The 40ft Post: The Last Throws

Well . . . here we be . . . Week 14 and the final few games before the 2016 season is just a hazy image in the rearview mirror.

Many chickens have been sacrificed.

Beer has been consumed in copious amounts.

My nacho to body mass ratio is at the highest its been since the summer of '98 when Tostido's unveiled it's lime tortilla chips.

Christmas is a scant few weeks away.

It's raining where I live.

I've yet to shower today.

(Scratch that . . . I always find it tough to be funny with a dirty butt-hole. Don't know why that is.)

Alright, so now I'm shaved and squeaky and my t-shirt hasn't quite yet stretched around the middle. I've just been informed by my wife that I'm to expect a Christmas tree at some point in the day (no specifics given) which means that I'll also be responsible today for digging ornaments out of a garage and searching for our copy of The Jackson 5 Christmas Album.

There also might be a last minute scramble for "It's A Wonderful Life." on DVD.

Speaking of wonderful lives . . .

Much to my chagrin . . . It seems as though my fantasy teams will all finish out the year with winning records (a monumental first I might add), and I'm in the playoffs in two of them.

(the third is an 11th hour nail biter . . . we'll get to that in a bit.)

And since George Bailey will be spending the evening going over his life decisions . . . I thought that looking back over my decisions this fantasy year might be fun . . . illuminating . . . and just this side of ego-maniacal.

THE YEAR OF THE WIDE RECEIVER IN THE FIRST ROUND

Much has been written about picking wide receivers often and early. This may have worked out for the Antonio Brown holders (I'm one of those), maybe a couple of the Julio Jonesers, but all in all, the WR-WR-WR plan seems to have sunk people.

Ha-Ha . . . my step son would tweet.

However, I did break with a little tradition and grabbed Antonio in Teddy's Team, and of course, AJ MF Green in Cheney's Team.

David Johnson was the undisputed pick for Trump's Team, and that, as Robert Frost said, has made all the difference.

So . . . even though I went WR in two out of three leagues . . . I still don't recommend it . . . unless you're looking at the back of the round and the only bankable playa left . . . is Adrian Peterson.

Or Gronk.

LOL . . . my step son would text.

That really had to hurt.

TO QB OR NOT TO QB?

This is the question that plagues me every damn year.

Every expert analyst says "Wait on picking up a QB, you stupid head! Bortles will be available in the 7th round, you knuckle dragging fart swallow.  Why go with Rodgers when you can steal Palmer five rounds later, you pickled rind of potato bug dung?"

Yeah . . . I hear it. I hear it every year. And then I see Drew Brees late in the third round, and I'm like "This is so stupid but I'm gonna do it any way."

I got away with it with Rodgers.

I got away with it with Brees.

I DID NOT get away with it with Russell Effing Wilson.

And you poor poor children who reached for Newton (Adam), that's gotta feel weird. Like grinding on the second hottest girl in the club only to find out she's your cousin.

Or has a penis.

Or both.

Wilson did win me a key game . . . so at least there's that.

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS:

If you remember from my first piece, I was very wary of my extremely successful ability to pick a injury prone team. It's not avoidable, but my track record with guys that go down in the first few weeks is unparalleled.

Last year I blamed my team names. So I went with unstoppable forces this year and aside from losing Keenan Allen early and the pipe dream that was CJ Anderson, most of my teams made it through in tact.

AJ MF Green is another story all together.

I could really use him this week against my brother.

But alas.

DRAFT ANALYSIS:

So I went back and looked at this years draft to see if I could glean any genius from those in the upper ranks, and make myself feel bad for the ones that got away, but in all actuality, this was a year where playing the wire, making smart trades, streaming defenses, and David Johnson seemed to be the only guarantees of success.

For my part, I probably should have traded Josh Gordon to my brother (Jay Ajayi was his offer), and in the third round of Trump's Draft, I had the chance to grab McCoy instead of Anderson.

But I remember that choice . . . and it was purposeful . . . I had McCoy in another league and I didn't want him to sink two ships if he went down.

Could you imagine a team with McCoy and David Johnson?

Neither can I.

But there would have been a good chance that I wouldn't have lost to Mr. Gold . . . twice.

That burns.

But not as much as losing to Mike twice.

