I present to you--unedited--this week's power rankings, from our dear "friend," Sweet Feet Franklin. They are... long, but read and enjoyed every word... and not just because it gave me another week off of writing these myself...
Sweet Feet Franklin Is Back, And Whachha Gonna Do About It, Hopkins?
IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: The term “Hopkinite” means moron in all cultures. With that in mind, please know that if I’m making fun of someone below, it’s because I like them. I don’t mean any of it. Baby Face, for example, is a really smart guy and was a great student. Sweet Feet loves all his babies, even those ugly one in Hopkins. Just so you know, there’s not one person in HRL that I don’t like. So, read these rankings through that lens. Also, I may have taken some liberty with the facts, but again, whaccha gonna do about it?
Yes, these rankings are very long, but Hopkins is a very flawed city. This must be properly documented. Also, even though I, Sweet Feet Franklin, am a committed Eaganite, I was fair, and if I’m known as anything, it’s being fair. The 24th ranked team is the team that I determined. after crunching a bunch of numbers, sucks the most. The 1st ranked team, then, would be the best.
24. Biscuits: I know I speak for the rest of the league when I say that I cheer passionately against this last-placed team. It’s not personal; it’s very personal. Mippey, a Manute Bol/Shawn Bradley/Chuck Nevitt hybrid, would be my first Hopkins vote for Fun Star every year. The dude is hilarious and loves to have fun with fun teams. Nightmare is the leg-humping golden retriever of HRL. He wants to be everyone’s friend, is everyone’s friend, and everyone likes him. And yet, he’s a bit of a whack job, isn’t he? If you asked me, of all the HRL players, whose head is the easiest to pop into? Easy answer: This cat. For my first few years in the league, the power rankings would say the following about me: Week 1: Franklin is so mean. Week 2: I love Franklin. Week 3: Franklin is not funny at all. Week 4: Franklin is hilarious, and so on. If I say Boo! to this cat, he’s in the fetal position. If I say Hello to him, he’s drawing hearts around my name. I’m in your head Nightmare, and I’m never leaving. When you step into the batter’s box, I’m there. When you climb on the mound, I’m there. When you squat a deuce, I’m there. When you kiss your wife, it’s just the three of us. The gonadular-faced Smallpox (G1) and Sarge (G2) round out this unlikable lineup. Word is these two are working on a series called Gonadanas in Pajamas. If Griz were playing this year, I’d give them an even worse ranking. (The Biscuits do have one redeeming quality—and his name is Fortnite! By all accounts, he’s a great kid.)
23. Aces: I also cheer against them except for when they play against the Biscuits. And yet, I feel compelled to show them a little mercy. The reason for my mercy is that I think Psych is one of the two most misunderstood people in the league. The better the player, the more brutal I am to said player. Punch up, they say. And since I’m short, I punch a lot of nads. But Psych, sure, the dude is nuts with his competitive nature, but the dude can take a joke. Believe me when I say he’s had to deal with his fair share of Frankin insults. He takes them in complete stride and sometimes has a good zinger back. Major props to Psych! This is part of the reason for my mercy. The other part is as follows: You are Eagan-trained. It’s on you to make sure the Biscuits are humbled. The Biscuits deserve bad things. Of all the cats in this league that I barely know, Diamond Dave is my fave. I haven’t been around him much, but he’s an excellent player who has an easy way about him. I can tell he likes to have fun and knows how to play a fun team. Now that I’ve gone on record, Diamond Dave, saying that the two of us are future besties, can we have an honest talk about your name? Dodger Dave sounds like the name of a 70s children’s book. “Are you my little Dodger Dave?” “Yes, Mommy. I’m your little boy Dodger Dave.” But Diamond Dave, man, that’s David Lee Roth who can rock a mic stand like John Holmes getting his woo on. Be a rock star, Diamond Dave. Don’t be a little boy—even though, you know, we’re all playing a child’s game.
