2017 Baby Yoshii Has Left The Building

20 Mar


November 3, 2017 (The Real World) 

It was just another lonely night for Jeff, crossing T’s and dotting I’s on his latest family PNL. Tucked away in his home office, he closed his Macbook and stared at the ceiling. The silence was deafening, but ironically, the house was full of activity. Downstairs, Kayley was watching another episode of Peppa, drinking Grass Fed™ Toddler Powder Mix, enriched with Iron and made with 100% Grass Fed Milk. The only formula in the world made with certified* 100% grass fed milk from New Zealand. June and her mother noshing on Nem Nuong Xa chicken skewers, rumbling about travel schedules and Jeff’s inability to do everything. Jeff was checked out from the home and from his life.

Jeff leaned back in his chair, wondering why he couldn’t win a fantasy baseball championship and started to doze off, he dove deeper into sleep when he heard the ding ding of his text messages. He grabbed his phone like it was another appendage. His bleary eyes saw a text from Garrett. “Great another text celebrating his victory season, trying to negotiate more rule changes,” he mumbled under his breath. He tapped on the notification and it read “Have you heard from Yosh?” In fact, Jeff hadn’t heard from Yoshii in about four weeks. He tapped back “No, why?” Garrett responded “Because I am worried about him, he quit his job at Apple and he hasn’t been seen in about two weeks.” Jeff rubbed his head and thought about the last time he actually talked to Jim. They talked about a friend of theirs that disappeared from the planet. Jim was asking lots of questions. Jeff was worried. “Let me reach out to him.” He responded to Garrett.

He popped on his Dodger cap and Nike Janoskis, snuck by the noshing moms, nearly tripping over Kayley’s Munchkin Vibe safety gate, the ultra modern design that features see-through mesh and seamless construction. Jeff jumped in the Bronco, opened his iPhone, muted the Slayer on Spotify and opened his contacts. He tapped on Yoshii’s contact and called him. No answer, he called again, no answer. After 17 calls, Yoshii didn’t answer. Without realizing it, Jeff was in the Valley on the 405, heading to Oakland. No explanation why, he just kept driving. He stopped in Buttonwillow to fill up the Black Beast. $79 for 8.5 gallons, nothing like a ’92 Bronco to remind you of youth gone wild.  He went to the Arco 24 hour mart, grabbed six Red Bulls, three Slim Jims (no pun intended) and an apple. When he got back to the car, he saw his phone had a notification. It was from Jim. The Little Buddha was not dead, but hiding. “Jeff meet me in Bakersfied at this address, 3900 N. Sillect St.”

Stoked, he opened Waze, entered the address and saw that he was only one hour and thirteen minutes away. He popped open Spotify, tapped on his “Ska 4 Life” playlist and zoomed up I-5. As he pulled up to address, he lowered the volume on Less Than Jakes’ “All My Best Friends Are Metalheads”

and pulled into a spot right in front of the address. Of course it was a strip club, it was Exotic Kitty’s one of the finest establishments in the 661. Jeff walked in the door, pulled out his ID, paid the $20 cover and slid open the curtain. Your typical beer, Drake, and topless locals. Lots of Dodger caps, but only one green A’s cap. He was buried away in a corner with three ladies on his lap. A lap that had grown significantly since their last encounter. He was unrecognizable except for the A’s hat. His shirt tattered and soiled, his cargo shorts unbuttoned and his feet exposed with one flip flop clearly missing.

“Dude, what happened to you!” Jeff screamed. “Oh hey man, how are you. I want you to meet my new friends, Misty, Lilly and Devine.” They all turned from Jim’s lap and gave Jeff a nod. Misty’s head still on Jim’s chest. “What the fuck is up man, why are you in a strip club in Bakersfield?” exclaimed Jeff. Through his noticeably graying Amish chin fur, Jim smiled and said “Well Mr. Spears, welcome to my RSUs, this is my club.”

Jeff hadn’t noticed the sign on the outside of the club, Yoshii’s Exotic Kittys. Jeff was slightly pissed, “So what Yoshii? Why am I here? Why did I just drive three hours to save your ass, when in reality you were here in your own personal heaven.”

“Oh Jeff, you have no idea do you? I am a wish maker, a dream maker, a dream catcher, a life changer.” Jim smirked. “This isn’t just a club, it’s a worm hole, where time stands still and you can check back into your life. This where spreadsheets go to die and dreams come alive.” Jeff was shocked by the optimism of Jim, just a few months earlier, he was muttering about “Who Cares” and the end of times. This sudden turn of events of a man who was lost to a man who was promising the future. Jeff followed Jim to the bar, Jim pointed at the bartender “Get my friend a drink on the house” “Sure thing boss.”

