Once a year we get together. To ignite that spark of recognition that we did, in fact, have the greatest league in the history of the universe. That's not a knock on you and your sorry league; it's just that the truth can sometimes hurt.

We also get together once a year to remind ourselves why we never held our league's seasons during the miserable winter months you can find all too easily in Chico. For this day we expect a 68% chance of downpour and a 8% chance the temperature will climb above 55 degrees. But those who truly love Santa, and even more love swingin for Santa, find, once a year, rain or shine, a respite from their daily shit life and an athletic haven. A Fountain of Youth, if you will. If only for a few hours.

Even if they're now terrible; even if they can no longer catch up to Casey Sylvester's mysteriously still-filthy offspeed stuff; even if hitting a homerun now seems to require a Carmichael-ian blast they probably don't have in them anymore, at least they can remember that they once COULD. They could hit that homerun, they could get that bat on Casey's stuff, and they could once round the bases without resulting chest pain.

And afterwards they can all sit at a table and eat a large burrito really fast. While Clint Wattenberg washes his down and makes fun of them.

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