They Can Call It Fantasy Football, But For Those Who Make Hard Decisions The Pain Is Pure Reality

Wikipedia defines fantasy football as an "interactive virtual competition in which people manage professional football players versus one another and that allows people to act as general managers of a pseudo-football team."

As someone who has entered this special arena for the first time in this National Football League season, the "pseudo" may be accurate for the team. But as I now know, the pain and anguish are all too real.

Yesterday, I woke up and promptly reached for my general manager's fedora, then I coldly cut Mark Sanchez of the NY Jets from my fantasy football team, the South Shore Soxolaskies.

In his place, I added Ryan Fitzpatrick, quarterback of the Buffalo Bills, which only compounds the problem this caused me. As a fan, I happen to like Mark Sanchez -- I had cheered when the Jets drafted him -- and no real Jets fan should be rooting for a Bills quarterback, much less choosing one over a Jet.

But having just endured one train wreck of a sports season, thanks to my Boston Red Sox (who yesterday fired their second manager in two years, another guy I liked) and NY Mets, I'm not ready to chew on another one just yet and, in this case, extending to my fantasy team.

For as long as I've watched pro football, my favorite teams have been the NY Jets and Minnesota Vikings, so this was a painful chore, telling Mark to turn in his Soxolaskies jersey and playbook.

But to continue in this fantasy thing, I can't deny that this Jets season looks to be going over the cliff. As a fan, there is wiggle room for patience. But with fantasy football, patience tends to be a luxury one cannot afford and even more crucial to one's skills set as the GM of a fantasy team is trying to stay ahead of the curve.

That said...bad enough that I'm on track to get my brains beat in this weekend by one of my all-time favorite Vikings players, as my opponent was able to trade for Adrian Peterson. But I am now reminded of why I had resisted playing fantasy football until this season, only because I thought I'd like to be part of something with a mix of family members, an old friend and his son.

Yes, it sounded like fun. But now reality has kicked in, like a boot from David Akers (who is the Soxolaskies' kicker, btw): to play this fantasy stuff, I am left to root against players/teams I really love.

So yesterday morning, I woke up hating the whole damn thing as I looked for that pseudo-fedora, ready to cut fantasy ties with a quarterback I'll still be rooting for...at least, until somebody else in our fantasy league picks him up.

Staying On Track Despite A Wrecked Season

As anyone who follows the soap opera that is professional wrestling knows, when a fan favorite turns heel the change can be hard to accept.

It's no different with baseball and so I dread what lies in store for me several hours from now.

My favorite American League baseball team, the Boston Red Sox, go up against the New York Yankees for three games at Yankee Stadium starting tonight and I'm in the process of attaining preparedness for all the train-wreck talk about the Sox and their manager, Bobby Valentine.

Bill Parcells, the former coach of several pro football teams, is known for the observation that you are what your record says you are.

Well, heading into tonight's action, the Yankees have won seven and lost three over their last ten games while the Red Sox are four and six during the same span.

Being the optimist that I am, I prefer to note that the Sox are enjoying their ride of a one-game winning streak (while the Yanks are hoping to get off the schneid by snapping a one-game losing string).

But regardless of how I might try to craft the framing of it, there's no denying the fact that the Red Sox awoke this morning looking up at their first-place rivals from a distance of 12 1/2 games.

So I'm ready to hear "beleaguered" and "embattled" beaten into the ground when it comes to the talk about my team, which has compiled a disappointing record of 58 wins and 61 losses at this juncture in the 162-game regular season, amid reports of clubhouse dysfunction.

Certainly, it is not one I would present to Bill Parcells for comment.

But never mind the words. Much worse for me will be the inevitable sight this weekend of former Red Sox pitcher -- and 2004 playoffs and World Series hero -- Mr. Derek Lowe in pinstripes.

It won't be as painful as the images of Luis Tiant and, more recently, Johnny Damon as Yankees, but it will be bad enough.

With all due respect to Sparky Lyle, allowing Carlton Fisk to go to the Chicago White Sox remains the worst personnel decision the Red Sox have made during my lifetime.