Russell Effing Wilson is to blame for these scars that won't heal.

Reaching for Lavonte David was probably dumb, but it felt smart at the time, and that's about it.

The lesson learned is that the draft this year wasn't particularly fond of anyone, and streaming defenses, tight ends, and watching the wire like a hawk was the way to go.

FANTASYLAND:

Teddy's Stump Speech (9-4) 2nd place, in the playoffs next week.
Cheney's Shogun (8-5) 4th place, in the playoffs right now.
Trump's Twitter Game (8-5) 4th place, nail biting finale.

Now we all know that the REAL Trump was victorious this season in the most grotesque way possible, which, if we are to extrapolate, means that my Trump Team looks like he has no shot, and yet will pull off a last minute triumph that will go down in the history books as the most unlikely event ever witnessed by a population of knuckle dragging fart swallows.

The League is set up with divisions . . . to make it to the playoffs one has to be the top of the division with the one wildcard going to the person who is in fourth place overall.

That's me right now . . . however . . . it could change on a dime.

See, sitting happily in 5th place is Steve and we have identical records (though I'm way ahead of him in total points)

If I win . . . I go to the playoffs.

If I lose . . . and he loses . . . I go to the playoffs.

If I lose . . . and he wins . . . my dreams shatter so badly that not even a bottle of scotch and a red-headed call-girl will be able to cheer me up.

And it gets even twistier.

The team I am up against is loaded with Stafford, McCoy, and McKinnon.

Guys I need to have extremely good days if I'm going to beat my brother in the other league.

So . . . essentially . . . I need to root not for my unwavering success . . . I need to root for Steve's demise.

Which feels weird.

Not like trying to be funny with a dirty butt-hole weird . . . but weird none-the-less.

Swelling with glee for a good friend's pain is not entirely unpleasant though.

As my brother intoned once . . . the lap dance is always better when the stripper is crying.

He got that from The Bloodhound Gang.

I hope.

Anyway, since I busted my wrist last week (not doing what you just thought I was doing) and didn't post, here are the results from Week 12's CSP's and a look into Week 14.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 12

Watkins surprises the hell out of everyone.
He did go for 80 yards on his first day back. I'll call that a win.

The third string QB for Chicago makes Meredith a bigger star than Hoyer ever did.
NOPE

Cleveland surprises the Giants by wearing clown make-up and they still lose.
DON'T KNOW HOW TO RATE THIS ONE

New Orleans becomes a top ten defense because I ridiculed them.
HELL NOPE . . . AND BREES KILLED ME WEEK 13

The Jets beat New England and Frankie gives up ever watching football again because he's never been this happy and wants to go out on top.
YEAH . . . NOPE.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 14

Niners beat the Jets.

Bengals fall to the Browns.

Adam's WolfHunter falls to My Cheney

Steve just falls.

George Bailey decides the world really is better if he was never born.

Henry F. Potter for President.




My wife just arrived with a christmas tree, a couple of bottles of wine, and the crazed look of a woman who spent the better part of Saturday at a shopping mall.

I better hide the call girl.

The 40ft Post: The Leftovers

So it's 11:38am on this disgustingly gelatinous Saturday morning.

My belly is filled with the greatest leftover creation ever developed by the geniuses at Kraft.

(For the record, fill a casserole dish with turkey, green beans, potatoes, broccoli, gravy, and then top the whole mess off with Stovetop Stuffing and then bake for 30 minutes at 375 degrees. It's a pot pie for the kind of people who don't own a bathroom scale and have given up ever seeing their feet again.)

It's also raining, I've caught my wife's cold, and we're five movies into a Harry Potter Marathon.

Not sure if I've ever been happier.

And I once was the only heterosexual male in a dance troupe filled with daddy issues.

Anyway, assuming you too have made it unscathed through Black Friday, it's time for a couple of shots of DayQuil, and a deep dive into what is left of your fantasy football team.

Or what's left on the waiver wire.

Which, if you too, like me, follow such things closely, know that even the good people at Kraft would be clueless on how to make a meal off these ingredients.

In one of my leagues, New Orleans is the Top Defense available.

You people are hoarders and should be ashamed of yourselves.

One of my opponents this week is seriously holding on to Adrian Peterson.

