Fantasy baseball is not a game. It's a business. If you don't possess a no-mercy attitude at the draft table, chances are you're in for a miserable three hours.

The first round of the draft is always the most awaited and intense, but never the most important. It's the fifth and sixth rounds that separate the men from the boys. Who will come away with the steal? Who will choose the oft-injured player with mammoth potential? Who will pick the sleeper? Who will select the bust?

I am not ashamed to say that last year's draft was a nightmarish experience for me. Three times, the player I wanted was selected one pick ahead of me. Sometimes I admit it on the spot. Other times, my pride gets in the way of my drafting error. "I should have traded up. I should have picked him last round." The questions fly through my head, and I begin to feel dizzy. Time is running out on my selection. I have to regroup and make a pick before the allotted three minutes is over.

You must be prepared, and, in hindsight, three mishaps doomed my fantasy team before the season even began. When Barry Bonds was selected, I took Craig Biggio. Instead of Raul Mondesi, I was relegated to Jeremy Burnitz. And when I thought I had planned everything right, waiting on Troy Glaus until the thirteenth round, only to hear his name called one pick ahead of mine, I could only muster Florida Marlins shortstop Alex Gonzales as a back-up. Glaus hit 47 homers last year. I think Gonzales ended his season in the minor leagues. He should have, at least. When you draft a player who underachieves during the season, you develop a personal hatred for him. But, I'm over last year. Let's just say my boys made Gonzales an offer he couldn't refuse.

Finally, I leave you with a true story that portrays the true authenticity and emotion of fantasy baseball. When I was 16-years old, I had the opportunity to interview Brady Anderson, the Baltimore Orioles' center fielder, on a local kids' sports television show. I began my interview with Anderson with an anecdote that I had traded for him in my fantasy league only to see him get injured the next day. The move ruined my season, I informed him, and I expected an apology.

Mr. Anderson was none too amused. He gave no answer at all, except for a slight raise of his eyebrows. The lack of reaction shocked me to the degree that I became visibly flustered (this conversation was being recorded by a network cameraman) and forgot my designed opening question.

Struggling to regain my composure, I asked Anderson the first question that popped into my head. "Why was it that one year, you hit 50 homeruns, and the next year only 17, while last year your batting average was low, compared to this season's higher productivity?"