“Jeff follow be back here,” Jim pointed to the Champagne room. Jim cracked open the door, took his bare foot and kicked the guy on the couch right in the stomach. Like a rotund Bruce Lee, he then buried his fist in his chin. The man fell to the floor and crawled out like a wounded child. Jim looked and Jeff laughing like a madman and said “you got to show them who’s boss my man Spears.”

“Jeff I’d like you to meet my friend Imelda. She runs this room and what lies beneath.” Spears was confused and a bit shook. First, he hadn’t seen Jim exert that much energy since 2001 when he was chased by a pitbull in the A’s parking lot. Second, Yoshii owned a strip club in Bakersfield and finally, Yoshii isn’t wearing shoes in a strip club. All of it had Jeff spun, his one beer, three Red Bull, Less Than Jake buzz was starting to kick in.

“Jeff I want you to lift that rug.” Jeff looked at the disgusting red shag rug, soiled with Bakersfield cum and said “No. That is disgusting.” Jim walked over to the rug in his bare feet and kicked the rug aside. “Turn that handle…” Jeff walked over to the door in the floor and turned the handle. As he opened the door he could hear laughter in the darkness. “What the fuck Yoshii, what is this?” Jim just smiled and drank his Bud Light staring into the black hole on the ground. Jeff could hear the laughter getting louder. He took out his iPhone and flashed his light down the hole.  Yoshii looked intense and said to Jeff, “…remember, each time you go down that hole, you come back a little older and the world is a little different. Everything you do has a impact on the future.” Jeff saw something familiar, smelled something familiar. He saw a staircase, he looked at Jim. Jim nodded and whispered “Go Jeff.”

Jeff pointed his phone down the stairs and he walked down, he felt his body changing step by step, his legs shorter, his hair darker, his leg hairs disparate, his belly protruding, a hat tightly snug on his head…it all happened so quickly. He reached a door, he rapped on it, no answer. He turned the handle to the right, and the door slowly creaked open. He could smell the fresh grass, peanuts and laughter. Laughter turned to cheering and he saw that he was at a game. A real live baseball game, the crack of the bat, the snap of the glove, the cheers from the crowd. Jeff had been transported to Oakland, CA.

Sweat poured from Jeff’s head. He wiped it and felt the scruff on his chin. What the fuck was he? He ran to the bathroom, expecting his body to move faster than it actually did. He made to the front door, panting as if he had just run a marathon, but he had only gone about 10 feet. He looked in the mirror and he couldn’t believe his eyes. He was Jim. He had been transformed into his little Buddha buddy. His favorite EMI store rep, the Apple music marketing guru, the youth commander of fantasy baseball…Jeff was now Jim. His first instinct was to run back to the door from where he came, but it was gone. He was stuck. It was Opening Day of 2017, Thursday Mar 29 1:05 PM. The Angels were in town and Jeff was wearing an Old Ebbetts jersey one size too big, cargo shorts, fanny pack, a green A’s hat and a clean pair of flip flops. He looked at the guy next to him and when he opened his mouth he couldn’t believe it, but his voice was an octave higher and he could feel the depth of baseball knowledge cataloged perfectly under that A’s hat. He was Jim…he had to look. He unbuckled his cargo shorts and took a look, no AC, but a solid kielbasa that would make any mother proud.

He had an incredible thirst. None that he had ever had before, like a craving that was a need. He needed a Bud Light at that moment. His legs started to move, fast, flips flopping and belly rolling, he got to the counter, covered in more sweat and almost begging for a beer. He opened the fanny pack and over 400 one dollar bills came pouring out. He paid his $14 and went to his seats. He pulled out his season ticket and sat down, next to him, Garrett and Brian Hay. He was sure that he wasn’t going to be able to pull off Jim. He didn’t speak for about an hour, which was very Jim, especially during his current “Who Cares” movement. Garrett said “are you okay man?” Jeff just nodded. The game ended, Jeff went to Jim’s house and started to rummage through Jim’s collection of baseball cards, whiskey, LPs and draft books. He knew this was his best opportunity to find the secrets scrolls of Yoshii’s draft prep. He found the filing cabinet, 2008, 2009, 2010 all the way up to 2016. No 2017. Jeff scoured the house, but couldn’t find the Haftarah of No Pepper. Where the fuck did Jim hide his stash…Jeff knew Annalisa would be home soon so he had to hurry. Yes, the backpack. He grabbed it, unzipped it, there it was…the plan for the future. The youth movement. Jeff as Jim would rule No Pepper for decades. Jim’s soulless body would be left to waste and Jeff knew he had to get back to modern times to draft with these scriptures of success. Jeff as Jim jumped in an Uber, hopped the fence at the, found the portal, ran back up the stairs, feeling his body elongate, re-blonde, fur up across his arms, Janoski’s back covering his feet. He busted through the floor door, knocking Imelda off her feet. Jeff left without a goodbye, jammed his foot on the pedal and arrived back home around 3am.