Mike.

Though . . . to be fair . . . I'm still holding on to AJ Green (who I know in my core is done) and Matthew Stafford. But that's because if Wilson goes down, the next best QB on the wire (I shit you not) is Tolzien.

And Wilson CAN get hurt in the last few weeks before and during the playoffs.

I'm also looking at the same team and realizing that I'm rooting for two Giants. Jennings and Tye.

Fantasy Football really messes with your moral compass.

You go into it thinking you're Dumbledore and 11 weeks later you're thankful just to be a Weasely.

Though, to be fair, Weasley makes it alive through the sixth book.

And if that's a spoiler for you, I don't know what to say other than Darth Vader is Luke's father, the Bad News Bears lose the final game, and Old Yeller gets shot in the end.

Shot dead.

Not AJ Green who may come alive in a few weeks . . . dead, dead.

And why is it that I have such crap luck with Hand-Cuffs? I've been holding Gillislee ever since Week 3 and every time McCoy gets hurt, Gillislee gets worse hurt. It's like holding on to the kind of relationship where you get mad and then she gets mad that you're mad. And then you feel bad about getting mad and she gets even madder because you're not the kind of man who can't stick up for himself.

It's like spending a fortune in flowers only to be rewarded by unenthusiastic make-up sex.

Or what I like to call "The Percy Harvin Effect"

Or the "Sammy Watkins Syndrome"

Or the "Christine Michael Conundrum"

Mike.

I could go on and on I guess, but there's about to be a full on wizarding duel and I'm really hoping Serious Black makes it through this time.

THE BIG NEWS

Colin Kaepernick is playable in fantasy leagues.

I'm just going to leave that there.

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS

Karlos Williams is suspended 10 games for drug use and I gotta say, that makes me feel bad. I mean I can't relate, no one has ever offered me millions of dollars just to stay in shape and not get stoned, but could you imagine waking up after a three day bender and realizing you threw away your life just by making the kinds of mistakes that 20year olds make?

But I guess you can't re-litigate the rules.

Unless you're Donald Trump who INSISTS that coal is clean (it isn't), tax breaks for the rich will trickle down (they don't), and Mexicans are bad for the economy (don't even look at the price of guacamole at Chipotle in a Post-Wall America, because you can't afford it).

In saying that, I hope y'all had a good Thanksgiving and there wasn't too much strife.

And a shout out to my buddy Jeremy's dad who said "I don't know if joining the protests will achieve anything, but I'm seventy four years old and I think it's time for me to get arrested."

And if you needed another push toward the liberal agenda, just remember that a majority owner in the Kraft company is married to our current Secretary of State.

Try the leftover casserole.

It's delicious.

FANTASYLAND:

Teddy's Stump Speech (8-3) 2nd place.
Cheney's Shotgun (7-4) 5th place.
Trump's Twitter Game (8-3) 1st place.

I'm running out of time here, but I just wanted to take note that on a single team last week (Cheney), I lost AJ Green, McCoy, Prosise, and Zach Miller in the span of 45 minutes, and still eked out a win over Grandpa Pudding Pop.

How you ask?

Dumb-ass luck, I say.

Sounds about right, Mike replies.

But I'm still in the running for the playoffs in every league, I'll take dumb-ass luck anywhere I can get it.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 11

Cameron Meredith unleashes the Garbage Time Cutler Kraken.
NOPE.

The Packers drop Christine Michael because he looked so much taller on his Facebook Page.
NOPE.

Frank Gore makes me proud to be a believer.
YEP . . . THEN A WEEK 12 NOPE

Ken Dixon becomes the lead man in Baltimore.
DEAD HEAT

Out of the three major lineup decisions I make this week (QB, RB, LB), I will be right on two of them and the third won't cost me the game.
PERFECT SCORE, WILSON ROCKED, LAVONTE WET THE BED, AND PROSISE WENT DOWN AS JENNINGS WENT OFF. STILL WON.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 12

Watkins surprises the hell out of everyone.

The third string QB for Chicago makes Meredith a bigger star than Hoyer ever did.

Cleveland surprises the Giants by wearing clown make-up and they still lose.

New Orleans becomes a top ten defense because I ridiculed them

The Jets beat New England and Frankie gives up ever watching football again because he's never been this happy and wants to go out on top.



