And all this time, you thought you were drafting a fantasy baseball team because of your love of the game, its players, and the spirit of competition. Truth is, you just wanted a better math grade.

Don’t believe me? Read it here.

Just remember, kids, when solving any algrebraic equation, the coefficient of X always equals Albert Pujols.

How times have changed. You used to watch baseball on TV and see Jim Leyland and Keith Hernandez smoking cigarettes in the dugout.

This year, Major League Baseball enforcing the rule that will prevent Johnny Pesky, who’s 88, from sitting the Red Sox dugout. The club admits they’ve been breaking the rule for years, largely because league officials didn’t strictly enforce it. Plus, it’s cool to have a really old guy in the dugout, because when the other team runs onto the infield grass, he can yell, “hey, you kids stay off the lawn!” It gives the Sox a psychological edge.

While I understand the need to enforce rules, couldn’t MLB just, um, grandfather Pesky in on this one? The guy’s an icon there. How many guys in major league history have had a foul pole named after them? One. Him. I guess they should have named it “Pesky’s Dugout” instead. Maybe he’d still be a welcome visitor then.

Somewhere, Dusty Baker’s young children are laughing at this. Pretty soon, each team will probably have a league-mandated HR representative in their dugout to make sure players don’t say anything offensive, or place bubble gum on other players’ hats, or light their shoes on fire, or spit sunflower seeds on the ground.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Alou, you know using two Dixie Cups for additional support when you get Gatorade is a clear violation of team policy. It’s right there in the handbook. … It clearly states, ‘only single cups shall be used as receptacles from all company-approved beverages dispensed from Home Dugout Cooler 2-B.’ We’re don’t double-bag our groceries on this team, Felipe, sorry. Rules are rules.”

Anyway, read the story here.

Continuing the gallbladder removal story …

I preregistered at the hospital, after an unsatisfying debate with the receptionist where I argued that preregistering really means registering before you register, which makes no sense at all. I’ll have the same argument at the airport tonight when they call for passengers that are ready for preboarding — and I’ll lose that one, too.

Anyway, I filled out a bunch of paperwork that says if he accidentally removed something I need, there would be no hard feelings. They also ran some tests and a nurse made a few notes. It was time for me to do the same.

“So, nurse, my recovery room will have a TV, right? With ESPN?” The season was a few days away, but I wasn’t gonna miss Baseball Tonight). I remember thinking how much better off I was doing this before the season began, because trying to order the MLB satellite cable package in the recovery room would have been a real pain.

The big morning came and we arrived early, re-registered and were sent to pre-surgery. These hospitals have serious prefix issues. Anyway, there I met the anesthesiologist, who briefed me on the proceedings.

Game time. They started to wheel me in. It was just like on “ER,” except that the doctors weren’t as attractive. There were at least a dozen people around the table.

“All these people are waiting here just for you,” the anesthesiologist said.

I was fading quickly, but I had one sentence left in me. “I knew I should have raised ticket prices.” Say goodnight, Gracie.

What seemed like a moment later, though I would soon find out was three hours after the surgery was complete, I realize I’m coughing and being force-fed ice chips.

“Hello there,” the nurse says. “How are ya feeling?”

It takes me a minute to shake out the cobwebs. “Like Humpty Dumpty, I guess.” The truth was, I wasn’t feeling any pain — yet. “So, tell me, was it a boy or a girl?”

Finally, I made someone in this hospital laugh. “They warned me about you,” she said. “Just lay back and take it easy. I’ll go tell your wife you are awake.”

I can’t resist. “First you guys yank out a body part and now on top of it, you’re gonna bring my wife in here? Have you no pity? Can we get the anesthesiologist back? I feel pain coming on … ”

She chuckles some more, and stuffs my mouth with more ice chips, which is probably a good idea. A few minutes later the road to recovery begins. I’m wheeled into another room, with wife in tote, and a few hours later I’m ready to get home and begin my baseball-watching marathon, er, I mean long, arduous recovery process at home.

But first, Dr. Kahn popped into the room to check on me. He tells me that we were lucky to get the gallbladder out when we did. Not only was it infected, but it was leading to smaller “attacks” and he could see soreness on the walls of my stomach from them.

“Didn’t you ever feel any of those attacks in the past few years?” he asked. “Any sharp pains?”

“Every time one of my closers took the mound,” I said. “I just thought they were routine ulcers or panic attacks.”

I didn’t expect him to understand. Doctors save lives, but they don’t save ballgames. Closers will cause you as much pain as you let them.

Of course, I’ve spent the last two or three hours playing around with this roster, so who knows what it will end up looking like, but right now…

Starting: C: McCann/Martin
1B: Hafner/Howard
2B: Weeks/Kinsler
3B: Atkins/Gordon
SS: Reyes/Ramirez
OF: Holliday/Sizemore/Duncan/Luke Scott/Chris Young/Baldelli
DH: Pujols/Adrian Gonzalez

SP: Santana/Peavy/Sheets/Felix Hernandez/Olsen/Patterson
RP: K-Rod/Lidge/Saito/Putz

Bench hitters: Mauer/Utley/Cano/Cabrera/Michael Young/Beltran/Soriano/Rios
Bench pitchers: Harden/Hamels/Cain/Matsuzaka

That’s $59,100,000 — so if Mauer’s leg is OK, I can shift him in for McCann if I want to, that kind of thing. I’m asking a lot from this cheap outfield (would have been cheaper if Carlos Quentin wasn’t hurt), but we’ll see how it goes and adjust as always.