But I take some comfort in the fact that at least "Pudge" did not sign with the Yankees.

Thankfully, I can say the same about my all-time favorite Red Sox player, Dwight Evans. His finishing up with the Orioles may have been strictly for the Birds, but better Baltimore than the Bronx.

Go, Sox!!!

When The News From Somewhere Else Raises Some Dark Questions On Safety Close To Home

My earliest thought was not a new one, upon learning today's news out of Aurora, Colorado about a massacre during the midnight showing of the latest Batman movie, "The Dark Knight Rises."

Here in New York, I was reminded that the world is an unsafe place and some points of interest are less safe than others. But the fatal shooting of a dozen people and wounding of nearly 60 others in a movie theater should have stunned me more than it did.

Violence in public places didn't begin during my lifetime, but at various times, I've been shocked and deeply affected by some of the more infamous ones that have occurred since I'm here, the first example being the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

I was a high school freshman sitting in Social Studies class that afternoon, when the principal's voice came out of the PA speaker on the wall, advising us that the president had been shot and telling us to go straight home.

Then the Social Studies teacher, standing at the front of the room, looked out at us and said quietly, "Gentlemen, you are witnessing history."

Well, I've "witnessed" (as in "lived through") a lot of history since that day. I worked as a journalist for more than 20 years and as part of that gig, I had to string words together about some terrible acts of violence.

So by the time the horrific events of Sept. 11, 2001 took place here in NY and elsewhere, I already had a certain understanding that when it comes to safety, its reality is harsh and nothing is promised. And, in truth, any expectation of safety becomes a matter of wishful thinking --- in some cases, more so than others. But some people who could improve things in that respect ought to try more than they do, even if it hurts the budget.

Nowadays I find that I tend to look at things in a way that begs certain questions, such as when I'm navigating my way to a place for the first time, I'll wonder about a certain route: where will I be if I get a flat tire?

Obviously, there are public places that are less safe than others but it bothers me to see the way some operations are run when it comes to even a minimal effort to ensure safety. At any site where strangers gather, there ought to be some kind of security, if only for the confidence it might give attendees --- and not just to deter violence.

The last time I found myself in a dark room with people I didn't know was when My Wonderful Wife Peg and I went to a multiplex to see "The Avengers." Holy Crow, they didn't even have the ticket booth outside manned. We proceeded to the lobby's candy and popcorn counter to buy a ticket and even then, there was no one to ask for that ticket -- much less greet us (or give us "the once-over") -- as we walked into the room showing "The Avengers."

In keeping with a popular slogan of the day, I have to ask: even if someone in that theater did see something suspicious, who would they say it to?

Never mind a possible fistfight (I've sat through a couple in different movie theaters) or some much-worse threat of violence. Maybe it's because I've had basic training in CPR and how to use an Automated External Defibrillator, but I also wonder what would happen if some poor soul (maybe me) were stricken during the movie?

For me, the reality of patronizing that movie theater begged more questions than the idea of driving on a certain dark road at 2 a.m.

As for the tragedy that's now in the news -- the movie-theater massacre by a gunman in a gas mask -- admittedly, I know nothing of how this particular Colorado theater is operated. But learning just a little of what happened there quickly brought back some observations made close to home recently.

Was it really so long ago that if someone got up and propped open an exit door as James Holmes reportedly did before he went out to retrieve his personal weapons of mass destruction, there was someone –- a movie usher or matron -- employed by the theater to intervene?

It’s enough to make me wonder, too, if the world has become more dangerous largely because too many public places simply allow it.

Even so, my plans to see the Batman movie next week remain unchanged --- though it will be at a theater other than the one where my wife and I saw "The Avengers."

Online Values, Friendships And The Wisdom Of Walter Winchell

When it comes to learning the value of something nowadays, the easiest way is to travel the path of the lax and lazy: list it on eBay, or some other online marketplace, and watch what happens.