Shit . . . Serious Black is dead. Again. When will he ever learn to duck?

I wonder if Kraft has a recipe for snap peas and pumpkin pie slices?

I bet they do, and I bet it's delicious, because they're not the kind of people who would fill the Environmental Protection Agency with folk who think Global Warming is a fraud perpetuated by the Chinese.

May your Week 12 be filled hopes, dreams, dumb-ass luck, and the best leftovers this side of the waiver wire.

The 40ft Post: The Read Option

So Week 11 is upon us folks.

Not that I need to tell you that, though there is a certain Packer Fan in one of my leagues that has refused to drop Eddie Lacy.

It's time brother . . . it's time.

Christine Michael will be grabable tomorrow morning. Go get him.

This time last year I was staring down the long road of play-off ineligibility, hoping to retrieve at least some dignity, and maybe pull off an upset that will hurt the chances of my arch nemesis(s).

If you do not have at least several arch nemesis(s) in this game, you are not playing the right way at all.

Like at all at all.

You should be growing enemies the way my brother grows butter-nut squash.

Large, tasteless, and prolific.

I have hoped that I would grow my enemy base with this blog alone, though from the reports, I think I've only truly offended Peter, who is very sensitive about his Giants, and let's face it . . . that's low hanging fruit.

Uncle Frankie is unflappable when I tease the Jets. Steve is pricing Cowboys jerseys but won't pull the trigger until 2018 where he'll know once and for all if Dak is the real deal. Adam's love for the Texans is ethereal, and Dad hinted that he might be rooting for the Jaguars this season, but hasn't mentioned it since August, and he has yet to pick Victor Cruz off the waiver wire.

There's not much pain and vitriol I can stir with any of that.

I've tried to elicit some hate mail from Mike, but I have this sinking suspicion that he's rather above the fray. You can envision him in a smoking jacket, on a leather chair reading the Wall Street Journal, and possibly using a monogrammed handkerchief to clean the smudges off his monocle.

I really wanna go after Grandpa Pudding Pop and his undying love for the Patriots, but they keep winning and there's nothing more important in the life of a Patriot Fan than being able to say "I told you so."

They're those kinds of people. Every match is a grudge match.

I'm going up against him this week, while he and the family, no kidding, will be at the Patriot-Niner Game in Santa Clara tomorrow. The point projection looks pretty even, but there are a hell of a lot of game time decisions I gotta make and I'm feeling a little nervous about the pure magic of my UC Davis Tank Top.

Not quite as nervous as my brother who is going to be sitting next to rowdy Patriots fans at a Niner game, but nervous none-the-less.

Which brings me to the sorta point I was going to start with, which is where we are now at in the Season 2016.

See, in the first few weeks, you're just kinda hoping that all that research has paid off and your first few picks are doing what they're supposed to. It's kind of the evaluation portion of our fake little game. Those that are waiver wire savvy love this part.

In the mid-weeks, you're dealing with injuries, bye weeks, shoring up your weaknesses, crossing your fingers that you're strengths are what they seem to be, and the tough decisions really fall when you have to admit that your guy isn't pulling his weight (for me it was Marvin Jones and Jerrick McKinnon.) You're not thinking about playoffs.

But now, I'm afraid to say, you fall in one of three categories. Top of the charts with a full head of steam, middle of the pack with the taste of glory and defeat making a sort of beef lemon stew in your mouth, or down at the bottom where the best you can hope for is the pain and aguish on the faces of those you're drinking with.

And in each of those categories, you've got too many options. Your team is all healthy, the waiver wire is empty, no one's on a Bye Week, and you've got some decisions to make at the line of scrimmage.

One little mistake, one little QB controversy, one little zig where you probably shoulda zagged, and the ghost of Grandpa Pudding Pop is going to send you automated texts from now until the Super Bowl that says just one thing: 

"I told you so."

Like, is it time for a Marvin Jones resurgence? Probably not, but who knows. Both Jennings and Prosise showered me with quite a lot of love last week, but which one is gonna be my best flex option this week? Jennings has got some pedigree as a late season bloomer, and Prosise can't seem to be covered anywhere on the field, but Seattle felt so comfortable with a healed Rawls that they threw away a perfectly good running back.

