My Fantasy Baseball Victory

The baseball regular season is over and with the conclusion of the season comes the end of my fantasy baseball league of which I am the winner.  Congratulations are in order, and don’t listen to any naysayers who claim my victory comes with an asterisk because half of the teams in my league were managed by children.

Yes, it was a father and sons league with four adults and four kids, but I did have to beat all those adults before I was able to advance to the round where I handily beat my own son and then beat his best friend in the championship game.  If the kids were at such a disadvantage, how did his eleven-year-old friend advance to the championship round to earn the privilege of being soundly defeated by me?

I certainly see some poetic vindication that the eleven-year-old Paul, who was terrible at real baseball, won a fantasy baseball championship against a real eleven-year-old who is good at real baseball.  Congratulations, eleven-year-old Paul!  I’d share a toast in our honor, but you’re much too young to drink.  Put that glass down or you’ll stunt our growth!

I planned to write a post in which I outlined a list of smack talk directed at my eleven-year-old runner-up, but my wife says the following categories of smack are off limits:

I can’t use any yo’ momma jokes because his momma is a friend of ours and runs the PTA at the kids’ school and I’ve coached little league baseball with her husband.

I can’t make any jokes about his manhood because he’s only eleven.

My wife suggested I could steer clear of any questionable smack talk areas by avoiding making fun of him and limiting my smack to proclamations of my own prowess, but I found this an unsatisfying endeavor:

Knock, knock.

Who’s there?

Me and my really good fantasy baseball team.

Somehow the knock-knock joke leaves something to be desired.  I’m trying to focus on G-rated smack and here’s what I have so far:

It must be tough to finish a long day at school and go home to check your fantasy stats and learn you’re still getting schooled.

Did you get HOMEruns confused with HOMEwork and decide you didn’t want any?

Did you hear a high batting average was good so you wanted your team to be as average as possible?

Tomorrow, when you’re riding the bus, make sure and mention how you got bus-ted in fantasy baseball.

I’m confused why you made such bad picks for your last game.  If you’re going to turn in your good picks a week late, I’m going to need a note from your mom.

I know the statistic for WHIP is complicated, but I think you got so busy calculating WHIP in math class, you didn’t notice you were getting whipped!

I know you love Harry Potter, but I hope you weren’t planning on winning our game by catching the golden snitch.

It took me a while to notice your home run totals were so much lower than mine because I’m two feet taller than you.

You say your dad can beat up my dad, but my dad is seventy, and it’s really disrespectful for anyone to talk about beating him up, although he’s in great shape and biked across Iowa in July.  Did your dad bike across Iowa in July?  Regardless, I’m going to tell your dad what you said about my dad.