For one thing, you can do it from home and in your pajamas, which should be enough to recommend it. Additionally, there’s no gas spent on a trip to some place where you’ll stand with hopeful eyes as you try to decipher the expression of some expert after he breaks out his loupe for the crucial appraisal.

Of course, as an online seller who wants to know what something is worth and is willing to let unseen bidders set the price, it helps if you’re not in a particularly big hurry. Ordinarily, instant gratification is not part of the learning process.

However, after a while, maybe a week, you’ll have your answer in the form of a final bid. Much like the verdict handed down by a jury on “Law & Order,” you might not agree with the decision, but at least you’ll find out what others think about the value of something that belongs to you.

This works with varying degrees of success when the item is something that would be appropriate for a yard sale -- i.e., just about anything a stranger can lift or point to and ask, “How much will you take for it?” -- but the matter becomes a bit more complicated with items that aren’t so tangible.

Friendship is one of them. I got to thinking about this after seeing a spot on the local news, as presented on WABC-TV, about Facebook users who have been “un-friending” others over postings that express the contrariness of their political views.

On Facebook and other social networking sites, people can stockpile their fellow users as “friends” through the simple process of invitation and acceptance called “friending,” which increases access to information about those users. But it’s also an ego boost, depending on the value one places on such a gain.

Personally, I can’t think of stronger proof that after “genius,” no word in the English language has been assaulted by cheapening blows more than the root word of “friendship.” I’ll leave it to others to decide why this is so, as there may be some deep psychological reason for it --- or, at least, one too deep for the likes of me.

But I do know that if my car breaks down while I’m driving on Long Island’s Robert Moses Causeway at 2 a.m., without counting anyone at AAA, I’m going to have a small pool of people to call and I won’t need a social networking site to identify them. As for their value, well, some things in this life are simply known.

Possibly, it’s because I spent more than two decades writing for a newspaper and have a bend in me because of the experience, but with all due respect to Facebook, I prefer the rule of thumb attributed to an old New York newspaperman named Walter Winchell.

Winchell was the country’s first syndicated gossip columnist and he wrote for the New York Daily Mirror, my grandfather’s favorite newspaper, from 1929 until that tabloid closed in 1963.

In his heyday, Walter Winchell was also a big deal as a radio personality, wielding power and influence through his broadcasts for more than 20 years. But that kind of fame belonged to his popularity with a generation that preceded baby boomers like me.

As a kid who watched a lot of television, I mostly knew of Walter Winchell as the narrator of “The Untouchables,” the popular (albeit highly fictionalized) crime drama starring Robert Stack that ran from 1959 to 1963. It was loosely based on federal agent Eliot Ness and his team as they battled Prohibition-era gangsters. Winchell’s speedy staccato made him an ideal choice as narrator.

Much later, when I was reporting on the perpetrators of murder and mayhem, I learned about Winchell’s role in the surrender of Louis “Lepke” Buchalter, who remains one of the more notorious criminals in New York City’s history.

For all that, however, it’s Winchell’s view on friendship -- given to me years ago on a glazed slab of stone for use as a paperweight -- that has stuck with me.

“A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out,” he observed.

Walter Winchell died in 1972, which means he’s been gone longer than the combined years that eBay and Facebook have been in existence. Since he's credited with having created enough slang -- with examples such as "scram" and "pushover" -- to fill a small dictionary, I figure that the same guy who came up with "infanticipating" (for expecting a child) would have approved of "friending" as a word.

But I can only guess whether he would have accepted my Facebook invitation --- or dumped me later on for the crime of posting a contrary opinion.

No Save Button For A Bad Case Of The Stupids

I know there are people who believe in the existence of the stupid question, but I haven’t counted myself among them.

Personally, I like to think that some queries lack accuracy, others are improper and still others share aspects of both. But stupid? No. I find it hard to knock an effort to gain information.

I do, however, reserve the right to change my opinion, if it seems to be the smart move.

Yes, I’ve heard the quip about how keeping quiet and appearing to be stupid is preferable to opening one’s mouth and removing all doubt --- some good advice found in similar quotes attributed to Mark Twain and Abraham Lincoln.