22. Loons: I once had a student named Gus Varland who went on to pitch for the Brewers, the Dodgers, and now the Chicago White Sox. I am quite proud of teaching him how to write a college paper, as it single-handedly propelled him to an MLB career. I also had a student named Baby Face. There are highs and lows to teaching. Baby Face is the low. When I say that The Loons are the most boring team name in the league, I do say this in the most offensive way possible. However, I am willing to cut them some slack after rereading one of Baby Face’s essays. I see his teammates were simply looking after him. He wrote, “Me name Baby Face. Me like Loon. You like Loon?” No, Baby Face, I do not like Loons, especially of the Wiffle variety. And this was for his final research paper that was supposed to be about the death penalty. I gave him a courtesy F-, which I understand was his highest grade in college. The Loons will not win their division; however, they will win Wifflepalooza. They are my prediction for taking down the Biscuits in the playoffs. You heard it here first. I am fully aware of Baby Face’s limited potential. Still, I can’t help but root for the guy. I’m like a father figure to him. He wants to please me. It’s important to him. I don’t even remember the kid’s real name. I think it was Chewy Buggerbottom or something like that. Also, Web Gem, put a shirt on. Baby Face might think you want to nurse him.
21. Blue Wahoos: Nothing says narcissism like a PE teacher who makes his students watch his Wiffle highlights all semester and then demands his students refer to him as Mr. The Wish. Dude couldn’t hack it in Eagan, but the pitiful bastard gave it a shot. And failed. And was run out, so stay in Hopkins like the Hopkins trash that you are. pNads is all nads and no stick. He still has fewer dongs than yours truly in his short but glorious HRL career. I don’t know this Antics feller, but he seems seriously amusing and the kind of character the HRL needs. I have noticed on the videos, though, that when he steps up to the plate, he does this weird little pelvic thrust. I may have made that part up, but maybe my psychological warfare skills are so advanced that I have implanted a subliminal message in his brain to engage in said pelvic thrust in the batter’s box. Sweet Feet Franklin is always two steps ahead of Hopkins rivals, even those he’s not met.
20. Chihuahuas: First, can I say let’s behold with what A-Jizz is doing with that bat? At the time of this typing, he’s hitting .510. I doubt I’ll be at the All-Star game, but if so, I look forward to cheering him on…and by cheering him on, I mean, I look forward to seeing how close I can get him to kicking my ass when I taunt him from behind home plate. The goal is to never get my ass kicked, but to make the other guy want to come oh, so close. I’m sure if it comes to that, one of the Eagan knights will stand in and protect me. We are a gallant bunch. Now back to the Dogs. We’ve got the golden voice of A-Jizz, the dance moves of Nickname, and “The Clap” of Murse. Some say that seductive cocktail is the root cause of The Chi Dog Fister Blister. No one really knows for sure. They’ll win a couple of games in Wifflepalooza, but it’s their contribution to Venereal Disease Studies for which they will be most remembered, rightly or wrongly. But seriously, how do you not like this team? A fun team that is pretty good if we’re grading on the Hopkins curve.
19. Tourists: This is clearly the year of Eagan, as we have another Hopkins team at the bottom. I’d heard a rumor that Air Bud was going to sign with The Tourists, but he apparently had a better offer to join a team with twenty players—one of whom is a bit of pelvic thruster. Here’s the thing about Tourists. No one likes Tourists. No one says, “Yay, the Tourists are coming to town.” People LOVE it when the Tourists leave town, as did those of us in Eagan. Hit the road, Tourists, and don’t you come back no more, no more. I bet you Daddy hears that hit the road comment a lot from the ladies. I can tell you this: He’ll never know a woman well enough for him to become a Daddy, so if he needs us to play along and call him Daddy, I’ll do that for him. I don’t know this Mr. Fist cat. Not sure how he got his name. Does he know the Chihuahuas? Does the Chi Dog Fister Blister have anything to do with how he got his name? And Face—ask him about the time Sweet Feet picked him off at first base. You don’t lead off against Sweet Feet. Face knows this now. I don’t know the other guys on this team, but I’m guessing they came out of Mippey’s Fridley Factor league—where all the Fridleyites slept over at Mippey’s house and played Superheroes with each other in their various Underoos garments. The fact that they’ve grown up to play Wiffle ball as grown-ass men shows real growth on their part. Something I’ve always wondered: Is Fridley Factor a cult? Do they play Wiffle ball in their Underoos?
