Down But Not Out

I was planning on starting a series on sleep deprivation this week, but I am going to wait a week as I need to get something off my chest. It’s a fairly serious matter and if I wait any longer to tell anyone, it might just get worse.

See, I’m in an abusive relationship. That’s right people, Papa Bear is being abused. I just don’t know how to tear myself away from this horrible nightmare. Every time I think things are going to change, it just reverts back to the way it was. I stick around each and every time, thinking things will get better, but it doesn’t and actually gets worse and worse each time.

Now, before you start thinking that Mama Bear is beating me, or that the kids are unleashing on the Old Man, let me just say that’s not the case. See, Papa Bear continues to get abused by one of his first loves – the New York Mets.

I know, I know, you’re thinking, “This guy is nuts. What the heck does he mean? It’s just baseball.” Well, for me it’s not just baseball. It’s more than that. It’s my original passion, one of my longest loves.

I understand that this isn’t your usual PBM Experience, but this is one of those topics that has molded me into what I am today and therefore fair game for The Memoirs. So deal with the rant.

First, let me tell you that as I write this the Mets are just 9-12, coming off a 3-3 homestand and heading into Philadelphia for a series with the Phillies. As you may remember, I am a long-suffering Mets fan living in the Philadelphia region, making this upcoming series even more painful for me.

Anyway, I’m not going to go into detail about everything that is bothering me about the Mets, but I am going to touch on some of it. So without hesitation, here we go:

This team is made up of a bunch of choke artists. The core of this team has choked away comfortable leads late in the season to miss the playoffs the last two years and the season prior to that choked in the playoffs. After the choke job two years ago, I felt this team should’ve been rebuilt, and when it wasn’t even after last season, I became irritated. Now, this year, this team can’t muster any late-inning magic or any kind of magic for that matter. Once this team falls behind they are done. It doesn’t matter if it’s late in the game or early in the game, once this team falls behind you can turn the TV off. This group has no guts, no heart. I’m sorry to say it, but this is how I feel at this time. I’m so freaking frustrated! Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch a game when you know your team is going to lose?!

Next…I really dislike Oliver Perez (I’m not going to say hate). The lefthander is a head case. One thing goes wrong in an outing, and he implodes. I didn’t think they should’ve re-signed him in the offseason, and instead signed a less expensive option like Randy Wolf. At least with Wolf you know what you’re going to get. Even in his bad starts he’ll gut out some innings. Perez folds like a lawn chair when things don’t go his way and the result is he taxes the bullpen and his teammates. I can’t stand him right now.
I want to believe in this team. I want to root for them. But when they show me absolutely nothing, it’s hard. Honestly, I feel like crying right now.

I could go on forever on this, but I have to move on and admit that I have issues. I’m trying to deal with them, but I fear I’m creating a monster and here’s why.

This past football season, after the Giants (my football team and by default Junior Bear’s team) fell behind to the Eagles in their playoff game; Junior Bear started screaming “Damn it.” I was so mad at the team I didn’t say anything to him.

Mama Bear, a bandwagon Eagles fan (the worst kind), told him to stop it. He didn’t and kept going. “Damn it. Damn it. Damn it,” he said over and over, daring her to do something with some real anger in his voice.

Mama Bear asked me, “Are you going to say anything to him? Tell him to stop maybe?”
I said, “Why? He’s right. They stink right now. He should be mad.”

Well, Junior Bear got sent to the naughty step and the Giants still lost.

I don’t know. I’m try to not let my teams’ results affect my moods, but it’s hard. To be honest, though, a little passion never hurts. I tell myself that it could be worse, because even though the lows are hard to deal with (see this year’s Mets as example), the highs are great (see Giants Super Bowl win versus Patriots two years ago as example).

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Parenting Can Be a Pain in the…

This past Thursday was set to be a big day in the Papa Bear household. Peanut Bear and Junior Bear (or Tank Bear as he is asking to be called now) were set to have their first t-ball game that night. In anticipation of the long night, Mama Bear and I made sure the kids got to sleep early the night before.

Thursday morning was a relatively easy one for me, at least at the start. The kids got up without much of a problem and we had a few minutes to spare before we had to leave for the bus. The kids enjoy it if they get ready early enough because they have a little time to play.

Anyway, on the way to the bus stop, Cookie Bear, who attends pre-school but walks with us to the bus stop every morning, caught her toe on the curb when running across the street and scrapped up her leg pretty good.

So, being the good dad that I am, I picked her up to comfort her. But as I lifted her I felt my back getting ready to pop. I told Cookie Bear I was going to have to put her down, hoping I could avoid in the inevitable, but as I bent to put her down – pop – there went my back.

Now anyone who has had any kind of back problem can attest that the ensuing moments after the pop are not very pleasant. As your back starts to spasm, the muscles put pressure on your lungs and it makes it very difficult to breathe.

At first I wanted to “man-up” and keep going. The moms from the neighborhood were about to ascend on us on their way to the bus stop and I didn’t want to look like something was wrong with me. But I could barely breathe, Cookie Bear was crying, and Peanut and Junior Bear, knowing daddy was not 100 percent, were like sharks and took full advantage of the situation, running full steam ahead. They actually ran, having a ball and not stopping once to help poor old dad (You can bet I’m going to remember that when their 16 and want to go to the movies).

