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As you read this, Brian Cashman is charging his ninth cell-phone battery of the day. Scott Boras is putting the finishing touches on a PowerPoint presentation that proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Kevin Millwood is a better pitcher than Sandy Koufax. And somewhere Carlos Beltran is thumbing through a copy of the Robb Report, trying to decide if he should buy an island in the South Pacific or just go ahead and colonize the moon with the unspendable fortune that will soon be his.

In case you haven't heard, the doors to baseball's free-agent market opened at midnight Thursday (or is that considered Friday?), when players were allowed to talk numbers with any team. In the last few offseasons Bud Selig and Friends have stumbled into a publicity bonanza -- what once was quaintly known as the Hot Stove League now nearly overshadows the season itself. I used to think this wasn't a good thing, if only because I thought fans could only stomach so much talk about oily agents, collusive owners and GNP-sized contracts.

As is usually the case, I was wrong. Team building has replaced actual hittin' and runnin' and throwin' as the perceived key to success. (It probably has something to do with the fact that everyone runs a fantasy team and has read Moneyball, and that anyone who has successfully whittled $1,000 off the price of a Honda Civic believes he must know what it's like to hammer out the small print on a free agent megadeal.)

Fans love this stuff -- the wheeling and dealing; the personality showdowns; the idea that you can figure out in November if the Mets will make the playoffs the following October; the idea that an owner's desire to win can be gauged by his willingness to finance college educations for a player's great-great-great-great-great grandchildren.

The intractable Boras, along with a certain turtleneck-wearing owner, is largely responsible for this circus, which is why this offseason may be the most intriguing in a while. Boras controls this market. He represents nearly every free agent worth pursuing: Beltran, Adrian Beltre, Jason Varitek, Derek Lowe, Magglio Ordonez, J.D. Drew, Millwood.

To judge by some of his early negotiating salvos, he's also unaware that it's no longer the year 2000. He's let slip that Beltran wants a 10-year contract, and that Varitek will accept nothing less than a five-year deal that includes a no-trade clause. And those are the non-financial demands. Salary-demand rumors that resemble the Red Cross's annual budget should start circulating this weekend.

One of two things will happen this winter: Either Boras will, for the first time in his career, learn to negotiate and not merely wait til his demands are met ... or Beltran, Beltre, Varitek, et al will still be looking for employers come Martin Luther King Day.

This could be the year Boras's image as the unrelenting superagent takes a hit. Baseball's economic landscape is no longer paved with gold. The gargantuan contracts given Alex Rodriguez and Manny Ramirez in 2000 and Kevin Brown in 1999 are things of the past. In fact, they're albatrosses that teams have regretted taking on since the days they were signed. Even the average owner is smart enough not to repeat those mistakes.

In the current market Boras, with his anachronistic hardline tactics, looks like a guy sporting a Members Only jacket in a club where everyone else is wearing Seven Jeans.

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Varitek is the Red Sox' backbone and a top-tier catcher, but he's 32 and entering a career stretch where most catchers start to decline. The notion that he should get five years and a no-trade is absurd. Ditto for the 10 years Boras wants for Beltran. The outfielder has future Hall of Famer written all over him and was spectacular in the playoffs. But he's two years older than A-Rod was when he signed his 10-year deal. Good luck finding someone (other than Boras and the Rodriguez family) who thinks that was a good contract. And good luck to Boras' clients, who will have to convince their guy to bend a bit if they want to get their futures settled before spring training starts. ...

There's an interesting debate in the hockey world that has nothing to do with cost certainty or revenue streams. On the day Ray Bourque was inducted into the Hall of Fame, Boston Globe hockey writer Kevin Dupont  made the argument that Bourque was better than Bobby Orr.

Blasphemy, right? Maybe not.

Statistically Bourque, the highest-scoring defenseman ever, is the choice, but things may well have been different had Orr's career not been cut short by a faulty pair of knees. I'm not old enough to have seen No. 4 in his prime, so I'll do the cop-out thing and not take sides in the argument.

But I will say this: It's hard to envision a defenseman such as Orr having the same kind of impact in today's NHL. Most coaches now would bench a blueliner for trying the end-to-end rushes and creative bursts that were Orr's specialty. (The closest thing we have today might be the Devils' Scott Niedermayer, a fantastic skater who loves to venture deep into the offensive zone and has the speed to get back and take care of his defensive responsibilities.)

Bourque, certainly more rugged than Orr, was better suited to the modern NHL, but it's also easy to imagine him thriving in Orr's wide-open era. If a) the NHL ever resumes playing, and b) hockey continues its evolution into trench warfare on ice, Bourque might have to be the choice as best defenseman ever.

Finally, as kids become more sedentary and childhood obesity spreads, is this any way to treat an 11-year-old trying to get a little exercise?

Sports Illustrated staff writer Stephen Cannella covers the NHL for the magazine and contributes frequently to SI.com.