18. Mets: On an off night (for me, not the Mets) a few years back, I pitched a two-hitter against the Mets. True Fact. Look it up. Once upon a time, I delighted in bashing Taco. I punked him so hard. He always feared me, so he just sat there and took it. What else is he going to do? There’s even a Twitter video of some sort where I mocked him, because I knew…I knew…he’d just sit there and take it. He didn’t want another Franklin smackdown. I once put so many blisters on that Taco-stained ass of his that he couldn’t sit for a week. But remember, I punch up. You and the Mets crew decided to embrace mediocrity, so you know, you now bore me. I am an Eagan man. A Lugnut man. We believe in excellence. Picture this in your mind’s eye, Taco: You’re an empty, crunchy taco shell with nothing inside it. No talent. No charisma. No game. Nothing. You are in the powerful hand of Sweet Feet Franklin. He holds you with indifference, rolls his powerful pitching hand into a fist, and you go crunch-crunch-crunch as you break into little crumbs. I drop you to the wet ground, where the worms and maggots slither around you. I have defeated you again. And with that, I have forgotten you. Now, Taco, you’ve read this paragraph full of insults. Here’s what you’re gonna do about it: Not a darn thing. You’re just gonna take it.
17. Tortugas: Welcome to the league. I hope you have the time of your life in this wonderful community. Here’s some advice you didn’t ask for: Ask a Stache or a Mippey or an Eddie Bauer or an A-Jizz how to play a fun team. You can still get yours and participate in a sport that when at its best properly balances fun and competition. Not all teams are equals parts both. The Lugnuts are one such team. This is me, little kitty cat me, purring and rubbing against your legs, saying “Let’s be friends.” Little Sweet Feet Franklin is adorable, but he also scratches. I don’t want to scratch you, my precious. Honestly, my first draft was full of claws, but I decided to go to the way of the purrrrr.
16. Mariners: Here’s a cute Hopkins story for you: Once upon a time, us Nuts drove to Hopkins. We faced Super Dave, who threw 63 and painted the corners of the board all night. He no-hit the Nuts. THIS IS HOPKINS WIFFLE BALL. Wiffle ball is serious. Okay, this story is not cute, but you know who are a bunch of cutie patooties? The Mariners. I don’t normally call people “cutie patooties,” but I have picked up that this is how Hopkinites refer to each other, so hey, when in Rome. Cutie Patootie number one is Trent, a good-natured, fun-loving guy who is also a good Wiffle ball ambassador. He started his own league, which is cool, but he never invited any Nuts to join, which is not cool. His name was Beah when I first started, then it was Coach, and he must have figured out both of those names were lame, and then changed it to BDT, which I assume means Big Daddy Trent. Right? If so, super cool. Way to change your name. There are some people in this league with horrible names. Be like Big Daddy Trent and change your name. By the way, the “Sweet Feet” part of my name came about when playing these cutie-patooties. Big Daddy Trent even tweeted it out. Speaking of changing your name, TD has a new name. I certainly see why and applaud this initiative. He’s one of the coolest cats in the league. I’m not sure the TD moniker does his coolness justice. But maybe TD means something. Or…and consider this… maybe someone can slide me his cell number, and some Hamm’s-inspired night, I’ll send out one of my mass late-night texts and christen TD with a new name. You know who has a cool name? Squirrel. One of my best HRL moments came against Squirrel. He remembers. His therapist is tired of talking about it, I bet. I like these cats. Good dudes. Fun guys who need redemption for the above-mentioned not-so-fun night of HRL. You can no-hit us all you want, but we will hit back in our Lugnut kind of our way. My first draft of this hit a lot harder. But here is Sweet Feet, once again, purring against your leg saying let’s be friends, because Franklin is the biggest cutie-patootie of them all.
