ (_(_)
BS: stop tryin 2 gimme coco
TE: come on johan 4 coco & his A++++++ (_(_)
BS: how bout johan 4 yr mum?
TE: lv my mum outta dis
BS: ^ yurs
TE: wuz wrong wit coco
BS: u <3 coco so bad
TE: byte me
BS: cocoz yr BF mmmm coco xxxxxx
TE: shuddup bzzzzch
BS: oh one sec BRB
TE: ok
BS: sorry terry ryan wuz here wants job back
TE: OMG! wud u say
BS: i sez screw u baldy da bilzzzzzerz runnin dis show
TE: no u didnt
BS: did 2
TE: OMG! LMFAO!
BS: gotta go project runwayz on
TE: ooooh will give you ells 4 heidi klum ;-)
BS: ha u wish! c u
TE: l8er t8er

False Starts Audit: Playoff Push Edition

Predictions are tough; that’s what I’m learning this year. A combination of hubris and boredom led me to forecast the 2007 NFL season a few months ago, if you recall. Now that we’re coming down the home stretch, I thought this was a good time to check in with those picks, to see how stupid I really am. Come with me. . .

AFC East:

The prediction: Patriots, Jets, Bills, Dolphins
Currently: Patriots, Bills, Jets, Dolphins

It didn’t take a genius to pick New England out of the East. I can’t really pat myself on the back there. The question now is whether or not 19-0 is attainable; that will come down to the Pats’ running game. They’ve really gotten away from running Maroney; if they’re just saving him for the playoffs, I think they’ll be fine. If there’s something else going on there, New England is quite vulnerable.

I mixed around the Jets and Bills, although I wasn’t very high on either of them. The Bills might sneak into one of the Wild Card spots, but overall I’ll take this set of picks.

AFC North:

The prediction: Bengals, Ravens, Steelers, Browns
Currently: Steelers, Browns, Bengals, Ravens

This one. . . was not as pretty. Yeesh. I had some decent things to say about Cleveland, but thought things wouldn’t come together for them until at least 2008. I also didn’t see Derek Anderson coming at all. Whoops. I messed up on the Steelers as well; in the original preview, I said that the three top teams in this division were all good, but Ben Roethlisberger would hold them back. Wrong.

For some reason, I predicted that Steve McNair would regress, but the Ravens would finish second. Uh, dumb? And I really thought the Bengals would just score all over everybody. Rudi Johnson has been hurt, but still. This was an ugly division for me.

AFC South:

The Prediction: Jaguars, Colts, Titans, Texans
Currently: Colts, Jaguars, Titans, Texans

This one would have looked really good, if the Jags could have stolen Sunday’s game against Indy. D’oh. Of course, I was a major Byron Leftwich proponent, and we all know how that turned out (not well). Indy’s defense has not been the major weakness I thought it would be, and they’re sitting pretty at 10-2. Oh well. I was too harsh on the Texans, also. I ripped them hard, and they’ve actually been pretty decent. So, lesson learned.

AFC West:

The Prediction: Broncos, Chargers, Raiders, Chiefs
Currently: Chargers, Broncos, Raiders, Chiefs

Both of the bottom two teams here are pretty stinky overall. The Chiefs are especially bad; at least there’s a glimmer of a future in Oakland. Oh, and: surprise! Larry Johnson got hurt!

The Chargers are pretty junky. I blasted Norv Turner, and he’s largely lived up to his billing. I overestimated the Broncos, however. Especially on defense, where they look awful. This season has raised some questions re: Mike Shanahan’s general competency. Kick to Devin Hester much? Sigh. . . This one is probably over: the Broncos are reeling after a couple of ugly losses, so the Chargers should cruise to a nine- or ten-win season and the playoff spot.

NFC West:

The Prediction: 49ers, Seahawks, Rams, Cardinals
Currently: Seahawks, Cardinals, 49ers, Rams

Yee-ouch. That San Fran pick looks pretty nasty right now, doesn’t it. The lesson: never, ever think Alex Smith is competent. Frank Gore has not exactly been the difference-maker I said he’s be, either. The Seahawks are boring and mediocre, but that’s enough to get the job done in this horrendous division.

The Cardinals are making a little noise, especially after Sunday’s win against the Browns. Sitting at 6-6 now, they have a real shot at a Wild Card spot. We’ll see if Kurt Warner can keep all of his body parts attached. . .

NFC South:

The Prediction: Saints, Panthers, Bucs, Falcons
Currently: Bucs, Panthers, Saints, Falcons

Whither the Saints? They’re making me look pretty bad, here. I still think Tampa Bay sucks, but someone has to win this thing. The Saints occasionally show signs of life, then they do something stupid like losing to the Bucs on Sunday. That was a big loss, and probably put a fork in New Orleans. Carolina continues to be mediocre at best, and the Falcons are awful. At least I got a couple of these picks right.

