Happy Anniversary

I have a few minutes before I head off for the long weekend, and so I should jot a few notes about Tyler Walker’s meltdown last night in the 9th. At least it wasn’t technically a blown save. He looked a lot more like the pre-closer Walker than the guy who’s been saving games the past week.

Unfortunately for his BABI owners, he was melting down in the background of a poker game attended by about half the guys in the league. So they all enjoyed poking fun at us, as if they were Dodger fans. There is an interesting balance in owning the closer of your local team where for a moment all forces are aligned. If he closes out the game, the Giants win, we get a save, and as Noel would say, “Life is good.”

Mr. Leaguer told me last night that if he hasn’t moved up in the standings by the All-Star break, he’ll consider beginning his dump. He’s got some serious dumpees, too. There is no way I’m going to deal with him and give him good keepers. If you guys want to set up his next dynasty, be my guests, but this is how he got Pujols, when Pujols was $3 in the first year of his contract. We’ll deal with him, but not in a total dump deal, unless he’s interested in Mohr-on. Him, he can have.

Speaking of last night’s poker game, our monthly poker party is the highlight of every month. We have been trying to schedule another “Poker-golf camp” up at Mark’s place in Sonoma, but getting everyone to agree on a weekend is a bitch. We had tentatively talked about the last weekend in June. I knew my wife had something planned for me during the day on that Saturday, but since most of us could make it, I called her and asked if I could go up for the weekend if I came back for her event.

She asked me when we were going up. I said probably Friday. She then announced, “but that’s our anniversary.” Uh-oh. So, knowing I was now in way deep, I said, “Oh, that’s right, forget about the weekend.” She said, not happy, “No, go ahead, go up there.”

And I said what had to be said. It’s a requirement. It’s not just the right thing to say, it’s the only thing to say: “No, I want to spend it with you.” Then she hung up on me.

The guys at the poker table were getting my half of this, so I filled them in on the pieces they missed. Guffaws all around. Noel said, “When I screw up bad, I’m going to use this story to get out of trouble.” So Poker-Golf camp is now scheduled for October, because camp without the Pooh Bah is just no fun.

Tonight I’ll be at the ball park with Eugene Lesser, who I posted a piece by last week. We’ve traded emails for several years, but we’ve never met. In fact, Wednesday night was the first time we ever spoke, on the phone to set the details. Eugene, I’m wearing my sort-of-orange aloha shirt. It should be interesting.