And the projections are not helping at all.

How many times have you screamed at the TV because ESPN says Fleener is not on the fantasy radar when he goes off for 60 yards and a TD, while Lance Kendricks lines up like a flaccid penis?

The LA Rams really need a metaphorical fluffer to help with half-time adjustments.

Hell . . . maybe they need a literal fluffer.

Keenum's adorable wife might not like that, but it's not like he's ever going to see the field again.

Wait . . . where was I?

Oh yeah . . . projections . . .

It's really hard to make projections, and it's even really harder not to buy into the professional expertise. There are people who are paid actual money to pretend to do that.

They are the people who constantly tell you that Gronk is a good buy in the first round. That Beckham is a better pick than David Johnson. That Brees in the 4th round is a bad idea when you can get Bortles in the 10th.

Predicting the future is no easy thing.

Like, if you were to predict what I'm going to be doing for Thanksgiving break, and you DIDN'T include shopping for fencing gear, teaching my son how to play Bad Religion songs on the bass guitar, and narrating a four hour audiobook using my best Johnny Cash impersonation . . . well . . . you'd be wrong.

You might predict I will drink beer, watch football, and eat turkey, but that's not where championships are won.

Take for instance my epic match with Grandpa Pudding Pop (BullyDOG)

The projection says it is my 202 to his 204. If I go with Prosise instead of Jennings, I drop a point, maybe no big deal, but still. And if I load up a Tennessee Line Backer and bench Lavonte David (who has been sadly killing me softly) I drop another three. A few little tweaks like that and the projections will be something more like 195 to 204, and though its really not that scary . . . it sure feels scary.

But you have to run the read-option. Walk up to the line of scrimmage like a man (or woman . . . whatever your ideal image of confidence is), look at what your opponent is set up to do and make a decision.

Some will be right . . . some will be wrong . . . and sometimes it rains.

All right, this has gone on a little long so we'll short note the usual segments:

THE BIG NEWS:

Christine Michael is as welcome in Seattle as Mike Pence was at a Broadway show. 

(If you missed that reference, our VP Elect went to see Hamilton and was booed at. Apparently he's not popular with homosexuals, black people, women, non-christians, and white people who read things)

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS

Gronk will not be making the trip to Santa Clara. I will be deleting any Fantasy Football Ap that puts him in Top Ten next year.

FANTASYLAND:

Teddy's Stump Speech (8-2) 2nd place.

Trump's Twitter Game (7-3) 1st place.

Cheney's Shotgun (6-4) 5th place.

Odd couple of games last week. None of my teams did badly, in fact, none of them came under the projections, I just happened to go against teams that lit up the scoreboard. Except the Frankie/Steve love connection. Them I beat fair and square, just not enough to move the needle.

Teddy is only three points from the Top Spot. Every win counts, but it will take some serious suckage to push me out of the playoffs.

Cheney is holding on by a thread, but unlike the real Cheney, his heart is strong, and unlike Iraq, loaded with weapons of mass destruction.

Trump's an enigma. (Go figure) He packs the one-two punch with Brees and David Johnson, but everywhere else it's a coin toss. 

The problem with him is that he's won too much. (Oh, the irony). Which means Waiver Wire priority has been super low (I don't get who I want no matter how fast I pull the trigger), there's a seven player bench, so the waiver wire was slim to begin with, and the league is set up in divisions, so even though he's top dog, he could statistically fall from grace in a single game.

Though spiritually, I'm very excited that the REAL Trump has been given his Twitter privileges back.

That shit is gold.

Or whatever substitute they use for gold on those casino bannisters.

For instance, after his running mate was booed, Trump tweeted that the cast of Hamilton should show more respect.

Yeah. Read that again. 

So much rad right there.

Unless of course if you're gay, black, female, non-christian, or a white guy who knows the definition of irony.

All y'all are screwed. That's my projection.

(Imagine me saying that in my best Johnny Cash impersonation.)

Here's some other projections:

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 10

Russell Wilson gives me a 40 point game.

48.52 to be exact. The QB controversy continues.

Rashad Jennings proves his back half is his best half and I leave that without commenting further.

Not for three quarters, but then BAM, he may be a keeper.