I couldn’t yell for them to stop since I could barely breathe and the first mom was about to come out the door of her house right across the street. So, knowing I was going to have to fall to a knee to catch my breath anyway (see, this has happened numerous times before), I went to a knee, pulled Cookie Bear close and acted like I was tending to her scrapes even though all I could see were stars.

It was the only thing I could think of at the time. See, I’m the only father who regularly drops the kids off at the bus stop and I didn’t want to be the first one to fall to injury. That can be very embarrassing for a guy.

So, after a minute or so, I was able to catch my breath and get up. I was in extreme pain, but “manned up” long enough to make it to the bus stop, let Peanut and Junior Bear know I was upset with them and get back to the house.

The crappy part of everything is that you can’t let things like this interrupt your life when you have kids. I can remember when before we had kids and I first injured my back, I stayed in bed all day. Now, I can’t stay in bed no matter how much I want to because I have three other lives I have to look after.

IT’S NOT JUST MY BACK…

…that’s giving me problems. Remember reading about Papa Bear’s dirty little secret? Well, my fantasy baseball team is failing big time.

Through two full weeks in three different leagues, my teams are a combined 21-41. I get a chance to put together a team of the best players in Major League Baseball and I pick a group of guys that put me 20 games under .500 through two weeks!!! I don’t know if you know how bad that is?! It’s horrible, horrendous, embarrassing, disgraceful.

I dedicate hours of my life per weeks to this and this is the best I can do?! I mean, by the time I kick the bucket, I might have actually spent more time on fantasy teams than sleeping. It’s absolutely frustrating!

In my big money league, the league I spend most of time on, my team is 7-13. 7-13! I think I’m going to have to rethink my hobby and maybe get into something I’m actually good at.

OH YEAH…

Peanut Bear and Junior Bear were awesome at their t-ball game. They tied 24-24 as every kid gets to hit and as a result score since there is never an out made. Peanut Bear was very serious, asking to play pitcher to get into the action, while Junior Bear was practicing his “ninja” moves in the outfield. Can you tell who the competitive one is right now?

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Papa Bear's Dirty Little Secret

I have a problem.

I’m an addict.

There, I said it. You happy?

I’m addicted to fantasy sports. But guess what? I like it! I’m not looking to get reformed. I’m not looking for help. I’m here to tell you, I’m a fantasy sports junkie and no intervention is needed.

Like millions of others in this country, my vices are fantasy football and fantasy baseball. Just to clarify, I’m not an addict in the sense that I join dozens of leagues and drop thousands of dollars. Actually, in recent years I have averaged only two baseball and three football leagues per year, which is about the average amount of leagues for most fantasy gamers I know.

However, the leagues I am in, I go in 100 percent and become completely obsessed – most times to the point where I physically lose sleep at night. The picture above, I drew that about 10 years ago as the logo for my fantasy teams. I know, I know, I'm a loser. I’ve toyed with the idea of asking my family doctor for a medication to help overcome this, but I have shied away from that -- for now.

Right now I’m in full blown fantasy baseball mode. I’m in a keeper league with 11 other guys and I am itching like crazy to get started. I want to start trading keepers and acquiring picks. I just want to get going.

As this blog-o-mine progresses, you will find that my obsession with fantasy sports is a problem. Family trips used to be arranged around when lineups needed to be set (internet phone has helped that a little) and my mood is usually directly associated with how my team is doing. It’s a problem – I know.

There are also dilemmas I run into when I have to decide between my family and my fantasy, and as weird as this may sound, it’s not an easy choice. If you’re a fantasy gamer you know where I’m coming from. If you don’t, you’re not a true gamer. Like the Sunday when you need Drew Brees to throw four TDs to give you the win and you have to go to some great aunt's house that doesn't have a TV or your kids ask you to take them to the playground, knowing your reality team has already played.

Ask any hard-core fantasy gamer out there and they will all tell you that this is not an easy choice to make. Choose the party or the playground and you're miserable for not knowing what's going on, choose the game and, well, you know. It’s truly a problem we all run into.

Currently, for my baseball league I’m on a kick where I want to try and acquire all of my man-crushes and rename my team "The Mantasies." For those of you who don’t know, “man-crushes” can be defined as a guy you (as a male) have an affinity for. Right now, my man-crushes include Chase Utley, David Wright, Joey Votto, Ryan Zimmerman, Matt Kemp and Brandon Webb. I don’t completely know why I have man-crushes on every single one of these guys. Reasons vary from they play on my favorite team (the Mets) to I drafted them on my fantasy team the year they played really well and I developed a crush on them as a result.

It is at this point I feel the need to point out to you that I am a married man and add that many fantasy gamers have had numerous man-crushes through the years. I’m not the only on. I swear. If you’re denying it, you’re lying.

Why do I want to do this? I don’t completely know. Probably has to do with my obsession for fantasy baseball and hours I need to kill thinking about it. Who knows?

Did you think I was lying when I said I have a problem?

I have even managed to get my 5-year-old son Junior Bear into it to the point he knows how many points for every 10 yards rushing and how many points for a touchdown. I rationalize this to myself that I am teaching him basic math skills.

Me: "20-yard touchdown is worth what?"

Junior Bear: "Eight points!"

Ah, Papa Bear's so proud.

I also get him in on the decision making when I feel I'm in a rut, but that's a story for a different day.

Despite my joy and bonding, some family members fear I am creating a monster. I'll let you decide.

As we move closer to my draft and then into the season I will be sure to keep you updated on how my team is doing.