15. Millers: This is pretty amazing. We are still at the bottom half of the rankings, and it’s all Hopkins team. I knew they were bad, but I didn’t realize they were this bad. Up to this point, I have been quite generous with my comments. I’ve tried to find good things to say about the Hopkins team and cast them in a light most favorable to them. But this one is easy: In a city full of douchebag Wiffle ball players, along comes the Millers. I enjoy these guys. Is their record good? No. It’s predictably bad, and yet, when they play the Nuts, they don’t feel the need to bring it…unless the “it” that they bring is having good times. I’m hereby appointing this team to have a friendly chat with the Tortugas. Stache, by the way, comes from a long line of Grooms of the Stool. A Groom of the Stool was the guy whose job it was to wipe the king’s ass. I come from a long line of kings. Once upon a time, Stache’s forefathers wiped my forefathers’ ass. We evolved as a society, so no such job exists. Here’s to upward mobility. It’s not Stache’s job to wipe my ass, let’s be clear about that. But still, bloodlines are bloodlines. He will kiss my ass on command. It goes a little something like this: “Hey, Stache, get over here and kiss my ass.” Stache immediately drops his girlfriend’s hand (we’ll call her Beard) and duck-waddles to my bare buttocks fully puckered. Dude’s honored. Nine times out of time, he throws in a complimentary wipe. He knows what he is. Nevertheless, Stache is a wiffle hero to me. One of the great dudes of this league. Hats off to this cat, Stache, for joining a team of super cool guys rather than chasing the ring. This should be the Hopkins template, but it won’t be. Too many Underoos-wearing, ring-chasing, no-hit the Lugnuts type over in that dung heap of a town.
14. Twins: When we call these guys the Twins, we mean the 2013 Twins. Another Hopkins team that gets it. We certainly can’t say this team lacks talent. First of all, batting champion Vlade plays for them? Did you all realize that Vlade is a former batting champion? He’s way too humble to mention it, so let me toot his horn for a minute. It must be the rest of the Twins holding him back. It hurts to see this. Another talent on the team belongs to K-Mart, the penis artist. Draw what you know, and K-Mart knows the penis. Vlade knows dongs. The sword fights these two must have would sell tickets. Man, I had a good Eddie Bauer joke, but I can’t remember it at the moment. Eddie would’ve tried to sue me for slander, but truth is an absolute defense to defamation. Any chance you cats could get Two Bat to make a cameo for you this year? I’m sure you all said good riddance when he took off to the Ducks, but the league is missing something without his presence—and that something is not good behavior. Come back, Two Bat! I love this team and everything they are about. Good dudes!
13. Rumble Ponies: Oh, Sweet Feet has a soft spot for the Rumble Ponies. No team in the league can outdrink these wifflers who are Eagan-trained. Boy did I hate it when the rest of those Hopkins trash went after you a few years back. Franklin was on your side all the way. This is the model for what a good team can be. They know who they are: They are Ponies, and they saddle up with each other year after year. Giddyup to that! I’m a Lugnut man—always will be. Plus, they can ball. I pick them to win Hopkins this year. They’ll squeak past The Loons to win the division, which means The Loons will play and beat the Biscuits in the first round, but the Ponies will rumble past said Loons to play for the World Series. At which point, you will be playing an Eagan team. When it comes to that, you boys can suck it! Also, you guys still vaping at the rinks? Cut that crap out.
12. Rattlers: I hear you are not good. Bad. Terrible. With that I say, welcome to the league, fellow travelers. I’m guessing you’ll still mercy the Nuts because terrible comes in different degrees, but I hope you stick around the league a long time and have tuns of fun. Kudos to Professor, a really good wiffler, for bringing in players that weren’t created in a lab in Fridley. We look forward to giving you your first two franchise wins. Your friends, the Lugnuts.
