Playing in Rotisserie Leagues Is Cooking One’s Own Goose

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thanks so much for the recent care package. The fudge was wonderful, as was the Spam and broccoli dip. I must ask, however, that you do not include any more baseball box scores and game summaries. The attendants here at the Smithers Rotisserie League Rehabilitation Center react unkindly. Gunther (we call him “The Wart Hog from Hell”) is especially annoyed.

Let’s face it, I needed help. I was up to three leagues a week. I read the Baseball Encylopedia cover to cover--for fun. I knew which golfers had the highest percentage of sand saves from green-side traps. I charted NFL mini-camp performances. I was a sick puppy.

Don’t blame yourselves. The counselors here tell me genetics aren’t involved. I was simply swept up by the recent rotisserie league craze.

Just say no, huh? I couldn’t stop saying yes.

Baseball is the most alluring, most addictive of the rotisserie leagues. It envelops you in romance and then douses you with statistics. Your life becomes a constant search for the perfect box score.

Just so you know, I began managing big leaguers three years ago. I remember that first draft choice, too: Ryne Sandberg of the Cubs. Last year, my franchise used its first-round selection on catcher Gary Carter of the hated Mets. Solid. Respectable. Time tested.

By the way, Gary and the rest of the bums finished 16th out of 20 teams.

This season would be different. This season would be marked by inventive picks, by clever choices. Then came news that the 16-round draft held annually in Denver would not include long-distance phone calls. I was doomed. Air travel was out of the question: too expensive. Unless you reserve a coach seat six years in advance and travel during an autumnal equinox, fares are criminal.

I would need a representative. In an act of desperation, one-third of the franchise was given to a friend in Denver. This was the same friend who would later ask if Wes Parker might not make a splendid first-round pick. And, he asked, is Ralph Branca still pitching?

Counselors here say I checked out of Hotel Reality shortly thereafter.

Five hours were spent rating and ranking 160 players, good enough for eight rounds. The remainder of the team would be selected by someone who still thought the Dodgers played in Brooklyn. The results:

Outfield--Jeffrey Leonard, Jose Cruz, Jim Rice, Rob Deer. Infield--Jack Clark, Willie Randolph, Greg Gagne, Ken Oberkfell. Catchers--Jody Davis. Starting pitchers--Frank Viola, Walt Terrell, Bob Knepper, Bob Forsch. Relievers--Goose Gossage, Ken Howell. Utility player--Mike Scioscia.

Not bad, except that Deer was bothered earlier by a mysterious pelvic injury, that Rice can’t hit his shoe size, that Gagne occasionally sits the bench, that Scioscia has a paltry 19 RBIs this season, that Oberkfell is playing with a broken finger, that Knepper throws like a girl, that Howell is only slightly more tolerable than Branca, that Gossage was injured when chosen.

“We surprised them on that Scioscia pick, huh?” said my former friend. “Don Baylor was available, but I heard he gets hit by a lot of pitches.”

“G%!+&$,” I answered.

It could have been worse. I remember telling one of the encounter groups here about a rotisserie football league coach who once chose running back Chuck Muncie in the first round. This was shortly after Muncie’s celebrated release from the San Diego Chargers. Now he was with the Miami Dolphins.

“Shula will whip him into shape,” the owner confidently said. “You watch. He’ll be the steal of the season.”

One day later, Muncie tested positive for drugs and was promptly dismissed from the team.

Anyway, you’ll be happy to know that I’m making progress. No longer do I crave the ESPN Sports Center or arena football highlights. As for that nasty temptation to tell Ryno he was my favorite in 1985, well, that would be a tad unprofessional, wouldn’t it?

I’ll be leaving Smithers in two weeks. As you requested, the baseball franchise will be split between one of the original partners and the dunderhead from Denver. As the All-Star break approaches, our--I mean, their team is doing well enough. My golf team, which included Greg Norman, will be permanently disbanded. I also vow to relinquish my football franchise, led by quarterback Dan Marino, as soon as possible.

So there, I hope you’re happy. I know I am.

Your son.

P.S. Would you please send me the latest roster for the Pro Bowlers Assn. and the upcoming tractor pull competition? They’re for a friend.