NFC East:

The Prediction: Eagles, Redskins, Cowboys, Giants
Currently: Cowboys, Giants, Redskins, Eagles

I butchered this one about as badly as I did the AFC North. I ripped on Tony Romo, and declared Donovan McNabb would “play at a high level.” Oh. I pretty much screwed this whole thing up: the Giants haven’t collapsed (yet), the Redskins aren’t looking too hot for a Wild Card, the Cowboys are the class of the conference, and the Eagles suck. Just another day at the office.

NFC North:

The Prediction: Bears, Packers, Vikings, Lions
Currently: Packers, Lions, Vikings, Bears

This one should look a little better a few weeks from now. The Vikings and Bears should blow past Detroit; the Lions are going in the tank. I thought the Packers would be pretty good, but I didn’t expect 10-2. I thought Rex Grossman would blow Chicago’s season, but not until the playoffs. I thought Adrian Peterson would be the Purple Jesus, but the lack of a passing game would cost the Vikings. So, plenty of half-rights and almost-goods. Compared to some of my more brutal divisions, I won’t argue too much.

Super Bowl:

The Prediction: Patriots over Eagles
The New Prediction: Patriots over Packers

Ugh, that Eagles pick just keeps twisting the knife. I actually think that a Packers/Cowboys rematch could go to Green Bay; Favre put the Pack in an immediate hole on Thursday before getting hurt, and if a tidier first quarter that could have been a very different game. I really hope they meet in the playoffs, just to get another taste. And, like I said earlier, if the Pats can run the ball they’ll go to the Super Bowl. Homeboy.

Team Chemistry, Delmon Young Style: a reenactment

The whole town is ablaze with talk of the blockbuster Delmon Young trade, sometimes quite literally. In case you missed it, Batgirl at Gameday brings you a reenactment, using Legos.

As Star Tribune Twins reporters LaVelle E. Neal III and Joe Christensen head to work in the morning…


Singing together: "Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go..."


"So, Joe C., what do you think of the big trade?"


"Oh, I don't know, III. I mean, Delmon Young's great, but I'm afraid without a charismatic veteran player to show him how things are done around here, he might go astray. He threw a bat at an ump! And our big hitters aren't exactly...well….I mean, I really wonder if our clubhouse is up to a guy like that."



"No, Joe, it's going to be all right. Just watch this footage I've collected on my PSYCHIC iPHONE! You'll see what I mean…"


Peering into LaVelle's PSYCHIC iPHONE, we see into the Twins clubhouse….

As the Carpenters' Greatest hits play, Justin Morneau, Michael Cuddyer, and Joe Mauer gather for some quiet introspection, when their new teammate arrives.


"Hey, guys! I'm Delmon Young! I'm so happy to be a Twin!"


"Hey, Delmon!" said Cuddyer, "Nice uniform! We were just having a stoic-off. Do you want to join us?"
Morneau, singing quietly: Ahhhh,ahahaaaaaaa....Close to Youuuuuuuuu.
"Man," said Young, "you guys are dull. Come on, I'll show you how to have a good time!"



Outside the Dome...

Singing: Whistle While You Work...


"Hey, random umpire, come here, into the clubhouse, I want to show you something…"
"Oh, sure Delmon!" said the ump. "Let's go!"



"Okay, guys. Now, stand here, and I want you to throw your bats at him."
"What?" said all three at once.
"Hey!" said the ump.
"Shut up and take it like a man!" said Young.


"I don't know," says Mauer, quietly.
"That seems like a lot of energy," says Morneau, laconically.
"It's not nice to throw things," said Cuddyer, shyly.


"Man. You guys are sooooooo lame! Come on, give it a shot."


"Well….I guess we should make him feel welcome," said Mauer. "That's what my mom would say to do."


"I'm sorry, Mr. Umpire, Sir!" squeaked Mauer, as he threw.






"THAT WAS AWESOME," yelled Mauer, jumping up and down.


"I'VE NEVER FELT SO ALIVE," yelled Morneau, tearing off his shirt.


"AOOOOOOOOOOOW!" howled Cuddy, smearing warpaint all over his body.


"COME ON BOYS, LET'S TEAR THIS PLACE UP!"

Out on the streets...
















Back at the clubhouse...

"Phew, thanks Delmon Young! Now, boys, let's go play some baseball!"

And back in LaVelle's car...

"Wow," said Joe C.. "I see what you mean, III. Finally, we've gotten the immature uncontrollable hotheaded player we need!"
"You said it, Joe. You said it."