11. Trash Pandas: The incorrigible Toonces leads this squad of misfits. They are more trash than Panda. Speaking of trash, Kadishak’s house was full of junk. Maybe not junk, per se, but clutter. This cat was always going to flea markets and collecting old school video games and sports memorabilia and all sorts of things. He had a math teacher who lived across the street, so he’d buy every calculator he came across and gave it to her students. He bought all sorts of tennis crap and gave it to the local rec center. If you needed something, Kadishak had it and had it in bulk. And it was yours. So again, not trash exactly, but junk. But the Pandas are trash, exactly. Still, they will always have a special place in my heart because Kadishak played for them. I miss my friend. It’s worth pointing out that the Lugnuts have more than one career win against these guttersnipes. So, how good can they actually be? Sayles Guy, if you don’t know him yet, might be the best human in this league. That cannot be said for Toonces. The proof is in his face. It’s a face even a mother could hate. Admittedly, Sweet Feet being the cutie-patootie that he is has compassion for Toonces and has managed a way to enjoy the bearded-ones company. This team is full of good people. I’m a fan.
10. Marlins: One time I was badgering perennial fun star Neut about this-or-that when I found out “Neut” was short for neutered. Then I got to worrying, what if this cat had testicular cancer and had his Lugnuts removed? That would be crossing a line. So I checked into it. Nope. No cancer. I was happy to hear this. I do know Neut has a dog, so I’m guessing Neut’s veterinarian was running a two-for-one special on getting neutered, and Neut, never one to turn down a good deal, said “what the heck.” Such an act would’ve changed nothing about his lifestyle. My favorite off-season signings belonged to this squad: Milton and Neutron. Two of my favorite guys in the league. And the Marlins are one of my three favorite teams in the league, with the other two being the Reds and the Vibes. It was Neutered’s memorial that he threw for Kadishak that gave me the feels and made me want to come back…and by come back, I mean to properly say goodbye. Not to stay. The Marlins are a-okay with me.
9. Athletic Supporters: Once upon a time, Shirls and Nine went to a Dead concert and while under the influence of Jerry Garcia’s music (we’ll call it that—their kid/nephew is in the league), they became full of love and good vibes and decided to create a Wiffle ball team full of men and women full of good vibes and no talent. They loved the experience so much that they jumped off this suck-train at the first stop. And now they’ve started a new team, the Athletics, which have a few additional OGs and a bunch of teenagers. Just recently, the Lugnuts and As played each other. None of the OGs were there. Not one. Just a bunch of teenagers. And guess what? The Lugnuts had a blast. These newbies knew exactly how to play the Nuts. Maybe they are just inherently decent, and maybe Shirls—who Seuss calls the Moral Compass of the league—gave them some instruction on playing a fun team. So my question is this: Who is performing this role of moral compass in Hopkins? Anywho, kudos to the As for having a blast with the Lugnuts. THIS IS EAGAN WIFFLE BALL. Wiffle ball is fun. Also, suck it, Hopkins.
