The time is coming. It's just a week or two more until the commencement of the most enjoyable annual phase in a sports fan's existence.

"What are you talking about?" you scream at the newspaper.

Calm down, I reply. It's just a silly sports column. Yes, baseball hasn't begun yet. Yes, we can find Brett Favre and Jerry Rice on the golf course rather than the football field (and if you've ever seen Rice play, it's not aesthetically pleasing). Yes, the NBA is in its boring regular season, and the NHL is just plain boring.

And, if you're waiting for the MARCH MADNESS punch line, you ain't gonna get it.

No, I'm talking about fantasy baseball. Specifically, the fantasy baseball draft. It is the highlight of every true sports fan's year and perhaps the most exciting three hours God grants us humble mortals as a reward for our humanity.

"What are you talking about?" you scream at the newspaper, having terrible amnesia. "You obviously weren't there Saturday night when I was banging the girl next door. Now, that was real. Boo-yah! Where my dogs at?"

Chill out there, Shaggy. Perhaps I was slightly exaggerating. Nevertheless, do not underestimate the power of a live fantasy baseball draft until you've been there, done that. I don't mean a new-age, live draft over the Internet. I'm talking about an in-person, face-to-face, no-holds-barred draft with ten dedicated baseball fans in attendance. Each player sits around a table with notes, fantasy-guide publications, and phone contacts for possible trades or late-breaking news flashes. An elected commissioner announces each pick when a yellow-index card is handed to him.

This will be my fifth year participating in a fantasy league with primarily the same group of guys--holdovers from high school. We set up a date to return home from school last August, and, midterms shmidterms, we're all sticking to it. Though the brief meeting will be the first time we've seen each other since the end of winter break, the salutations will be cursory and detached.