Iowa State lost this past weekend and much like a beaten billy goat, I’m hurt and do not wish to talk about it.

Instead I will turn my thoughts toward God’s game. The World Series is here and Yankee fever is running wild.

You know what Yankee fever is don’t you? It’s the “Sultan of Swat,” the “Mick” and “Joltin’ Joe,” right?

Wrong. It’s Derek “Every Mother’s Dream” Jeter, Darryl “More Shots than Steve Howe” Strawberry and Bernie “Not Barney” Williams.

To me, it’s like this. I don’t care about the Yanks. I don’t care if they saved the world from utter destruction, I would still not like the Yankees. Why, you may ask?

I guess because the band wagon is full, and I refuse to drive it. And when did George Steinbrenner suddenly become a good guy? He is the most crooked owner of all time. What the hell is going on here?

Whoa, I need to turn it down a notch, because if I don’t, I’m going to start talking about the Huskers.

Okay, so we’ve established that I don’t care for the Yanks, but I don’t care for the Braves either. Why? Because neither team is the Chicago Cubs! Whoooo!

But it’s baseball, and it is, as always, entertaining. So I have a plan for those of you who do not care about either team.

It goes like this. Now, for the sake of being called sexist, this is a unisex plan.

All fans should first stock up on the proper provisions. Beer (preferably Icehouse), chips, pizza, more beer, diapers, a bowl of molasses and a sponge cake.

Call up all the beautiful people of the opposite sex (or of the same sex if so inclined) that you hold a fondness for.

Tell them you are simply meeting for a pregame party. If that doesn’t work, kidnap them. They’ll thank you for it later.

Make sure the pregame is plenty early so you can let the canned happiness take effect.

Game time, so make the game a game within a game. Everyone must choose a player that is their set player for the game.

Now the ratio of guys to girls (or girls to girls, guys to guys, etc.) must be equal. What that player does for the game determines the outcome of the rest of the night for that “couple.”

So my player would be Darryl Strawberry, and my lady friend’s player would be Derek Jeter. If Strawberry is three for four with a homer, and Jeter goes three for four with a triple, then the homer would win the game, and I would really enjoy the rest of my night.

Get it?

This is truly what I call fantasy baseball. Remember, all players must give consent in writing before entering the competition.

Now this may sound stupid, but I guarantee that in a drunken state, you will never in your life care as much about how well a player does. This way, despite the outcome of the game, the competition is as stimulating as Han Solo locking eyes With Princess Leia.

So there you have it, I have come through for the masses once again. Enjoy my plan, and oh yeah, the use of the molasses and the sponge cake is optional. Have a good day out there.

We’ll talk later.

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Chad Calek is a junior in journalism from Persia. He is the assistant sports editor at the Daily.