8. Americans: My first encounter with the Legendary H8R was at my first Wifflepalooza. I’m standing a few feet away from a full trash can and here comes H8R. He whizzes by and intentionally pushes the trash can over, spilling all the trash, and disappears into the trees to take a whiz. I dutifully pick the trash can up and put all of the trash back in it, and I think to myself, “What an asshole.” And then I think, “I want to be just like him when I grow up because that is exactly how grown-ups need to behave.” So the greatest trash talker the league has ever known took the young Sweet Feet Franklin under his wing and taught him the art of “How to make enemies and repulse people.” Once I got deep into my H8R studies, he told me that knocking over the trash can was a symbolic move on his part, as he would teach me how to knock over and spill the trash in Hopkins. What he lacks in foreskin he makes up with his ability to foreshadow. The dude is that deep and literary. When you think of literary theory, think of H8R. Thank you, H8R. You are the GOAT. Except, though, when you hustle out infield singles off me. That’s a different kind of asshole behavior altogether. That’s like a Hopkins move. You need that single that bad, son? This Americans team, by the way, is the oddest pairing since Beauty and the Beast. What a weird science lab of an experiment combining The Americans and the Rough Riders—I never would’ve picked this group of guys to join forces, but hey, all of them are cool—except for H8R when he’s getting infield singles against me. I wish them well. Back to H8R, I can’t quite figure out his pitching. By reading the box scores, sometimes I think he’s imitating Hoover, and other times it seems like he’s imitating Seuss. But again, a weird team with a bunch of cool guys.
7. Yankees: I once asked Rocket how he got his name. He said it’s because he was so fast when he was younger that people called him Rocket after speedy Notre Dame receive Roghib “Rocket” Ismail. Hey, if you say so, Rocket? I guess since I didn’t know you then that I’ll have to take your word for it. By the way, you can start calling me Arnold because when I was younger, before you knew me, I was built like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Or you can call me Don Juan because when I was younger, before you knew me, the ladies used to line up for my affection. But let’s talk about Lil Mahomes. When I first joined the league, I took him under my wing. Taught him how to field. Taught him how to become an all-star. I made this kid what he is today. Torpedo might try to take credit, and hey, he’s a heck of a dad—raised a great young man, but Lil Mahomes at the rinks, that’s all Sweet Feet Franklin. I made him. Next up, I’m going to tutor him on the ways of music. Tip one: delete your whole musical catalog. Tip two: Start listening to 70s and 80s classic rock and pop. Your life will change. This is just Franklin being Franklin—I’m always teaching.
6. Hops: These good-natured dudes are a template of what an HRL can, and methinks, should be. Once upon a time, they competed for championships—at least according to them; this was well before I got in the league. Now, though, they can still wiffle, can beat anyone on a given night, love Wiffle ball, love competing, but also love having fun with their buddies. Give these guys a couple of cases of Hamm’s—one won’t do—and they’ll have a great time whether they win or lose. They live in a wiffle world that I want to play in. Yes, they have upper bodies like an old man’s scrotum, but they can still wiffle. How can you not love the Hops? They once competed for the trophy, now they compete with the Braves for the best drinkers in Eagan. Here’s a true story about the Hops. A couple of them complained about their names, and the way I remember it, wanted new names. Maybe they just said this in passing. I don’t know, but Sweet Feet accepted the challenge and sent them a long message giving them new names and explaining why they got those new names. It was pretty hilarious, actually. And yet, these good-natured Hops got all in their feelings about it. Poor them, they said. Franklin is picking on us, they said. Someone make Franklin stop it, they said. He’s hurting our feelings, they said. So, they can be a bunch of little divas, but this is more indicative of my superior psychological warfare skills. If I want in your head, I’m getting in there. As cool as the Hops are, and they are cool enough and worthy enough to call themselves the Hops (the coolest name in the league), I can still own them if I want to. I mainly choose not to. It’s called compassion for the less fortunate. Plus, I feel guilty when I slap Tootin around. He has this idea of who he is, and then when I do what I do, he is confronted with who he really is: A Franklin Lite with no fizz left in his container. I am hereby declaring that moving forward, Tootin will now be referred to as Franklin Lite. So it has been written, so it shall be. (Dee, can you make this change on the website?) Mostly, though, I choose to let the Hops be as they embody what Wiffle ball should be. This is a collection of great dudes. When the Lugnuts get old and take no pride in our physical appearance, I can see us being like them.