But sometimes, when it comes to questions, a person just has to go ahead and ask, anyway.

It might be the best one can say in trying to figure out what political analyst Mark Halperin was thinking when he said what he said on MSNBC during the cable news channel’s June 30 “Morning Joe” show.

What Halperin, an editor-at-large at Time magazine, said about President Barack Obama -- a crude comment depicting the president as a part of the male anatomy -- got him suspended "indefinitely" by MSNBC. The vulgarity came in answer to a question about the president’s demeanor at his news conference the previous day.

But what put Halperin on a greased slide to a bad place was a question of his own. Instead of providing his analysis of the news conference, he asked co-hosts Joe Scarborough and Mika Brzezinski if MSNBC’s seven-second delay button was working.

As it turned out, whether it was operational didn’t matter; a producer reportedly pushed the wrong one after Halperin went ahead and made the offensive remark, which could be heard by viewers.

Having toiled in the field of journalism for more than twenty years, I came to the conclusion long ago that reporters have plenty of better things to worry about than the risk of appearing stupid --- especially when there’s a fair chance that the risk is a horse already out of the barn and long gone down the road.

But now, well, I think it might be a good time to revisit my opinion about the non-existence of the stupid question.

Meanwhile, on the matter of analysis -- political or otherwise -- I'm thinking: never mind Mark Twain and Abraham Lincoln. Maybe the fellow who summed it up best was a plain talker and true Renaissance man named Forrest Gump.

"Stupid is as stupid does," observed Forrest, who did pretty well for himself without the benefit of a delay button.

From Finding Peace To Getting The Creeps

A smart man, or at least one who relishes life with minimal ruckus, knows enough to agree with his wife --- particularly when it comes to the ideal route to get from here to there.

Of course, then there are the rest of us, who learn these things the hard way. In the best example of navigating my way in New York that comes to mind, the “there” involves the Suffolk County hospital where my mother has been a patient at various times in recent years.

For too long, I had relied on the roadway that serves as my personal motoring landmark when figuring the way to a destination in Long Island’s Nassau or Suffolk counties. As usual, I had one question, albeit of two parts: how far do I go on Sunrise Highway and where do I go from there?

While I understand the joy and possible benefits to getting some place sooner, there’s also some comfort in taking a major route so lined with businesses, dotted with traffic signals and broken by intersections that it can be seen as risk-proof by first-timers who fear getting lost.

This would prove especially true along the Nassau County stretch that runs parallel to the Long Island Rail Road. Station by station, the passing motorist can mark the drive one village at a time.

My way was simple enough: turn onto Sunrise Highway and head east, beyond the intersections that give way to exits, until I could take the ramp leading to Route 231 and continue south to Montauk Highway. From there, the hospital was almost within walking distance.

Once my wife -- My Wonderful Wife Peg -- learned of this, she wanted to know why I wasn’t taking the Meadowbrook Parkway to Ocean Parkway instead. As it was, I didn’t have any good reason for my way other than it being my way, so I clung to it for as long as I could and whenever I could --- i.e., as long as I sat behind the steering wheel on those occasions when I would visit the hospital alone.

Meanwhile, Peg had the reasons that made perfect sense for taking her way: fewer vehicles and nicer scenery. A much more peaceful ride, she maintained, and as so often happens, she was right.

Taking the Meadowbrook Parkway towards Jones Beach during the fall and winter months put me on a road unlike anything I knew. I am a relative latecomer to Long Island, having grown up and spent most of my life in New York City’s Queens County. Peace and quiet did not come naturally to me.

But in my first try on the route recommended by my wife, I felt a calmness come over me. By the time that the Meadowbrook ended -- after passing through empty toll booths (for parking fees during beach season) -- onto Ocean Parkway with beach land on either side, the transformation was complete: as close to serenity as I am capable of reaching while operating a motor vehicle.