David Johnson leaves the field 10 minutes into the 49er game, not because of injury, but because he's already ran for 207 yards and 3 touchdowns.

Chip and Company held him down pretty well to 101 all purpose yards and a single TD. Which . . . I don't know why that could possibly sound sad, but it does.

The Muscle Hamster returns to glory and I make chinchilla jokes with mouthfuls of spicy bird flesh.

Not a lot of room to run, but you don't need room on first and goal. 2 TDS, 33 yards. But if you're looking for a good time, Buffalo Wild Wings has great staff, decent hot wings, and the Elysium Space  Dust was very tasty.

One of you catches yourself singing "Put on a Happy Face" in the shower . . . Mike.

We'll probably never know, unless someone cares to admit it . . . Frank. 


Just remember though, if you are going to sing show-tunes, make sure you pay some respect to a man who thinks you can pray the gay away.

You can't BTW. You can't pray the gay away.

But it's finally nice seeing Trump come to the aid of the mentally disabled.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 11

Cameron Meredith unleashes the Garbage Time Cutler Kraken.

The Packers drop Christine Michael because he looked so much taller on his Facebook Page.

Frank Gore makes me proud to be a believer.

Ken Dixon becomes the lead man in Baltimore.

Out of the three major lineup decisions I make this week (QB, RB, LB), I will be right on two of them and the third won't cost me the game.



All right . . . that's enough for me . . . may you finish Week 11 with hope, confidence, a capable fluffer, show tunes in your heart, and that you're too drunk for the existential crisis to sink in.

Goodnight, and good luck.

The 40ft Post: Bye, Bye, Birdie

Gray skies are gonna clear up.

Unless you're cynical or a catastrophist. Or have a pre-existing condition.

Put on a happy face.

Tony Bennet's voice has been singing that tune in ads for Michelobe Ultra all season long. Every time it comes on I challenge my drinking buddies to name the musical it came from.

They look at me bleary eyed, doubtful, and mildly annoyed.

"It's from Bye, Bye, Birdie!" I exclaim with a certain amount of joy.

They shake their heads and look down at their feet, except Mike, who knew that already and purses his lips and counts to ten.

I'm fun at parties . . . I swear.

I was actually in that musical once upon a time. Conrad Birdie was the roll, and I was terrible in it. Not just terrible, but I was also in my early twenties, dressed in a gold spandex jumpsuit designed for someone much smaller than me, and it was a children's theater production . . . so I was terrible . . . and super, super, creepy.

The front row saw more of my testicles than should be absolutely legal.

But to give a historical perspective . . . the year was 1997 . . . Bill Clinton was president . . . repealing the Glass-Steagal Act . . . Signing the Defense of Marriage Act . . . and showing more of his testicles than needs to be seen by young girls too.

They were simpler times.

Anyway, for football purposes, we are just about out of BYE Week hell (my teams have been feeling the heat), and tomorrow there are tentative plans for the first annual pilgrimage to a place that serves Hot Buffalo Wings along with a good selection of beer, which means that we will be sacrificing all kinds of chicken parts to the gods of early morning hunger.

Hence the title "Bye, Bye, Birdie."

It's a double entendre.

And not an excuse to talk about my testicles being squeezed together in shiny gold for a live audience.

I do enough of that for a living now.

Not joking . . . ask my fan base.

Anyway . . . enough . . .

THE BIG NEWS

Gee whiz . . . there's so much to choose from . . . where shall I begin?

How about Travis Kelce being fined $24,309 for throwing his towel at an official?

In fact, thanks to late hits, horse collar tackles, and one first fight, the NFL racked up about $200,000 in fines last week.

Which is likely the same cost of a single Michelobe Ad.

See how I brought that back around?

It doesn't look like anyone's spreading sunshine all over the place.

I'm laughing right now because the only other adult in the Bye, Bye, Birdie cast was a friend of mine, and we constantly changed the lyrics of that song to reflect our filthy filthy minds.

I can't repeat them here.

But it certainly wasn't spreading sunshine.

And it wasn't a frown being brushed off, and nobody was sticking out their noble chin.

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS

Pot is legal in California everybody. It won't be ready for retail until 2018, but you can smoke up all you want, right now, Josh Gordon in red and gold.