5. Braves. OGs Chops and Sanchez have been combined for a total of zero championships. That’s the same as Hoover and Franklin. So, boys, you’re in good company. Nightmare has taken issue with their team’s name in previous Power Rankings. I’m here to help. Let’s rename these cats the Titanics because each year they sink a little more into the deep ocean of wiffle darkness. I can see Chops and Sanchez puffing their chests out, imagining they are Leonardo in this scenario, but no, let’s be clear: You are not Leo. You are the homely extras in the background slurping down the last of the shrimp cocktail sauce. But no worries, you’re good dudes who embody wiffle greatness. You’re like the Hops. You drink a lot of Hamm’s. Have a lot of fun. Hit a lot of dongs and can beat anyone on a given night. When your pitching gets figured out, you could make a serious run. That is if Daubs doesn’t have to face me on the mound. He’s something like 0-16 against me. I own that cat. He’s not the first cat I’ve had to euthanize.
4. Space Cowboys: First, a complaint. It takes Sully too darn long to enter the box scores. Us super fans want to know the results. At least announce the results on Twitter. Bad Sully. Nightmare said something about this team being a rock band. Oh, I’d like to see that. What do they do, slam about a bunch of wine coolers and rock out to Air Supply? I could see them as a Nick Lachey cover band. It’s easier for me to imagine them hanging out on the weekends and emulating the dance moves of NKOTB. In the Nuts inaugural season, we lost our first 36 games. It took facing Shandy to get our first career victory. It’s well known that Sweet Feet Franklin owns Sully. The first time we played the Cowboys, we whooped them! They are apparently the newest great team in Eagan, but they got a lot of stink to wash off them before climbing any higher. I’ll leave you with a tip. As Sully’s nemesis, I know this cat’s psychology. It’s not complicated. Not at all. You need to incentivize this guy with a Home Run Hammies. Offer him one when he steps up to the plate. And WOWIE POWIE ZOWIE Sully becomes a beast. It’s his spinach. But until that happens, the Space Cowboys are going to fail. That said, this is a collection of great dudes who are great players but know how to have fun.
3. Reds: Everyone knows about the first time the Reds and the Lunguts played. I do fear, though, that some people in the league may be stuck there. There’s a little more context to this night that’s not discussed, but in the interest of time and space, I’ll move on. What most teams don’t know is that The Lugnuts love The Reds and love playing them. That game is always a blast. It’s hard to know when Sweet Feet is being serious, and I’m being serious right now: This entry is a love note to the Reds. This is my 1A team. My team I root for to win it all each year. I mentioned earlier on that Psych is one of the most misunderstood cats in the league. The other is Seuss. Most people would be surprised to know that outside the Lugnuts roster, Seuss is the person I consider to be my closest friend in the league. When Kadishak died, I had two people who consistently reached out to me to see if I was okay: Seuss and Twizzler (love you, Twizzler). He’s a kind man who is thoughtful and capable of engaging in introspection and changing his behavior. This is what a good person does. He’s also a hell of a wiffler. He’s given me so much pitching advice and has been such an advocate for the Lugnuts. Quietly so. If you weren’t looking, you wouldn’t know this. When we played the Mets at 8 am a few Wifflepalazoos back, Seuss showed up just to cheer us on. So when you tell the story of the Reds, tell the whole story. Don’t get stuck on one page, as that page long ago turned. Now, moving on to this season: Is this the year of the Reds? It is not. (Please take this personally, Seuss.) They are still the favorites when Seuss is on the mound. Handsome Matt will be back next year, and Hondi is using this year to master pitching. So far he’s unhittable. Sometimes, though, the box score would suggest he’s not always hitting the board. But hey, he’ll figure it out. He’s a future Cy Wiffler. He also has probably the best personality in the HRL. But yes, next year, the Reds will go on a three-year championship spree, as they will be featuring three aces. I have a way of knowing these things. I miss Hov. I marvel at Palp. I’m repulsed by Pooh. Not really, but see, Pooh has an advanced enough sense of humor that he can take such a joke. This Ivy Leaguer is no Hopkinites, though it’s worth pointing out that Cornell is the junior college of the Ivy Leagues. Okay, this team NOW has a fully evolved view of what the HRL is all about. Two thumbs up for the Reds, all of the Reds, even the repulsive Pooh who from time to time demonstrates human-like qualities.
