His level of suck knows no bounds


Kris' level of suckage knoweth no bounds.

He introduces me to this Beat the Streak game, I pick players that don't play, I have a streak of maybe one. One. If my players play even.

I managed to make a streak of three, my last pick with Ichiro, who went 2 for 5 today. When I went to look at the results page, and saw Ichiro had a hit, I cheered. Then started muttering and cursing.

I know more baseball players now than I ever had before. I have a strategy for picking players. I know where to go to see how a player is doing during the game. I f---ing cheered when I saw my results.


For baseball.

Gah, Kris sucks.

(I can hear him now. He's saying, "Suckah!")

Oh, good lord


How do I pick these players?

My next player wasn't in at all, either. How do I manage to pick players who aren't even playing.

I mean, WTF?


I hate baseball.

Did I mention I hate baseball? If not, let it be known that I hate baseball.

No, really. Baseball? Blech.

The problem is, however, that Kris has so much passion for the sport, his love overwhelms my hatred and there's a net positive feeling in the house for the sport of baseball.

Over the last eight years give or take, Kris has tried, really truly tried, to induce some sort of positive emotion in me towards baseball. He's tried to teach me how to throw a baseball, how to hit a ball, how to catch with a glove (note to self: do not catch the ball in the palm of your hand: it'll hurt like hell). He's even offered to buy me a glove, my very own glove. One that I can oil and stick under my mattress to shape.

Aw, crap, did I just admit I knew more about baseball than just high cheese balls?

Honestly, though, just because I don't like something, doesn't mean I'm not going to support Kris in it. To that end, I have purchased him various baseball movies (the Natural, Eight Men Out, Ken Burn's Baseball), and encouraged him to go to games whenever he has a chance. I've offered to buy him season tickets, though he's declined that one.

A few days ago, Kris told me about a contest Major League Baseball is hosting, where participants select individual players on a daily basis such that the participant beats the all time hitting streak (which I actually knew was Joe's 56, I learn by osmosis even when I try not to).

How hard can it be, I told Kris. Sign me up.

Kris sat there for too long, his jaw on the floor. I was mostly to the Beat the Streak site by the time he closed it.

My first pick was Alex Rodriquez, a sure thing in my mind.

My second one was Ray Durham, of the Giants. THe man can hit, he's a starter, why not pick him?

Because he was given the day off, that's why not to pick him.


I mean, WTF?

So, Kris lures me into this game, a game where I'm guaranteed to learn more about players, their names, teams and stats than any other trick Kris has pulled, and my second pick doesn't even play.

I've been robbed.

Meanwhile, Kris is at a two game streak. Punk.