April is upon us once more, and you know what that means: baseball! Or, more importantly: fantasy baseball! In Seattle, fantasy baseball is all we have, of course--ha ha! You see what I did there? Oh, the Mariners are going to be fine, where "fine" means "slightly less terrible than last year," which is also to say "still kind of terrible." But! We do have the advantage of being in the AL West, so even if we come in first--which we assuredly will not--it's kind of like being the smartest guy in a Dean Koontz Appreciation chat room.

But it's fantasy baseball I'm concerned with! Why bother to follow the Mariners when I personally can do horribly all on my own? And I do, every year: I'm astoundingly inept at fantasy baseball. Most of it is because I'm terrifically lazy. I don't do any player research, and so I do things like draft beet salads to play in the outfield. Then our commissioner says to me, "Skot, beet salads aren't eligible outfielders." And I'll retort, "But they are fucking delicious with some parsley and a nice vinaigrette!" And the commissioner will get that hunted look on his face and reply, "Also, all of your beet salads got lupus and went on the DL and died."

With all this in mind--my dismal laziness and ignorance; my dead, talentless beet salad outfielders; this gibbon gnawing on my neck--it is once again time to MEET MY 2008 FANTASY BASEBALL TEAM, the unlauded, unheralded and largely unknown bunch of rag-tag fuckstacks, THE TEARFUL APES!

[Lights up on a comfortable sitting room, empty. Through a handsome oaken door enters twitchy Brewers outfielder COREY HART.]

Corey Hart: Hi, everybody. It's my great honor to--

[Music cue: "Sunglasses At Night" begins playing at extremely loud volume.]

Hart: . . . I said I wasn't going to do this, you assholes.

[Music stops.]

Hart: Anyway, I thought I'd introduce you all to some of my teammates for this fantasy season. I think it's safe to say that we're all pretty darned excited. [He strikes an exaggerated MTV pose and points at the camera.] YOU ALL READY FOR THIS?

[Music cue: "People Get Ready." Hart closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose for a few seconds.]

Hart: That's not the cue . . . it's . . . Christ, where are my pills?

[Enter respected actor Alfred Molina and largely ignored Mariners shortstop Yuniesky Betancourt.]

Molina: Hello, hello! I am here to be a catcher for the fantasy monkeys! Hello! And this is my teammate, the--[he squints at a cue card]--shorts top, Yuni . . . Yun . . . Yuniky . . . John Betancourt!

Betancourt: Hey!

Molina: I AM ALFRED MOLINA!

Betancourt: You're not even supposed to be here. Where's Yadier Molina?

Hart: Actually, Yuni, we'll take Alfred.

Molina: I'VE GOT EIGHT ARMS TO CATCH FOR YOU! (Pause.) I still have my Doctor Octopus costume.

Hart: That's enough, Alfred. Hey, is that someone I hear at the door? Why, it sounds like it might be . . . Ken Griffey, Jr.!

[Enter Florida Marlins 2B Dan Uggla and Minnesota LF Jason Kubel.]

Uggla: Sorry, Junior couldn't make it. His face mysteriously caught on fire while he was eating some unbuttered rice, and then on the way to the hospital, a meteorite hit his ambulance.

Kubel: Hey, what's up? I'm a Jewish dessert.

Uggla: Uh, you're thinking of a kugel.

Kubel: My bad! I'm an exercise for the pubococcygeus muscles!

Betancourt: That's Kegels.

Kubel: I'm from Belle Fourche, South Dakota!

(Silence.)

[Enter New York Mets 3B David Wright.]

Wright: Make way for talent, bitches. Let's see what we've got he--oh my God. Who the fuck are you people?

Uggla: You can call me "Uggs." Or "Uggsly." Or you could say, "He likes to win uggsley!" It's cool with me, Mr. Wright. Some guys like to call me "Uggsey Malone," too.

Wright: Is this--is this a real team?

[Enter Carlos Quentin, faceless White Sox outfielder.]

Quentin: Hey, what's up? That hobo over there told me where to go.

Kubel: I think that's actually Brad Penny.

Quentin: Huh. Well, I gave him a dollar and he seemed pretty happy. Anyway, Frank Thomas wanted me to tell you guys that his pelvis collapsed, and thanks for the money.

Kubel: He should have done his Kubel exercises! Ha ha! Am I right, you guys?

Wright: Maybe I'm in a coma.

[Closers Francisco Rodriguez, Joe Nathan and Jason Isringhausen poke their heads through the door, Three Stooges-style.]

Closers: Hey, anyone need some saves?

Uggla: You might as well go home. You're all going to be traded away in horrible desperation deals when the rest of us all go on to the DL with idiopathic ischemic attacks.

Closers: Later!

Hart: Well, there's lots more Apes to meet, but we're out of time today! Join us next time when we meet Adrian "Belt" Beltre, who I understand owns belts, and Felix Hernandez, AKA "King Felix"! King Felix got his nickname thanks to his daunting commands while playing checkers: "WHO WANTS TO KING FELIX?!" he screams. In the meantime, this is Corey Hart, signing off and reminding you of the Tearful Apes' motto this 2008 fantasy season: NEVER SURRENDER!

[He strikes another MTV pose and points dramatically at the camera. Music cue: "Sunglasses At Night."]

Hart: You fucking assholes.

[Slow fade to black as music plays.]