This yearly article used to be an email. Some baseball peeps would drop a note around draft time and ask for last-second advice, picks and pans, swing thoughts. I’d give a bunch of off-the-cuff ...

I leaned back in my nosebleed seat, seven empty cans of Coors Light littered around me and eight hot dogs marinating in my stomach. I tried to remember how I ended up in this place, so sick and yet so ...