east side, fantasy-style

It's that time of year again.

That's right, kids. FANTASY BASEBALL DRAFT TIME. BREAK OUT THE ROTOWORLD LINKS, IT'S GONNA BE A WILD RIDE. As long as my Joe Mauer does better than Pam's Jason Varitek this year, I anticipate another excellent fake baseball season which will go on the crazy-ass Powerpoint resume I someday intend to send to "Mr. T. Epstein, General Manager, Boston Red Sox, 4 Yawkey Way, Boston, MA."

Whatever. You know you'd all love it if I were running a baseball team. First of all, I'd probably get you good seats and the opportunity to grab Gabe Kapler's biceps. But since I'm not running a real baseball team, I'll talk about our fake ones.

The Chickball girls minus one -- Emily's saving her energy for football season, or so we hear -- are participating in the same league this year, the East Coast Faction, as imagined by Pam Down Under, And No, Not "Pam Down Under" In The "Pam-Has-A-Hilarious-Disease" Sort of Way. (I am going to get smacked worse than the time we had to introduce ourselves in a history discussion and I started blurting out embarrassing things about our favorite faux-Aussie because I am on crack or something. Oh, Pam, I'm glad you're too far away to hit me or glare at me or menacingly wave a Starbucks cup in my direction.) We are as follows --

Pam: The Durham Pams, a reprisal of her 2005 team. Last year, this led to a hilarious moment in draft chat where some 15-year-old eejitbox from Tennessee or something thought Pam had christened her team after Ray Durham. This got even funnier when Pam actually drafted Ray Durham. They also thought she was a dude for most of the draft. I don't think they ever knew I wasn't a dude. That was a weird league and I spent the whole year trying to trade Perpetually Injured Jose Vidro to anyone who would take him. Anyway, Pam kicked my ass last year and damned if I shall let this happen again!

Amy: Resostros. I imagine this is a hybridization of "Red Sox" and "Astros," or maybe Amy's just reading too many Buffy the Vampire Slayer novelizations over at Simon and Schuster UK and this is something Giles would shout to rid Sunnydale of, like, a Polynesian Water Demon. Did I mention that I am on crack already?

Beth: 4815162342. If you know what Beth's team name means, you're watching the wrong show on Wednesday nights. Veronica Mars, people. Come on, now. Okay, whatever, free country, but at least TiVo one or the other, you know? ABC and UPN have a lot to be ashamed of. It's just not right to schedule good TV against slightly better equally-good-for-the-sake-of-maintaining-peace-in-my-apartment TV when I spend three days a week trying to avoid American Idol specials. Ahem. Anyway. I anticipate a Draft Day Death Battle between Bingo at the Lost Lodge Hall (as I will henceforth refer to Beth's team) and the Durham Pams for Jason Varitek's thighs.

Suzie: Snakes on a Plane! Named after the movie which will hopefully become the Manos: The Hands of Fate of our generation, Snakes on a Plane! will inevitably feature a few standbys that appear on all Suzie's teams --
1. Eric Chavez at 3rd base, which means I sit in the cellar for the first two months because Eric Chavez can't hit Nicole Richie's weight or George Bush's approval rating until June 1st
2. Deep pitching, deep outfield, shitstorm terrible middle infielders
3. A hilarious mid-season scramble for relievers, because every league I play in places way too much emphasis on saves, which are kind of the STUPIDEST STATISTIC EVER
4. An absurdist name ending in an exclamation point

Buckle up, kids. It's going to be a bumpy ride, and that's not because of all the snakeskins in the jet engines.