Out of curiosity, I averaged the draft position of each city that has multiple teams in the alt leagues. Here are the rankings pre-AltBA draft:

1. Minnesota - 4.5 (5, 4)
2. Boston - 5 (4, 6)
2. Chicago - 5 (7, 3)
4. Portland - 9.5 (14, 5)
5. Los Angeles - 10.5 (8, 13)
5. Philadelphia - 10.5 (11, 10)
7. New York - 11.5 (16, 7)
8. Seattle - 12.5 (10, 15)
8. Toronto - 12.5 (13, 12)
10. Charlotte - 14 (12, 16)

It'll be interesting to see how this list updates after the draft. We'll add five cities to the list as well: Vancouver, Kansas City, Denver, Dallas, and Louisville.
 

1. Darknes is on the clock! 
2. QCS
3. JamHeronARk
4. Dr.Pepper
5. Burmy
6. This Is Fine
7. Rugrat
8. Scratch
9. Steelman
10. Gritty
11. Stickman
12. Kingsfan
13. 3point
14. DVD
15. IDM
16. Edgeworth
17. EnigmaJones
18. Andy!
19. Section30
20. Sevsdast
21. Direbear
22. Dan OMac
23. Magic/BDoof
24. Target Toad

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

Last edited by QCS (3/21/2021 11:29 am)

Wallflower wrote:

For slightly less immediate release

We are business partners.

QCS x Wallflower heading to Charlotte, baby!!

Impressive, didn’t see that one coming!

FOR RELEASE EVENTUALLY, I’LL GET TO IT EVENTUALLY. COOL YOUR JETS DOROTHY
3/21/21

“What am I doing here?” and “Who is that over there?” would be reasonable questions for the two journalists summoned by a small wax-sealed envelope to Forestville, MN. Due to some pathogenic chaos in the surrounding area, the once-thriving town and state park were eerily devoid of people. The selected candidates, Maximilien Gostesbehere-McElhenney and Sam Lee, sat on benches across the Carimona road from each other. The fifth-generation newspaperman Gostesbehere-McElhenney rested in front of the Meighen General Store, which was the center of Forestville until its closure in 1910. Sam sat outside the horse barn. Each one eyed the other warily, as the invitation had instructed each to bring a pistol. Gostesbehere-McElhenney sported a vintage Colt .45 that had been passed on to him from his father, who inherited it from his father, who… etc. Sam had a Glock. Neither trusted the other, rightly, as who would trust a man who you suspect invited you to a ghost town for a pistol duel to the death?

As both reporters continued their Mexican standoff, enhanced with smartphone doomscrolling because of the not unreasonable cell coverage despite the lack of population in the vicinity, a sound gave them a start. It appeared that someone, or an a capella choir of someones, was performing a heartfelt rendition of Ennio Morricone’s iconic theme, Il Buono, il Brutto e il Cattivo. A man(?) in a Western pistol-duelist’s outfit of towering stature and an evidently-well-fed frame stepped out from the carriage barn. On his hip was strapped a very large iron, no, bigger than that, it was like the size of a well-fed orange cat whose three hobbies are sleeping, kicking dogs, and lasagna. This unknown gunslinger shouted at the assembled press, “We already have the Ugly!” With this, he pressed the steam button on his apparently high-tech big iron. The cloud of vapor inexplicably formed perfectly the silhouette of a man in a large hat seated on a rearing horse while deftly wielding a lasso. After a brief, guttural scream that seemed almost animal in nature, the wrinkle-slayer again declared, “We already have the Bad!” Again he released a puff of steam, which now took the shape of an oil-money-fuelled outlaw who wears a mask out of concern for others. One final Jacksonian “Sh’money!” escaped his lips before his final utterance. “Now we have the Good!” With this, he quickly pinned on a cheap plastic Junior Sheriff badge, pulled a big iron out of his big iron, and shot once into the air.

Evidently recognizing the confusion on the faces of both writers, the figure stopped his continuous fist-pumping after only a minute and a half, rather than the customary six minutes and twenty-five seconds. He stood up straight, cleared his throat, and thusly spake, “My name is JamHeronArk, you two are no fun, and I am here to announce my choice in the AltBA Owner draft.” Sir Ark was greatly heartened by the rush of relief that flooded the once-mystified countenances of his captive audience. “But first, I must acknowledge the elephant in the room. You were both wondering where I got this spiffy badge, right? Well, that’s a story for another time. Let’s just say that it involved three unrelated items, the Stickman storystyle, and a 64-ton vat of Silly Putty. With that out of the way, I would like to get right down to business: I would like to thank the members of the hip-hop mime trio “Baguettes, Yo” for breaking their vows of silence to perform this heartfelt rendition of that one tune from that one film. Oh, and also, if you couldn’t already figure out from the clear symbolism in this pageant, I have selected the Kansas City Marshals. I want to bring the log to both Kansas City and its sister city, Kansas City.

Each reporter present was then told they were to ask one question of Mr. HeronArk. Gostesbehere-McElhenney retorted, “Just one?” The reply came: “Yes.” Lee asked, “What were the pistols for?” Jamuel H. Ark answered with a warm smile, “They were kinda like a TL,DR: I picked the Marshals type of message.” With this, he did an awkward somersault back into the carriage barn. When the reporters, concerned for the mental health of such a well-connected, eccentric man, rushed to check that he had not broken his neck, leg, ear, nose, throat, or anything of that magnitude, they were baffled to find that he was not in the small building. After exchanging a glance, a shrug, business cards, and collectible Disneyland enamel pins, they begrudgingly crossed the Gillette-Herzog bridge back into what they considered the real world, where they were not the subject of an eight-hundred-one-word-long post on an online forum.

Last edited by JamHeronArk (3/21/2021 11:37 am)