I really have to tip my hat, Internet. It’s not often you see a noble and valiant effort in this day and age. When a person tries their hardest they will not fail. Well, except in this case.

(“See you in the Spring, boys.”)

It has come time for me to wave the white flag. I will not be making the Postseason in Fantasy Baseball. I have led the fans of Veeck’s Wooden Leg on for too long, teasing them with deadline trades to acquire Juan Pierre and half-price ticket Mondays. The fact is that this season has become as stale as the hotdogs my vendors sell for 6 bucks.

Everything always looked good on paper: A tight infield lead by Paul Konerko and Ryan Zimmerman with Alexei “Bones” Ramirez at Short and Chone Figgins and Juan Uribe platooning 2nd base. Sure, I may not have had an “A” level player at every position, but in a 14 team league you have to make sacrifices to remain competitive. I made plenty of sacrifices, but never got close to the competition. I traded Torii Hunter for Konerko when Torri was cold and Paulie was hot, then re-acquired Torii for Jake Peavy, 3 days before he hit the DL. I rode the wave with John Danks and Gavin Floyd, picking up low ERAs and Wins while Strasburg was slipping and Lincecum was geting lit up. I never got higher than 12th place.

(“Ju-uuuuuuuuust a bit outside.”) 

The fans were always there, though. They packed Sport Shirt Park for nearly every game, cheering loudly and showing support for the boys in chartreuse and maroon, and for that I thank them. “There’s always next year,” as the fella says. Well, you listen here and you listen good: I don’t judge a man by the length of his hair or the kind of music he listens to. Rock was never my bag. But you put on a pair of shoes when you walk into the New York Public Library, fella.

There is still good news: I have been tirelessly working the phones, making last minute deals and doing everything I can to get closer to a championship. I’m a lot like Kenny Williams in that regard. I will not rest while there are still ways to improve the situation that go unexplored. In that regard, I think I may have found a loophole. While the Trade Deadline may have passed, Free Agency is still up and running.

(“Yes, Blogs here, ringing from the Coast. How’s about I put Coco Crisp on the midnight locomotive? He’ll have the Waivers with him, ‘ol boy, but loose lips sink ships! Tell no one! Viva la Resistance!”)

If I can sneak a player or two to a couple of friendly organizations, I may be able to get my hands on a percentage of the prize money. Gangbusters! It just might work! Besides, as my father always says, “if you’re not cheating, you’re not trying hard enough.”

(My Father knows what he’s talking about.)

Thank you to all of the fans and local businesses that have supported Veeck’s Wooden Leg throughout this arduous season. We look forward to your support next season when the team relocates to a league that doesn’t count Wild Pitches and Errors. (Hell, why don’t we count pitches thrown, too? Or maybe amount of pickoff attempts? This league I was in was horrible.) The team’s name will probably change, too. Right now, I’m thinking either Eddie Gaedel’s High Tops or Play it Again, Nancy. I’ve got time, though.

It’s up to the real boys, now. Win, win, win, White Sox. You’re all I have left before the endless sea of guttural football and Tom Brady love songs begin.

End of line.