Category Archives: Suicide at Shea

You F–cked me Good This Year, Carlos Delgado


You fucked me, Carlos Delgado. Today I look up and realize that they’re talking about your mangy ass on ESPN as a possible MVP candidate if the Mets get back in this thing and squeak into October play. Talk about a shitty fuckin’ field. You see, I took you high in fantasy baseball’s March draft. I was miffed when the roto magazines said you were done and that you couldn’t turn on a fastball anymore. I scothed at all the other owners who laughed at me like I was a schoolboy who farted loudly in class when I drafted you cause you were there.

I hung onto your ass when it was more than mere deadweight. You are the one I have to thank for being in a hole that I could not dig out of after the season’s first month. I let you hang around and poison my club for 20 games while you hit a paltry .162 with one lone home run and 9 RBI. Then I cut you, and I heard the laughter of every manager in the league. How could I have been so fooled by an old man like you? Of course you didn’t have any speed left in your bat.

Then I hear tonight that in your last 68 games you’ve hit something like 27 homers and driven in around 70 runs. That puts you right in the thick of the MVP race. You’re now hitting .266 with 103 RBI and 35 home runs. That’s right in line with your possible Hall of Fame career numbers. Things are really looking up for you. If you win the MVP award, not only will I eat a loaded shotgun’s barrel; but it will make now the second time in three years that I’ve released a league MVP (get fucked, Justin Morneau). This all occuring to me, who is known as one of the most patient, offense-happy owners in fantasy baseball. You don’t know what you’ve done to me, Carlos Delgado.

It’s okay. I didn’t need you and your monster year, Carlos Delgado. Just like I didn’t need Grady Sizemore added to my list of offensive fucking juggernauts that is already one of the finer offensive teams in my league.

It seemed like you started hitting on that tuesday in mid-June, Carlos Delgado. Did you not like Willie Randolph? Was he too black for you? Do you like Jerry Manuel’s lighter-colored hue? What was it that made you find that old stroke, hitting like the boy in the years of your youth again?

You’ll never fuck me again, Carlos Delgado. 2008 was enough for a lifetime.