2. Vibes: If the Reds are my 1A team, the Vibes are just a tick behind and are my 1B++++ team. No one, and I mean no one, has more fun and ensures that all of the Lugnuts have fun, when playing the Nuts. The Vibes are perennially chasing the title, and yet, when they play the Nuts, that doesn’t matter to them at all. They know that this league is also about fun, and when it’s time to have fun, they are all about it. Their record goes out the window. A few years back, we “beat” them in a way that a little kid beats their Daddy at a game. It was very near the end of the season. It very nearly cost them their division and would’ve sent them to Wifflepalooza. Didn’t seem to phase these cool cats. I certainly don’t expect every team to be this committed to playing a fun team, but the fact that they have this in them is a beautiful thing. As your friend, I’d say, if it looks like your losing, you should probably snap out of character and grab the win. This Mafia family is led by the one and only Don Cheerio—the great Mippey Slayer. But every single cat on this team is super cool and fun-loving, and just masterpieces of the human race. Love these guys: Epstein, Huck, Fish Hook, Catnip. I don’t love Anakin. I’ve not met him yet. This young Skywalker must prove his love to be worthy. Here’s the formula: Let me abuse you. Like said abuse. Then we’ll be friends. Interested? But this, dear league, this is the year of the Vibes. I predict they win it all. But even if they didn’t, I’d roll with them losing it twenty years in a row before I’d cheer for that first Hopkins team. The Vibes, man, they get it. Oh speaking of Mippey, and saying that name stings the roof of my mouth, he should join the Vibes. He’s Vibe-worthy. Chicks don’t consider him spongeworthy, but Vibe-worthy, oh yeah, baby. May the Vibes stay together and never break up. You cats have cracked the HRL code: friendship, community, loyalty, competition, good times, good content, and good food. Long live the Vibes! Also, fear Don Cheerio! He’s the only man in the league Sweet Feet Franklin fears. Even I kiss his ring.
1. Lugnuts: Charlie had Farrah, Kate, and Jacyln, but Hoover has Twizzler, Mounds, and Skittles. My money is on Hoover and his Big Three. Note: I’m bad with money. A shout-out to Quicksand and Hoover who’ve kept this team going from the beginning. Are the Lugnuts a good team? No. We are absolutely terrible. I’ve never in my life been involved with something so terrible. And yet, I’ve never been involved with something in my life where I have had so much fun. Wiffle ball is about competition, but it’s also about fun. The Nuts have little to offer by way of competition, though we do try. We are one-dimensionally a fun team. This is our ceiling. We wish we were better, but we are not. Just because we are a fun team doesn’t mean we are more fun than other teams. It just means that’s all we’ve got. Most teams have both, and they balance that depending on the context. I’d rather be a fun team who can’t compete than a competitive team who can’t have fun. Most competitive teams celebrate their fun side when they play against us. But when two competitive teams play against each other, it’s time, naturally, for them to be competitive. Depending on what’s at stake, the competitive nature of the game increases. It’s a challenge, I’m guessing, when you are so good at something (or want to be so good at something), that it’s easy to forget there’s a time to have fun when playing this child’s game. There are 36 games a year. If you are from Hopkins, you only have to play the Nuts once a year; if you’re from Eagan, you have to play us twice a year. The league is better off if you celebrate that some games are going to be way more competitive than others, and that some games will be way more fun than others. With the Nuts, you can get in touch with your inner child and have fun for a night. Thirty-six games a year we provide the fun. Yay fun! Yay Lugnuts! Yay all you teams who say Yay Lugnuts! This power rankings is shining a light on The Fun. And the Lugnuts, we fun, baby! For the all of the above-stated reasons, I hereby declare the Lugnuts the number one team in the HRL. Smooches, Sweet Feet Franklin!