The Fantasy Draft is Over.

Brigid of Kildare, the Patron Abbess of Irish Whiskey/Image via Wikipedia

Started at 10am and went to about 5pm, with a short break for lunch.

I had a little Irish in a flask to spark my morning coffee. Then Tola dragged out the bottle of tequila -- very good; sipping quality.

(Over there on the right: Brigid of Kildare, Patron Abbess of Irish Whiskey.)

Then at some point Peter, who works for Kermit Lynch, started opening red.

Like the baritone bee, I was flying most of the day with a low buzz.

I won't bore you with my drafting strategy, since the only people who care about my drafting strategy were at the table and know its knots and wrinkles first hand. Suffice it to say, I followed it, buzz or no, so any failure will come from preparation, not execution.

This is the league's 26th year. Of its founders, only I am left alive -- in the sense of having been in the league every year since its founding.

I can see me at the Pearly Gates explaining to St. Peter why I should slip inside, mentioning my loyalty to the league.

"Back in 2009, you should have paid the extra quarter and drafted Jermaine Dye," Pete will say, letting the line back up. "But getting Orlando Cabrera for a buck -- that was nice. Those relievers look a little shaky, though. Let's just say you've passed Go and here's 200 bucks. I'm sending you back to try it all over again. Only this time: more kindness to strangers, more speaking truth to power and *definitely* more steals -- ten here, ten there; they add up. Capisce?"