Ocean Parkway runs a bit more than 15 miles between two state parks -- Jones Beach and Captree, with beaches in between. It starts in one county (Nassau) and ends in another (Suffolk), before feeding into the Robert Moses Causeway, named for the all-powerful parks commissioner who had envisioned Jones Beach State Park and the roadways to it.

But in traveling from home, once I got past Moses’ own promised playland for summer fun, I no longer knew where I was exactly, except for an occasional sign about a particular beach or town. I had passed the one real landmark I could rely on --- the old water tower that stands as a monument at the center of circling roadways. After that, I was on my own, with no busy intersections, traffic lights or railroad stations to serve as clear and frequent reference points.

In either direction, Ocean Parkway is a long stretch of two lanes cutting through the tall weeds, wooded brush and sand. With fewer signs and structures, except for occasional clusters of houses, the landscape was wrapped in more sky than what I typically failed to notice. Wherever else I was, I knew I was at peace --- so comfortable in the feeling of solitude that I was free to get lost in my thoughts.

With neither congestion outside the car nor conversation inside it, there was nothing to steer my mind in a certain direction. I let myself drift, from wondering about the present -- and whether my mother would rebound from this latest episode of physical betrayal -- to sifting through memories that now seemed like scenes from old movies.

I could choose my soundtrack, as I drove to and from the hospital. Instead of listening to the news or sports talk on the radio, as I often do while driving, I found myself bringing CDs along for the ride. Shawn Colvin and Aimee Mann emerged as Ocean Parkway favorites.

But then it all began to change last December, after human remains turned up along Ocean Parkway. Within a three-day period, four decomposed victims -- subsequently identified as females in their 20s who were regarded as suspected prostitutes -- were found in the vicinity of Gilgo Beach.

The crime scenes and evidence searches that ensued led to the kind of traffic closures usually reserved for road work projects and marathon races while news accounts pieced together the shadowy picture of a serial killer.

At least, it appeared to be a matter of a singular slayer until earlier this month. Police boosted the numbers of both victims and killers, due to the cases of three other people --- two of them, dismembered women partially found years ago in Manorville -- whose body parts had been dumped near Ocean Parkway between Gilgo Beach and Oak Beach.

Along with the suspected victims of foul play, the blanketed corpse of a female toddler presented an eighth case for investigation.

“It is clear that the area in and around Gilgo Beach has been used to discard human remains for some period of time,” Suffolk County District Attorney Thomas Spota said, during a May 9 conference with the news media.

By then, my mother had left the hospital to return to the nursing home. But while I did not need to drive on Ocean Parkway, I felt wounded by loss just the same. I knew how I had felt soon after the grisly finds were made last December. More than ever, I missed what it had meant before fog or darkness became worrisome things, sometime before I gave serious thought to how I could describe my location in the event of an emergency cell phone call --- before the sign for “Gilgo Beach” gave me the creeps.

Even the sound of Shawn Colvin quietly singing “Shotgun Down the Avalanche” in my car seemed haunting now in a way she hardly would have liked.

As somebody whose newspaper experiences included years of covering murders and going to crime scenes, I could understand what would make Ocean Parkway appealing to a killer looking to dispose of a body. But knowing a monster’s idea of heaven had poisoned the peace in my own way through it.

When One Foul Ball Meant Bullied For Life

For those who may be thinking life stinks, cheer up: you could be Steve Bartman, the Chicago Cubs fan who got in the way of a Cubs outfielder's attempt to catch a foul ball in the eighth inning of Game 6 in the 2003 National League Championship Series.

At the time, the Cubs had a three-run lead in the eighth inning and were up, three games to two, on the Florida Marlins. Cubs pitcher Mark Prior was throwing a shutout. If "The Bartman Incident," as it is known, hadn't happened and Moises Alou somehow had caught the pop foul by Luis Castillo, it would have meant the second out --- putting the Cubs four outs away from going to the World Series for the first time since 1945.

Ah, if only ifs and buts were candy and nuts. But instead, the Marlins would score eight runs in the inning. They won the next game and went on to beat the Yankees in the World Series.

