To roto, or not to roto, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to play in other fantasy leagues;
The RBI’s and runs of outrageous fortune;
Or to take Albert Pujols in the first round against a Sea of Hanley Ramirez’s,
And by opposing end them: To WHIP, To ERA
No triples; and by a stolen base to say we end;
The regular season, and the thousand natural K’s,
That losing to a friend is heir to? ’tis a consummation,
Devoutly to be Roto’s. To steal a base, to improve your batting average,
To spend countless hours drafting, auctioning a dream; Aye, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of homeruns, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled the lineup of this roto team,
Must give us wins. There’s the respect,
That makes calamity of so long roto:
For who would bear the WHIP’s and ERA’s of time,
The Oppressor’s AB’s, the proud man’s saves,
The pangs of Roto love, the wins delay,
The insolence of Fantasy, and the others’
That patient merit of th’ unworthy losses,
When he himself might his team’s make
With a Barry Larkin? Who would there teams draft,
To grunt and sweat under a weary injured first round pick,
But that the dread of something after draft,
The undiscovered Michael from whose Bourne
No runs scored, puzels the will
And makes us rather Cubs those ills we have
Than fly to other leagues that we know not of?
Thus weeks without a save doth make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of needing steals;
Is sicklied o’re with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great wins and losses,
With this regard their league members turne away,
And lose the name of Roto.—Soft you now,
The fair Roto? Baseball, in thy fantasy’
Be all my league championships remembered.
Original Story:
http://fantasycpr.com/2011/02/08/to-r...