How high am I right now?

Not as high as Doug Martin owners, Dion Lewis stashers, and Tony Romo believers.

Actually, Romo probably won't see the field this season. But neither will Jesus Christ, and he's got a hell of a following.

See what I did there? Another Double-Entendre.

Cough, cough.

FANTASYLAND:

Teddy's Stump Speech (8-1) 1st place
Cheney's Shotgun (5-4) 5th place
Trump's Twitter Game (7-2) 1st place.

You might look at those stats and think I know what I'm doing. Three winning teams heading out of the Bye Weeks, in contention like a playa.

You'd be wrong . . . you'd be so vastly wrong.

Not quite as wrong as the liberal media and their polling data . . . but more like a 40 year old Dick Van Dyke pretending to be married to an 18 year old Mary Tyler Moore . . . kinda wrong.

Dick was in the original cast of Bye, Bye, Birdie . . . that's why that reference is both funny and on message.

See the reason you're wrong is that I am due for an epic melt down, and there are some contenders out there who are gunning for me, with their steely little eyes and their tiny little hands (Mr. Gold), they've got Waiver Wire priority and benches filled with replacement players.

I am, however, going against Mr. Steve in two leagues and there may be a possibility he melts down before I do, but in one of those leagues, Cheney's Shotgun, I have five of my benched players on BYE, and the one that is playing this week is Christine Michael, who I'm betting is going to lose touches to CJ Prosise, who I've got loaded up instead.

Here's the thing with that decision. Seattle is playing The Patriots. Both have excellent but beatable defenses and excellent but beatable offenses.

Michael is injured. Prosise is not.

Coach Pete Carroll has said that Prosise will see a lot of game time this week.

The Patriots are weakest against RB's catching out of the backfield . . . Prosise's forte, as you will . . . and it's a PPR league.

Everything points in the right direction.

But I've been CJayed before.

I've been CJayed so hard.

Slapped with more than a happy grin . . . I must say.

And if you'll remember from a few blogs back, being "CJayed" is the euphemism I use instead of saying that "a player just didn't live up to the hype."

So if I'm CJayed this week, it will be my own fault, I know the danger.

Maybe I should "pick out a pleasant out look" and "wipe off that full of doubt look" and "put on a happy face"

But I know my game.

Getting CJayed is my game.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 9

Oakland beats Denver in the best prime time game of the year.
CALLED IT . . . CALLED IT!

Stafford becomes the only QB to throw for 350 yards against Minnesota.
I WAS OFF BY A MERE 131 YARDS. THAT'S NOTHING TO THE ELECTORAL COLLEGE.

Frank Gore has his second 100 yard performance.
60, BUT HE DID HAVE 2 TDS.

I forget to wear my lucky tank-top Monday Night, McCoy and Gillislee are useless.
HOLY, BLOODY, CALLED IT, WE WENT TO A MOVIE AND I DIDN'T DON MY TANK!

Steve forgets to set his clock back and spends an hour alone at the bar being goaded into 22 ounce servings of Miller Highlife by a girl with a spray tan and a Lone-Star tattoo, because she too is a Cowboy's fan, and he certainly doesn't look like the kinda guy that would drive a Toyota Echo.
NOPE . . . BUT WE DID GET A FREE SAMPLE OF BBQ CHICKEN PIZZA . . . WHICH WAS NICE.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 10

Russell Wilson gives me a 40 point game.

Rashad Jennings proves his back half is his best half and I leave that without commenting further.

David Johnson leaves the field 10 minutes into the 49er game, not because of injury, but because he's already ran for 207 yards and 3 touchdowns.

The Muscle Hamster returns to glory and I make chinchilla jokes with mouthfuls of spicy bird flesh.

One of you catches yourself singing "Put on a Happy Face" in the shower . . . Mike.


Now if any of that happens, or you find yourself laughing out loud this week, share this with your friends on Myspace . . . and remember that gray skies ARE gonna clear up . . . and the only thing we have to fear is clowns.

The 40ft Post: What do the Polls Say?

I'm sure you know by now that there is an election going on right here in the United States.

Even Uncle Frankie is planning to vote, though I'm pretty sure it's more because of the possibility of recreational marijuana than to stop a self proclaimed demagogue from having open access to the biggest military in the world.

