Thursday, June 11, 2015
Chatting with the Champ, Chip Dunston
So maybe you missed the one-on-one with Wayne Gretzky or the tête-à-tête with Tiger Woods or the gab-a-gab with Roger Federer. No biggie. Now’s your chance to meet the real treat. This is one for the ages, one to grow on. Here it is, at last. Sports Fans everywhere, I give you my exclusive interview with the Greatest, the most Heralded, the most Hated, the most Feared and Famous Fantasy Baseball Player ever to lope across this planet, the switch-clicking, Chip Dunston.
JG: I’m here today with the World’s Greatest Fantasy Baseball Champ, Chip Dunston. He’s won 733 League Championships and something like 1239 Fan Duel single-day comps (the 50-yard-dash of sabermetrics). His opponents call him he WHIP Wizard, The Call-up King, Fantasy Fanner, Supergeek, and sometimes, pardon my French, El Diablo. Thanks for taking the time to swoop by today.
CD: Where’s my Chicken and Waffles?
JG: It should be here soon.
CD: Better be.
JG: Now Chip, I’m no mathathlete, but how exactly did a young buck like yourself win 733 League Championships. You’re not Yoda with Botox are you?
CD: No dipshit. I play in like 12 leagues a season, not including my daily Fan Duels.
JG: Oh, I get it, kind of like piggybacking.
CD: Your mother piggybacks.
JG: We don’t do mothers here on the show.
CD: Yeah, I already did yours in an elevator.
JG: Let’s get back to interview.
JG: Tell us when exactly you knew that you wanted to be a Fantasy Baseball Player? Was it something you always wanted to be? Did the inspiration hit you one day when you were eating your Coco Puffs?
CD: Did Peter Parker ask to be Spider-man? Did Picasso ask to be a painter freak? Did Russell Brand ask to be a Pimp Daddy? Nah-ah. Each of them in their own ways had to sow their wild oats and be their unique, crazy-ass, crackerjack selves. Take your average hump, for instance. Your ordinary hump gets his cup of joe at 7-Eleven or Mickey D’s. He mopes to work, forklifts till his first smokes break and then he smokes a blunt a little bit after that, and then he’s thinking when can I crack open my first Corona. What are you shaking your head for?
JG: I don’t get my joe from 7-Eleven. I prefer Think Coffee, Queens Kickshaw, Birch (if I can find one), and yes, I’ll admit it, I like my Starbucks reserve blends.
CD: Well, you a freak.
JG: I can live with that. Let’s get back to you. What are your routines? How do you stay so sharp?
CD: Fantasy Baseball is nothing like the MLB. First off, you don’t’ get to loaf half the game away on the bench, farting and spitting out sunflower seeds. You have to be 100% fully-engaged, your bloodshot eyeballs keep scanning stats like you a CPA for the IRS, but instead of AGIs, MAGIs, CAP Gains you looking for subtle ways to outperform the other punks in your league. You get it? It’s not a half-time, half-ass thing, you have to be 100% all-in, all-the-time, 24/7, maybe even 35/8. Days bleed into each other: Muesday, Tednesday, Faturday. There’s no letup.
JG: Now hold on here Chip. Are you saying that your laptop-punching and mouse-clicking is more rigorous than what real ball players go through?
CD: That’s exactly what I’m saying. What are you laughing at dipshit?
JG: I hate to be the harbinger of bad news, but I don’t think most folks out there will buy that.
CD: I don’t give a rat’s ass who buys it. Who’s the champ here anyway? I know what I know. Whip this, OPS that. Do you know how many hours I log in BABIP? Too many that’s how many. And, I have to keep my eyeballs peeled for every rising star that’s about to shoot into the Ursa Majors. A few times this year alone, I’ve nearly gone through coronary thrombosis or something like that when one of my ace hurlers landed on the DL. My life is a constant flux. I wouldn’t wish my curse on anybody, not my worst enemy.
JG: So in the annals of baseball history, and by that I mean the one with the dirt diamond and the grassy outfield, if you wouldn’t mind indulging, who would you say you’re most like? That is to say, who would you find an analogue for you from the all-time Louisville-slugging greats? Would it be The Bambino, Ty Cobb, Shoeless Joe, Mickey Mantle, Greg Maddux, Kirby Puckett, Miggie Cabrera, Nolan Ryan? Who?
CD: You’re trippin, right?
JG: Fraid not.
CD: You’re not going to pigeonhole me into any analogue, dialogue, monologue, bump-on-log. No way, no how. I’m not like any of those fatheads you mentioned. I’m my own unique entity.
JG: No argument there. Now would you mind sharing any hobbies you have, ways you like to pass the time?
JG: Favorite soft drink?
CD: Mr. Pibb.
JG: What’s your sign?
JG: Me too.
CD: Are we done here? I need to take a whiz.
JG: Hang on. Only a few more questions.
CD: (Deep sigh plus crotch-grab.)
JG: There you have it Sports Fans. Chip Dunston, the greatest there ever was, so far anyway.
CD: Where’s my chicken and waffles?