As I’ve said before, the month of May was one of moving for me. But now that the boxes are unpacked, the computer is rebooted, and I’ve found a reputable electro-shock therapist, it is time to get back to the keyboard.

The Umpires Strike Back

First, there is the obvious; Wednesday night’s unfortunate prison-raping of Tigers’ pitcher Armando Galarraga. In case you’ve been living in a cave for the last 48 hours, Galarraga had a perfect game going until this happened.

But, from every cloud comes a silver lining.  Sure, thanks to umpire Jim Joyce, Galarraga had his place in the record books traded for the never-never-land of being the answer to a trivia question (Harvey Haddix, anyone?), but this also allows us to see the power of the interwebz in action.

Once again, the good people at Deadspin have captured the dynamism of the Web, specifically by watching the evolution of Jim Joyce’s Wikipedia entry. But what I never knew is somehow making a mistake and owning up to it makes you gay. I guess I’m just too much of an “old-school” guy to understand this new sexuality.

But this is not the only case of umpires garnering headlines lately. Take umpire-turned-country-singer-turned-douche-first-class Joe West for example. Last week, during a White Sux-Indians getaway day affair, where West decided to help speed things along by calling White Sux pitcher Mark Buehrle for two questionable-at-best balks in the first three innings. Naturally, the first one allowed Chicago psychopath manager Ozzie Guillen an opportunity to visit the showers early, while the second did the same for Buehrle.

Normally, I am not a fan of anything that gets a fatbag idiot like West any attention; but since it got him called a few choice names in a way only Guillen can do, and since it screwed the White Sux, frankly I’m fine with it.

Goodbye, Junior

While Ken Griffey, Jr. is a lock for Cooperstown, one can only wonder how lofty his career number might be had I never drafted him on my fantasy baseball team. You have to understand, I was the king of the “Curse;” all of your twaddle of Bambinos and Billy Goats means nothing to me.

See, back in my fantasy baseball days, I was legendarily cursed. The first time Alex Rodriguez went on the disabled list, guess who had him? Flash the clock back to Griffey’s first year in the National League. I drafted him just in time to watch him shred a hamstring rounding third in one of the last spring tune-ups. Of course, this lead to what seemed like a never-ending parade of seasons filled with injury upon injury, all with Junior lodged on my roster.

To cut my moaning a bit shorter, suffice it to say Junior’s 630 career homers and the fact his name escaped the steroid scandals guarantee his induction into Cooperstown in five years. But what would those career number have looked like had I not cost him five years?

Sorry about that, Junior.