Y! Sports Blogs

Known as the Sacagawea of fantasy primers, the Weekly Rundown guides head-to-head owners through a forest of obscure stats and exploitable matchups in an attempt to help solve lineup conundrums. While reading, keep in mind matchups are subject to change due to managerial moves, unforeseen injuries and Mother Nature's influences.

LEADING OFF

• Slide over Rich Hill and Brett Myers. Underachiever Jeff Francoeur needs a seat on the minor league short bus.

On Friday, the 24-year-old former super prospect was surprisingly optioned to Double-A Mississippi, likely for three weeks. With just 4 hits in his past 41 at-bats and eight long-balls in 334 plate appearances, the Atlanta front office decided to take drastic measures to spark Francool's dormant stick. Disappointed but accepting of the demotion, Francoeur told the Atlanta Journal Constitution July 4:

"My game plan is, if they have the confidence in me, which I hope they do, is to come back and start that Friday night after the All-Star break and get going and have a huge second half. Because I know I can."

As to why he was ousted, Atlanta GM Frank Wren gave the following response, presumably from an office filled with leather couches and desktop pendulums:

"The best thing for him was to get out of the pressure of the day-to-day major-league schedule and what all that means and get back to where he can relax and get his swing going again. It just was not happening at this level. It doesn't matter if it's Francoeur or Chipper Jones or Brandon Jones or whoever it may be. When you struggle, the best approach is 'simplify to rectify.' The human brain works in mysterious ways and sometimes the reality of things is not what's always going on in the brain. The quicker you can simplify things, the quicker guys can rebound."

For now, the 78.9 percent owned Francoeur is expendable in shallow mixed leagues. But for patient owners with bench space, he's worth stashing. Despite a downturn in HR/FB% for the fourth consecutive season, his attractive 20.8 LD% and improved strikeout ('07 K%: 20.1, '08: 18.6) and contact rates ('07 CT%: 73.9, '08: 76.6) are positive indicators that his bat could resuscitate once his confidence is renewed.

In his first game with the Southern League Braves he slapped two singles and had a line-drive laser down the left-field line, originally called a home run, overturned. Read More >>

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I'm long past the point of actually caring about who makes baseball's All-Star teams and who doesn't.

When I was a kid I looked forward to seeing all the game's icons on one field competing against one another on one special night. In an age when there was only a game-of-the-week and you followed the home team mostly on radio (God, am I dating myself or what?), I loved watching one league's great pitchers duel the other league's great hitters.

But now, in an age when local teams are on TV every night, in an age of SportsCenter and interleague play, baseball's annual company picnic has lost its pop like an aging power pitcher.

I can't think of one confrontation I'm anticipating this season. Not a single NL hurler I want to see face, say, Texas' Josh Hamilton. It's just not the same.

Here's what I would like to see: Jason Giambi, All-Star.

He's earned it. Back in April, the Yankees first baseman was hitting just .168. Earler he was punching in at .150, the lowest average in the majors. But now, after hitting .300 during one torrid stretch, Giambi's hitting .263 with 18 HRs and 53 RBIs. The latter two numbers are 15th and 21st in the game, respectively.

I know. Those aren't blow-you-away numbers. MLB will announce the All-Star rosters on Sunday and, as of today, Giambi trails Boston's Kevin Youkilis and Justin Morneau of the Twins by a pretty hefty margin, so he isn't likely to be a fan pick.

But he should be on the team. And not merely because he's been one of baseball's hottest batsmen.

He should be on the team because it's time for baseball to show it can forgive.

Giambi was one of the game's earliest steroid pariahs. He testified before the BALCO grand jury, then after his testimony was leaked, apologized to fans – although he never specifically admitted to using steroids.

Giambi is a five-time All-Star. But those bids were earned in another life and under dubious circumstances.

This time, it would be for real. His presence would be yet another step in baseball's ongoing effort to step out of its sordid recent past. A big step, one acknowledging that even those caught in the web can (and should) be welcomed home.

The rosters will include two backups, so Giambi could very well be named to the AL team – meaning he could also be invited to participate in the annual Home Run Derby.

Now there's an irony right down the middle.

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It's good to be a Williams. Finally.

And not just because the family will deposit up to $2.710 million in winnings following a very productive fortnight at Wimbledon.

It's been 14 years since Venus turned pro, setting the table for little sister to arrive shortly thereafter. In the decade since, the sport of tennis - from its governing bodies to the establishment elite to sponsors and fans in the cheap sets - has been, let's face it, ambivalent about them.

Sometimes they were cheered. Often they were booed.

They were sometimes hailed as "faces" of the sport. More often they were kept at racket's length by a sport that didn't know what to do with the braided girls from Compton and their father, Richard.

They were criticized for being less focused than we wanted them to be. Criticized for wanting to have well-rounded lives filled with goals beyond tennis. How dare they?! 

And on Madison Avenue, they were never Maria Shaparova.

Their matches against each other were diced and dissected like none other, and the family battles never lived up to expectations. To hopes.