As for Steve Bartman, the 26-year-old Little League coach didn't go home with a souvenir baseball, but he caught plenty of grief from his fellow fans. Still wearing his Cubs cap, Bartman had to keep his jacket up to his face as he left, escorted from the stadium for his own protection.

It was only the beginning for the unfortunate fellow who suddenly became known as the most hated man in Chicago. Meanwhile, the Cubs have not been closer to a World Series since that night and Steve Bartman remains That Guy to a lot of fans.

Of all the reasons to be hated by people you never met...whew.

I mention this because I just heard a radio interview with director Alex Gibney, whose film on "The Bartman Incident" and the fallout, titled "Catching Hell," is about to make its premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival here in New York.

It sounds like a fascinating documentary. In recent years, there's been more attention paid -- finally -- to bullying and the damage it can cause to victimized kids, if adults turn a blind eye instead of taking action.

But I'm thinking that the turning of Steve Bartman into the ultimate scapegoat, simply because he did what pretty much any fan in the ballpark would -- try to catch a ball coming into the stands -- is sort of a lifetime sentence to being bullied.

Then again, the word "fan" is regarded as short for "fanatic" and it is almost expected that fanatics will find a way to leave reasonableness out of any discussion about cause and effect.

For Steve Bartman, the ugly and angry reactions of fans who blamed him for the Cubs' ignominious exit from baseball's post-season caused the need for police cars outside his home. He became the butt of cruel jokes by TV show hosts. On the Internet, the quality of mercy was strained by vengeful strangers, under the guise of Cub supporters, who could not -- would not -- get over it. Instead, they posted personal information, including Bartman's address and telephone number, for other nuts to read and maybe act on.

To this day, he avoids the spotlight and continues to turn down offers -- reportedly, involving six-figure sums -- to talk about what happened that night at the ballpark. At the very least, Bartman went into hiding as a baseball fan. He declined an invitation to take an active part in Gibney's film.

My own team in the National League is the New York Mets. So, it's not lost on me that the two players principally involved in "The "Bartman Incident" -- Castillo and Alou -- went on to play for the Mets.

By that time, Alou was often hurting and near the end of a fine career, though he would set a club record with a 30-game hitting streak in 2007, when he was 41.

While playing for the Mets, Alou recalled "The Bartman Incident" in an interview with The Associated Press and said that he felt "really bad" for Bartman. Additionally, he acknowledged that he wouldn't have made the catch of Castillo's foul ball, even if a fan had not deflected it.

The admission was quite different from Alou's immediate reaction that night -- he was described as being "livid" on television -- which did not spare Steve Bartman.

"Hopefully, he won't have to regret it for the rest of his life," Alou said, in the wake of the loss.

Luis Castillo, who had set the sequence of events in motion by sending Mark Prior's pitch towards the seats in Wrigley Field's left-field corner -- and Bartman -- became a different story of sorts, in his own way

Castillo earned a championship ring as a member of the Marlins. But his signature moment as a Met occurred during a June 2009 game against the Yankees --- when he dropped an infield pop-up with two outs in the bottom of the ninth, allowing two runs to score and turning an 8-7 victory into a 9-8 loss. The fact that it came against the Yankees made the defeat all the more bitter.

After Castillo's misadventure in the field, most Mets fans wished he'd go into hiding.

"It was a gift from God --- or Castillo," was the view of Yankees slugger Alex Rodriguez, who had hit the pop fly, as quoted by the New York Daily News following the game.

Mets fans never entertained the notion of divine intervention. Radio talk shows became forums for heated campaigns demanding Castillo's banishment, which finally came with his release during spring training this year.

Now that I think of it, the Mets haven't been back to the World Series since Castillo botched that seemingly easy catch at Yankee Stadium --- or, going further back, since he hit the ball that beckoned to Steve Bartman that night at Wrigley Field.

Chicago Cubs fans might want to consider that maybe, just maybe, the wrong guy's name has been attached to the "incident" subsequently blamed for the end of their world in 2003.