Buy a robot? Easy!: NL West Preview

Yeah, it's time again. The Baseball season is ALREADY FUCKING HERE, so we're previewing the whole shebangs the only way we know how: by making shit up. Today is the NL West, God's division of choice. Don't believe that? Then go ahead and explain the last month of the 2007 season. Go ahead. I'm waiting, taintmoth.

San Diego Padres-- Ok, so, three division previews, three blatant acts of homerism. Do I care that I can say I could hit seventh for this team, and almost totally mean it? No. Do I really believe the Friars will finish ahead of the D(ouche)Backs? No. But I'm typing this thing, and this is what it says. But it will happen. Jake Peavy will use his three-year, $52 million extension as ammunition. Literally. The southern boy will bring an old-style musket to games and shoot down opponents with wads of $5 bills. Mark Prior will make about 10 or 15 starts, and, surprisingly, his arm will not turn into Bisquick. When Khalil Greene starts to bleed after taking a spike to the shin in August, everyone will realize that he's not a robot, and this knowledge will bolster the team and shoot them to the top (a .254 team average and league-low home run totals notwithstanding). Record: 93-69, NLCS losers.

Arizona Diamondbacks-- Randy Johnson has clearly sold his soul to the devil. It's the only possible explanation. The man is 44 and has reportedly been throwing smoke in camp. He also listens to heavy metal and plays the drums. Heretic! Late in the season, to get a boost, Johnson will feast on the flesh of some of the D-Backs' younger players. First he'll entice Stephen Drew into an empty trainers' room with a Maxim and a Ribwich. There he'll sever his carotid artery with a boxcutter and slurp the blood like a Chianti. Then, when Chris Young enters to investigate, Johnson will club him over the head with a bat and eagerly lap up the goo inside. Then he'll go out and no-hit the Giants. Record: 91-71, NLDS losers.

Los Angeles Dodgers-- Joe Torre. What more can you say for the guy? Other than the fact that he's got a 894-1003 record (.471 winning percentage) when he pilots non-Yankees teams that don't hemorrhage money out their ass? Umm ... not much, I guess. He manages people well, right? Well, isn't that the name OF THE FUCKING JOB? We'll see how stoic ol' Joe looks when Andruw Jones waddles up to yet another ducksnort bloop hit in shallow center, then follows it up at bat with a lazy fly ball to left. I don't even have anything bad to say about Nomar. I hope he can hit at least one more home run, so he can feel his cleat hit that thick rubber at home, then give hi-fives to his teammates before spontaneously combusting. God I hate this team. I will personally give $20 and a few month-old Playboys to the first earthquake to swallow these blue-clad fucknuts up. Record: 86-76, no playoffs.

Colorado Rockies-- Ahh, the feel-good hit of the summer. Or, one that involves baseball and not a badass bass-driven song about copious amounts of awesome drugs. Too bad that shit ain't happening twice. When Jeff Francis falls back to Earth at the tune of about 13-11 with a 5.13 ERA and a WHIP of who-knows-what, the Rockies will decide divine intervention is needed - again - ... and sign Pope Benedict XVI to a two-year, $12 million deal. Aside from a mid-90s heater and a nasty slider, PB-16 features a surprisingly lively stick, becoming a poor man's Micah Owings. It's not enough, though, as Matt Holliday succumbs to a late-season bout of mono after hanging out with LaDainian Tomlinson and Hope Solo while making another pretentious, snarky, "We can be funny, too, if you disregard our terrible past of making women and children work for next to nothing in sweatshops overseas! No, seriously, French Toast! That's so random it's hilarious!" Nike commercials. Troy Tulowitzki continues to be the best and most-clutch athlete in American pro sports with a last name that ends in "owitzki," however. Record: 85-77, no playoffs.

San Francisco Giants-- Realizing he's made a mockery of, in order: 1) working-class America 2) the institution of baseball 3) every other pitcher in the big leagues 4) the hitters he pitches against 5) every pitcher who had ever pitched in the big leagues, the minor leagues, college, and high school 6) capitalism 7) the Giants' front office and, finally, 8) the Giants' fans, Barry Zito formally apologizes for signing the most absurd deal in history, grabs his acoustic guitar and a surfboard, and hitchhikes down to Malibu. Feeling unburdened, the Giants then give Barry Bonds a prorated contract for the rest of 2008 worth roughly $19 million. His back zits proceed to drive in more runs than the entire lineup. Record: 158-4 ... wait, this isn't the AARP league? It's the National League? Of MLB? Oh, then ... 69-93. Bingo!