What the hell just happened? The backpack was still in his hand, the scrolls still there, but what about Jim? Had the current changed since Jeff had been to the past? Jim seemed fine, but did he see him at the club when he came back from the portal? He tapped on his phone and saw three messages from Russ Eisenman. Probably some pricky message about Jeff’s fantasy team, but it said this…”Dude I can’t believe you won the fantasy baseball league, your team was awful.” What the FUCK! I won? Jim was missing in action, he fucking auto-drafted, all because Jeff had to go back in time and steal Jim’s backpack.  Are we still living in a time warp?  Wait, what?

Jim the mighty maestro of melancholy and sarcasm, disappeared in 2017 and we all watched as Spear’s took advantage of us all.

Jeff drafted, traded and waiver wired like a true Yoshiian. Jim, auto-drafted and then quit the league in June. No one can explain why, except for the simple fact that Jeff entered his portal in Bakersfield, stole his scrolls and left his body to waste, forever changing our future.  Now we are all stuck in this time escapade.  Sad, that when you have a chance to change the past, you choose to steal Jim’s backpack. You could have stopped Trump, prevented Lakeland, or Vegas, but no selfish Spears steals the backpack.

Backpack or not, he kicked all of our asses. The fight for second was merely a measure in someone giving a shit for the last six weeks of the season. Down to 51 points on September 15th, Me…Russ Eisenman finished the season in second place, .5 points better than the elder Doug Jacob’s son. Meaningless to everyone but me. Yay Russ!!!

Now I am going to skip the team reviews, because it was pathetic for all of us. The 10-Day DL was quite honestly the worst thing to happen to every team. There were two teams that had over 8 players on the DL at one time. Sad state of affairs, but now with a third DL spot, we should all relish in our scrubs.  This is Spears’ alternate universe and we just live in it.

Here is what I saw in 2017:

Best High Value Draft Pick:
200th Pick – Felipe Rivero, The Decibels. Rivero finished with 21 saves, 88Ks and a 1.67 ERA

Worst Draft Day Blunder:
3rd Pick – Starling Marte, Hoppers who the fuck would have thought a PED suspension would happen one week later. Then he traded him away.
7th Pick – Jose Peraza, Pimps…how did you win this season?

Worst Drunk Dumping Ever:
August 15th 1:54 PM Trevor Story – dumped…a holdover. Runs got the itchy stanky click finger

Best Waiver Trolling:
Eisenman – I was good, with 157 moves, one better be good.  I got Story, Wacha, Ziegler, Dejong, Pence, Michael Taylor, Cesar Hernandez, Jose Martinez…all waiver gold.

Weirdest Stat Line from a Team in Our League:
Last in Runs, RBIs, Avg and 9th in SBs, but 2nd in Home Runs??? with Schwarber, Grandal, Myers, Schebler, and Broxton, not one of those hitters hit over .240. A roster that should have performed better was powerful but k’ful.


Saddest Injury: 



Biggest Pussy: 
David Barbie Dahl – rib strain puts him out for the entire year.

Worst Trainer Ever: 
No one in the history of sports training, expect for Dr. Nassar, deserved to be fired more than Ray Ramirez.  The trainer for a Mets team that lost every single starting pitcher and 6 of 9 starters to the DL in 2017. Is this real??? This happened multiple years.  David Wright should sue him.


The Worst Attempt to Tank Ever:
It had to be the 2016 Champs…The Brownouts. He finished in 8th, traded away every single player and finished ten points above the 9th place team. Garrett had one of the best teams going into the first week of the season, but his anxiety, itchy snitch trade and dump finger dismantled his Miami Brownouts…now Garrett did have a “back to pool” with four big name players ending contracts, but all those trades netted him Ozuna and Marte…better than nothing….

A season filled with heartache, obliqueaches, rib cage strains, unconforto feelings and the biggest quitter ever, I am proud to say that I know the Hall of Fame gamer Jeff Spears.

Just so we all see it:

Spears is the Inner Circle, the Wall of Fame, The Top Dog, the one who rules them all…..6 championships in 18 years. The second team ever to get back-to-back championships

Here’s to a great draft for all, a year of no Tommy Johns, PED free, balls leaving the yard, ERAs above 4.00, humidors, Mets 90 year old trainer getting fired and a year where the Nats actually win the whole thing.

You’ll never unsee this:

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