I was enjoying an extravagant dinner with my friends, two incredible ladies holding tight to my arms and giggling in my ear. I told them about my reporting, my work with blind orphan kids with syphilis, and spouted off my eloquent opinions on politics and art. We toasted with the finest of wines, we crunched on lobster tails and filled up on towering cakes. Through the laughter, the flirting, and the warm waves of respect, I felt a gnawing inside. I couldn't help but think something was missing. I had money, love, stature-- so what was the problem? And then it hit me. What I was yearning for was a World Series ring. I've never won one. Well, I've never played baseball before either, but I could. And that's what was important.

The Astros need pitching help after seeing Andy Petitte go back to the stinking Yankees and Roger Clemens probably not coming back. I'm young, fit, healthy and willing to work hard. So what if I've never thrown a pitch in the majors (or college or high school or little league)? People learn on the job everyday. And I've got all of Spring Training. What's that, a month? You know how much better I can get in a month? Besides I've been playing video baseball since the days of R.B.I. Baseball on NES. That means I know the basics. And I've been watching baseball on TV for quite a few years now. I even played fantasy baseball which means I know who is good, who to pitch around, and who to go after. Last year I won both my leagues! Do you think any Joe off the street can do that? My starting shortstop was Hanley Ramirez, my friends. It takes a great baseball mind to predict his success and to win again and again. That's what I'm bringing to the table.

And what about batting you ask? I'm the local whack-a-mole champ. Those kind of skills carry over. If you're athletic, you're athletic, period. No one can touch me in dodge ball, jackpot, horseshoes, or those games at the fair where you throw the ball through the hole in the target to win prizes. That last one is pretty much the same as baseball. The stakes are just higher.

What else does it take to be a great pitcher? To be cool under pressure, to stay calm when your lead is down to one run and you have three guys on base and Vladimir Guerrero steps up to bat. My doctor actually diagnosed ice in my veins. He said I might die if I don't treat it. Treat it? That's my ticket to the show. No thanks, doc. And if my health is compromised, it will all be for my team. You see, I'm a team-oriented guy. I'm not going to demand millions of dollars, not going to be a clubhouse cancer, not get into fist fights with Jeff Kent or attack cameramen before a game. I'll go in, pitch my innings, and rack up the victories. Confident, huh? You got to be. That's how the big ones get there.

I've been training hard, pitching to my nephew's little league team, running a quarter mile a day, doing twelve pushups every Tuesday, and eating lots of pencil erasers. The hope is that some of that rubber trickles down to my arm. Folks, I'm a training montage away from being ready for the big time, and the song is cued up.

And I'm going to play mind games with the batters. I'll remind Albert Pujols that his name includes the word "poo." Let's see him try to hit a home run through a stream of tears. I'll show Alfonso Soriano pictures of his girlfriend having sex with me. (Photoshop, baby!) He'll be swinging for revenge then, and revenge always bats .000. I'll induce Barry Bonds into a 'roids rage episode and get him suspended for head-butting me with his gigantic head. Also planning to stuff my crotch real fat so that a few players get penis envy that takes their mind off the game for just enough time for me to whizz a 42 mph fastball by them. I'm learning hypnotism, too. That would replace the need for a curveball. After a quick “you're getting sleepy, very sleepy” moment I can just roll a pitch on the dirt, and they'd swing for it while clucking like a chicken.

“What else?” you ask. Well, I can't give it all away. But there's one more I'll reveal; Wheaties. The Breakfast of Champions, and that's what I'll be. No more tequila sunrises. It's inventive stuff like this that will propel me to the top with little to no physical exertion.

What could possibly go wrong? I imagine going 21-3 (got to account for a few bad days), an ERA under 2, 200 strikeouts, the Cy Young Award, and pitching a no-no in Game 7 of the Series against the Yankees. I've dreamt about that moment a few hundred times. Now I just have to follow in the footsteps of my dreams.

So watch out baseball, watch out Beltran, watch out Ryan Howard, watch out A-Rod. I'm coming, and I've got a pitch with your names on it. It’s the same pitch that won me a lime-green Teddy Bear last week.