This past Sunday I took a seat at a table of 10 off Wade Road and for the 34th consecutive year drafted a team of American League baseball players to compete in the fantasy Ashpole League, which is a collection of mostly misfits from Fairmont and a couple dried-up former sportswriters from up Interstate 95.

As has been the case in recent years I was totally unprepared, a condition that was worsened as this year’s auctioneer moved at a hasty pace, making it difficult for me to type a player’s name into my computer to see if he was worthy of a roster spot on the Dumbells. It did not help that I rarely could correctly spell the name of the player up for bid, and often by the time my computer solved that riddle the player had been sold.

There was a time when I studied hard for the annual Ashpole draft because, although the league is fantasy, the payday is with real money. Despite the preparation, the Dumbells were perennially a cellar-dweller, prompting a strategy shift. I figured if the team I was drafting each year was going to suck regardless, I should not waste retirement time preparing, giving me the excuse of I did not really try. I used a similar strategy in advance of college exams, making graduation day a nail-biter.

By the way, I blame collusion. The fellow Northerner and I don’t spend our mornings at the same coffee shop as the other members of the Ashpole League hatching sweetheart deals. I have over the years filed multiple complaints with the league commissioner with no satisfaction — probably because he is at the coffee shop hatching sweetheart deals.

A couple of years ago I had a lightbulb moment and decided that since I was mostly clueless during the draft that I would bid on players coveted by those whose teams typically finished at the top of the league. Sort of like copying their homework.

And last year that strategy paid off.

For just the third time in 34 seasons, the Dumbells finished in the money, with third place paying a hefty $210. The problem was I had to write a check for $350 to cover the cost of some key free agents I added throughout the season that have attached a real price tag.

So even when I win, I lose. Each of those 140 dollars will be circulated seven times throughout the Fairmont economy before leaving town.

It would have been the fourth time that I had cashed a check except for a manager’s mistake three seasons ago. I went to bed the night the regular season ended with my team in second place, worthy of a check that would have turned a profit, but to my dismay I awakened the next morning and found that my team was 11th in a league of 12 teams. After some panic followed by research, I realized I had lost all my pitching points because the Dumbells had not met the threshold of 1,000 innings pitched.

The owner should have fired the manager for such a rookie mistake, but I, the owner, gave myself, the manager, a second chance. Last year I discovered that the website that the Ashpole League uses actually tracks the number of innings pitched, a feature that helps only if utilized.

The website we use does not grade the draft nor does it project how the teams will finish, so I do not know how well I fared during my four-hour draft. But as I write this, it is Opening Day, and nothing brings forth false hope like the first day of the major league baseball season.

Besides, I have learned that a team’s opening day roster, while certainly significant, probably matters less than how that team is managed throughout the season, particularly the massaging of a roster through the acquisition of new players to replace those who are injured as well as trades.

Managing matters.

Maybe I should find my morning coffee in Fairmont. If you cannot beat them, join them.