The Catfish Hunters

After having some issues with my stolen wifi, I decided to ride my bike post-haste to the nearest pub with an unlockled linksys signal.

I’m here at the aptly named Marx Cafe, where the tiny tapas food portions aren’t exactly friendly for the fans of the free market. My computer is on the fritz with the signal here too, even though I’ve already ordered a Guinness. I’ve considered chugging the brew and hightailing it to the next fine establishment with internerd access, but I’ve picked up the signal just in time to find out… I have the last pick in my draft. It doesn’t look like it’s going to be my year to finally bring home the pennant.

Last year’s Mattingly’s Mustaches gave a valiant effort, but suffered an injury-plagued season. Although, the clubhouse demeanor suggested that we were at a turning point, beginning to establish a winning culture. With that game-winning philosophy in mind, this year’s Catfish Hunters were very optimistic on draft day that we’d get the key pieces we need for a victorious campaign.

Utilizing a brilliant strategy of only picking the types of players that seem like nice people, I put together a team that included Derek Jeter, Derek Lee, and Mike Piazza (mostly so I can play Belle & Sebastian as his at-bat music).

It was a tricky draft this year. Not a ton of star power, and lots of questions about some of the older players ability to perform without the help of chemicals that can only be found in veterinarian’s offices. Here’s a sampling of draft day chatter:

Team 1: Ok, who wants to bet Clemens gets drafted before Bonds?

Team 2: I’m not touching Bonds, just so we’re umm.. clear.. bout that

Team 3: Yeah, if he gets hurt you’d get creamed.

I think this might be my year, even though Catfish Hunters tend to be bottom-feeders.