Short Shrift for Shortstops

I want to play a game.

Which of my lies will you believe today?

Would you believe that I really need to be knocked over to improve on my barely league average, 33 year old utility man turned starting shortstop?

You know that can't be true, don't you? I've built up quite a cache of gritty dirtdogs here, but I can't get enough. Just like that little weasel said, I love collecting guys that remind me of myself. Minus the huge balls of course. Had I advanced past the bush leagues, I would have led the league in fuck yous while these raisin nutted-fruitcakes wait for the clock to strike twelve on the fetid pumpkin that is their career.

I don't care what you limp-dicked pencil pushers say, I've got plenty of quality kids in the pipeline. J-Jack? He's going to grab Efron-level ass all his way to the show. I drafted that shit. I built this team with my bare fucking hands. You see how many games we won this year? You see our run differential? I built a winner, baby. And my starting shortstop with an OPS+ of 87 coming off a defensive career year is my key to victory.

I know that guys with high ceilings, slightly off-putting yet completely manageable contracts and deceiving names are out there on the market. I know that renting a positional upgrade until the one true prospect I have meanders to the big leagues won't really improve my team. But that isn't why I refuse to make the move Suzy.

I've been here long enough, I moved all these into place pawns. If I give one up, I'm admitting defeat, I'm admitting that I failed. We all know I sure as shit don't do that. I don't have the privilege of hindsight, I get to decide which way the wind is blowing before I make up my mind. I could figure it out in a second, let me pull down my pants, I bet your wife's spit is still fresh.

When I crow about the flexibility of my sundry journeymen, you think I'm talking about multi-positional talent? It's straight cash, homey.