Until Saturday.

Venus' 7-5, 6-4 victory over Serena in the Wimbledon women's singles final was not particularly brilliant, which would have been difficult given the windy conditions. But it was dramatic. It was intriguing. It was filled with twists and turns.

And in the end "the best Williams won," as Venus had said going into the final. More important, neither Williams lost. Fittingly, it moved their head-to-head record to 8-8.

Venus simply proved to be the better Williams on the surface where she has now won five championships. And sister Serena had nothing to be ashamed of.

And it seemed that on the sport's greatest stage, with two of the game's icons - Billie Jean King and Martina Navratilova - cheering from the royal box, the Williamses were finally loved.

They saved the fortnight, just as they've largely carried women's tennis for the last decade. And for once it seemed as if those who watched didn't act as if they were let  down or disappointed that a) the Williamses were facing each other in the final, or b) how it played out.

The Williamses have been through much as we watched them grow. Injuries crippled them. Family strife (their parents' divorce) pained them. Tragedy (the murder of their sister) broke their hearts.

And each time they played each other it seemed as if it was the last place either of them wanted to be - because, like loving siblings, neither wanted to cause the other to feel the pain of defeat

They're now 28 and 26, respectively, still Big Sister and Little Sister, but full-blown women back at the peak of their games. And mature enough to compete with each other without reservation.

So now maybe tennis is finally ready to enjoy and appreciate them, finally ready to give the Williams sisters their long overdue respect.

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Happy Fourth of July weekend! For those of you in the states, hope you've enjoyed honoring our country's birth by blowing all kinds of crap to pieces, grilling anything you can get your hands on, and drinking yourself into a stupor. For those of you not in America, how about blowing us a big ol' kiss? Why? Well, without us, you wouldn't have all the cool stuff in the world, like Warren Zevon, The Shield and comic books. Oh, and NASCAR and Coke, too. You can thank us for those.

Speaking o' which, it's time to shake off the hangover and cookout coma and talk racing. We're back in Daytona this weekend, soho's going to take the checkers? Who's going to cause The Big One? As commenter Capt. Moroni put it in the "Give Daytona a motto" thread:

Daytona: 500 ÷ 200 x 43 = 13 cautions, 54 commercials, 168,000 drunken sunburnt spectators, 30,000 tailgate parties, 20 tons of burnt hamburgers, 200,000 gallons of warm beer, and 1 winner!

What's not to like?

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[Closing off Pit Chatter Rewind with one of my personal faves. If this is your first time checking out the Pit Chatters, click here to catch up with some of the more recent offerings. We'll see you back here tomorrow night for the Coke Zero open comment thread. For our American readers, Happy Fourth of July; for everybody else, drink beer, blow stuff up, and thank us for everything that's cool in the world. Seeya!]

Listening in on the secret driver's channel from last Saturday night's CarQuest Nationwide race. With only a few laps to go and the race under caution, Denny Hamlin swerves into Brad Keselowski.

Brad Keselowski: Hey! Ow! That hurt!

Denny Hamlin: Dine on my Goodyears, churl! That is how we roll in Sprint Cup!

Brad Keselowski: But - but I'm not in Sprint Cup! This is so majorly not fair! Dale! Dale!

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: ...yes, Brad. What can I do for you?

Brad Keselowski: Dale, did you see what Denny just did?

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Nope. Was doing sudoku.

Brad Keselowski: Sudoku? But we're in the middle of a race!

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: A Nationwide race. It's not, like, real racing or anything. Hell, I caught a nap from laps 25 to 38 back there.

Brad Keselowski: It's a real race to me, Dale! And now I ... and now I ...

[Sniffling sounds come from Keselowski's mike.]

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Brad, are you crying?

Brad Keselowski: NO! I've just got some dust in my eye.

Denny Hamlin: That would be MY dust! And verily, there is an abundance more from whence it came!

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[For your holiday pleasure, re-presenting Pit Chatters from days past. Enjoy!]

Listening in on our favorite drivers. With a week to kill in the Charlotte area, they go to -- where else? -- Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s Whisky River bar.

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Welcome, boys! Come in, come in. [Spots Jimmie Johnson.] Hey there, Jimmie! Up for a beer?

Jimmie Johnson: You ... you actually called me Jimmie.

Dale Earnhardt Jr. [laughing]: Ha! Just kiddin' with ya, Johnny. Grab yourself a brew.

Jimmie Johnson: ... why do I even try?

[The drivers all sit down around the table.]

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Okay, then, Marvin, bring us some chicken fingers.

Marvin Earnhardt: I, uh, I wouldn't do that, boss.

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Why not?

Marvin Earnhardt: Well, Skeeter in the kitchen lost a finger. We don't know where it is, but we know what he was working on when he lost it.*

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Hmm ... All right, toss some riblets on the grill, then.

Marvin Earnhardt: Will do, cuz!

[Marvin leaves, and Tony Stewart stands up.]

Good Tony: Boys, I got an announcement. I love all y'all so much, dinner tonight's on me!