Still thinking about subbing Valverde in for Lidge to clear up a little cap room. I’m a little on the expensive side in the pen.

I feel like I need one more stronger starting outfielder, like getting Soriano or Beltran in there somehow. But I’d probably have to sacrifice a different big bomber to do it, or go way cheaper on relievers.

OK… Thoughts anyone? Feel free to post your lineup, or just shred mine (heck, that’s what I’ll be doing for the next 48 hours anyway). Whatever trips your collective triggers.

The Cubs and Mariners are going at it right now at Cashman Field — the last weekend of spring training, when some interleague teams traditionally play each other (A’s and Giants in the Bay Bridge Series, and Dodgers and Angels in the Freeway Series), another tradition is Big League Weekend here in Vegas. This is the 17th straight year they’ve had spring games here, not bad for a place that isn’t named Florida or Arizona.

They’ll play again here tomorrow. Usually we have three or four teams and three or four games, but perhaps the scheduling gods are showing pity of me for being stupid enough to play a vacation on Opening Day. I’m taking April Fools’ Day to a new level this year. Hopefully my family will be exhaused from the flight and I can catch the Mets-Cards opener in the hotel room.

I used to be so much smarter. I remember a few years ago, one March, I was having some pains in my stomach. Now, I’m used to feeling pain deep within my stomach on any given day from April to October, but usually that’s caused by a blown save, an 0-for-5 day from a star hitter, or a pulled hamstring from a player at a position where I have no backup. You know that feeling, don’t ya?

But I wasn’t accustomed to this level of discomfort in March, so I went to see my doctor.

“It’s your gallbladder,” my doctor said. “The X-ray showed some gallstones. I’m going to refer you to a surgeon.”

I walked into the surgeon’s office and immediately felt like the FCC used to feel whenever Howard Stern’s show was about to start, before the Sirius deal. A cross between uncomfortable and queasy. I didn’t think I was going to approve of what I was about to hear. And I was right.

“Your gallbladder is badly infected,” Dr. Kahn, a well-respected Las Vegas surgeon, explained. “There are so many gallstones I don’t think we can dissolve them. I think your gallbladder has to come out.”

Since it was March, I was in full spring training mode.

“OK, Doc, in baseball, when the manager decides a pitcher, as you say, `has to come out,’ he replaces him with a different pitcher. Are you telling me that I have no bullpen help? I didn’t know internal organs were optional,” I said, voice cracking just a bit.

He’s straightforward, and obviously had heard this before. “No, you don’t need your gallbladder. But it can cause other problems if we don’t get it out of there, so I’d like to do it as soon as possible.”

He looks at a schedule book and finds an opening.

“How about Monday, March 31? I can do it that morning.”

This is all happening very fast. I had my suspicions that he would want to remove it, but I didn’t expect him to want to do it with such immediacy. And I certainly didn’t expect him to try to pull one over on me like that.

“C’mon, doc. You know that’s baseball’s Opening Day. I can’t even believe you are working that day, much less thinking you’re gonna start my season by putting me on the DL like that.”

It becomes obvious, rather quickly, that he is not a baseball fan. But he humors me, at least by considering an alternate date.

“OK, well, if next Monday is no good … I’d really rather go sooner than later with this. How about this week? I have an opening on Thursday, the 27th.”

He said the surgery itself was only a couple of hours, and most patients were able to leave the hospital the same day. Provided they were able to remove the bad ‘blad arthroscopically, he said I was looking at a week to 10 days at home resting before I could go back to work. And then he said Chaka was no relation and not for me to sing anymore.

But did I really want to have the surgery so soon, without even a second opinion? I mean, if I did, I’d be forced to spend at least the first week of baseball season at home, just lying on the couch, watching games. With pillows. And the remote. All week.

This was too good to be true. “I’m in. Put me down for Thursday.”

He said it was a wise decision and that removing the gallbladder now would prevent the infection from spreading and blah, blah, blah. Then he told me I’d have to go preregister at the hospital the next day.

Before I left his office, though, I had one more question.

“Is there a bunch of other stuff inside me that is expendable? I’m thinking that every March I could come visit and you could yank out some meaningless organ and I could spend the first week of April at home watching TV. Is that doable?”

Dr. Kahn shook his head, which simultaneously said no as well as expressed his disbelief. Oh well, can’t win them all.

More on the surgery and aftermath tomorrow … gotta get back to my CDM team, which I will post here tonight for anyone to rip apart.

Here’s a press release out of Atlanta on a German Web Site (the text of the release is in Engli