Jimmie Johnson: Tony, that's awfully kind of you.

Good Tony: It's a season of giving for me. Giving away food, giving away wins ...

Ryan Newman: Damn straight!

Good Tony: Okay, hang on, I gotta take a pee. [Stands up.] Jimmie? Something wrong?

Jimmie Johnson: Probably nothing, but I just saw Pulp Fiction last night. Nothing good ever happened when somebody went to take a leak.

Good Tony: Yeah, but that was a movie. This is real life.

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[For your holiday pleasure, re-presenting Pit Chatters from days past. Enjoy!]

It's the return of Pit Chatter, where we listen in on the "secret driver's channel" and get you the stories you'll never hear anywhere else. In previous installments, we've heard the tale of the two Tonys, the story of Goodyear's revenge, and the secret behind Junior's success. Today, we find out the true story behind the biggest wreck of the season!

The scene: Twenty laps to go in last weekend's Dan Lowry 400. Denny Hamlin is blowing away the competition, with Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Kyle Busch well behind.

Denny Hamlin: It's happening! It's really happening! I'm gonna win right here at home! [Points up at some angry tough-looking dudes in the crowd.] Eat it, ya schoolyard bullies! Who's the man now, huh? Bet you're wishing you hadn't flushed my head back in third grade! [Points at a ridden-hard, hung-up-wet looking woman] Bet you're wishing you hadn't dumped me after that prom, huh, baby? WHOOOO-

BOOM!

[Hamlin's tire goes soft.]

Denny Hamlin: No! No!!! NOOOOOO!!!!!

[He slumps over his steering wheel and weeps uncontrollably as his car slows to a stop.]

Dale Earnhardt Jr: Buck up, buttercup. I'll send some Amp energy drink over to your trailer ... once I get done with all the celebrating, of course!

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If it isn't an internet motto by now, it should be: every time something looks remotely fake, it's a viral marketing campaign. Don't believe otherwise.

So it is with the scary faceless Wimbledon spectators that have been unsettling the British crowd over the past few days. Many wondered who these people were, and why they were covering their faces with that creepy non-face thing. Is this some sort of V for Vendetta revolution? A protest? What do they want? Are they merely ugly?

Turns out, they just want to sell you an overpriced Lotus sports car:

A quick Google search for "Faceless people" pulls up a website called "True Character", and a link to the address www.facelesspeople.com. According to internet directory WhoIs, that domain name is owned by Group Lotus Plc. The facelesspeople.com web page features a discreet Lotus badge, and bears the legend: "True character will emerge in..." above ticker counting down to an unspecified event in just over 17 days time, on July 21.

So, Wimbledon enthusiasts, never fear -- you are not in danger. Unless you consider overwrought, nightmarish marketing efforts to be dangerous. This definitely qualifies.

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[For your holiday pleasure, re-presenting Pit Chatters from days past. Enjoy!]

Listening in on the "secret driver's channel" from last week's race ...

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Hey, Johnny.

Jimmie Johnson: For the last time, Dale, it's JIMMIE.

Dale Earnhardt Jr:  Yeah, whatever. Time for you to take your dive.

Jimmie Johnson: What? Dive?

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Yep, dive. Mr. Hendrick says so. Fifteen races a year, you and Rainbow Boy gotta take one for the team and let me win.

Jimmie Johnson: You gotta be kidding me!

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Johnny, there's two things I don't joke about: my racing, and the sweet, sweet kick of Amp Energy Drink. It gets you going, so...get going!

Jimmie Johnson: Oh, for heaven's ... Somebody's gonna pay for this.

[Johnson fades into the pack, not to be seen again all afternoon.]

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Okay, Mr. Hendrick, Johnny's out of the way.

Rick Hendrick (speaking via cell from his secret underground lair, stroking a white kittycat): Excellent, my boy. We've loaded Tony Stewart's car with a cooler full of beer and sanded down the tires on Kurt Busch's car. It's all coming together now.

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: And we owe it all to the fine folks at-

Rick Hendrick: That's enough, son.

[Cut to late in the race, one of the final restarts. Dale Jr. is in second, with Jeff Gordon and Matt Kenseth right on his heels. And on the restart, Earnhardt spins his wheels, and Gordon and Kenseth whip around him only to collide with one another.]

Jeff Gordon: Jeepers! I'm in more trouble than that time I took an extra cookie for dessert!

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Whoop whoop whoop! Nyock, nyock! Learned that move from the Three Stooges, y'all!

Matt Kenseth: This ain't over, Gordon! I shall have my revenge!

[Alas, Earnhardt loses the race, unable to catch up to Carl Edwards.]

Dale Earnhardt Jr.: Mr. Hendrick! You said I was gonna win! You PROMISED!

Rick Hendrick: It's okay, my boy, it's okay. [switches over to second line] Implement Plan B.

NASCAR official beside Carl Edwards' car: Yes, sir. (Yelling to someone else) Guys! Come over here! Something doesn't look right ...

Rick Hendrick: Excellent.

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