Priorities.

You probably may have guessed by my left leaning essays, that I'm not a likely Trump supporter.

Though, truth be told, that wasn't always the case. In fact, I wrote a piece for a political website in August of 2015 that Trump was the least completely icky primary competitor.

I'm not quite sure I continue to stand by that, but Ted Cruz still gives me the Heebie-Jeebies.

The article has since been pulled down, but I still have a copy of it . . . and boy was I right on the nose about the emblematic rift of Republican continuity. "This is what the vitriol has wrought" I said.

Please clap.

The reason I bring it up here, in a fantasy football blog, is because chasing fantasy points is all about prediction, strategy, luck, and I am, by my very nature, terrible at all of those. A quick poll of all my years in fantasy will tell you so.

"How can you be terrible at luck?" Mike asks, because he's intelligent and pragmatic.

"AJ MF Green, Mike." I sigh.

"AJ MF Green indeed." he replies.

Another case in point: My brother loads up a back-up Tampa Bay running back and gets the two greatest weeks Jaquizz Rogers is likely to ever have.

I do the same thing, and I get Antone Smith for about 26 minutes of mediocre play.

I also happened to forget to wear my lucky tank-top on Thursday, which was clearly my bad.

Will not happen again, even if my wife teases me about my ever graying patch of chest hair. 

The college girls at the bars with too much make-up trying to sell me pints of Rolling Rock don't seem to mind.

That's an interesting digression. I don't know if you've been spending any of your Sunday mornings in bars, but if you haven't, there's this weird (and sort of grotesque) practice of paying college-age girls to promote tasteless beer. They wear matching uniforms, pass out key chains, and if you order what they're peddling, you get a souvenir pint glass or some such.

I guess it works . . . otherwise it wouldn't be a thing . . . but I find it a little uncomfortable . . . mostly because I've been happily married for over a quarter of my life . . . and I drive a Toyota Echo which conveniently disqualifies me from opportunities of casual sex.

Though . . . to be perfectly fair . . . there was a patch in the 90s where I drove a '64 Galaxie and dated a Bud girl, so I'm being a little disingenuous.

Had I predicted my fate then . . . I would have been way off. Thankfully, I had a good strategy, and a whole lotta luck.

And that's what it comes down to as we enter Week 9. Normally I'm sitting here at my desk, saddened by yet another lost season and hoping that I will maybe win at least one bragging rights victory.

This is where I would mention how I beat my brother last week . . . but I'm a much bigger man than that.

However, and we'll get to this in detail later, I am #1 in two leagues, and still within playoff reach in the third. The polls are looking good.

THE BIG NEWS:

So Mr. Percy Harvin is going to suit up again for the Bills. I don't know how closely you've watched his career, but it's been fascinating. 

I had him back in his Minnesota days when he was just on the cusp of a super year when injury struck.

I had him again with Seattle and totally lost my playoff bid when he had two TD's called back. In fact, I followed the numbers that year and discovered I would have taken top dog if just one of those TDs had been made official.

I've been a Seattle hater ever since.

I was a Seattle hater before, but I've also been one ever since.

My prediction is he has a couple of nice looking catches, and then gets hurt during the Bye week.

My strategy is to stay the hell away from him. (maybe I'll take a flyer in one of my WR-less teams.)

My luck says I'm going to go against the guy (or gal) who grabbed him up, and I lose by one TD.

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS

Well we all know who is down. Except those of us with Shady McCoy. He could go in, he might not, he could set up a timeshare with Gillislee which does no one any good, and there's a fourth option there somewhere that I can't even begin to wrap my head around.

And what the hell is going on with all the Joshs this year?

Josh Huff just got tossed off the Eagles after being arrested with a 9mm and a baggie of pot.

Josh Gordon stoned, Josh Brown reviled, Josh McCown made of glass, Josh Lambo blew two kicks for a loss to Denver and I'm really expecting the Niners to start kicking the tires on Josh Freeman.

He's a free agent this year after the Colts dropped him in the 2015 season. Yes . . . he did in fact play for them last year.

He wasn't good. 15 completions, 149 yrds, 1 Td, 1 Int, 7 sacks. 49 yrds rushing. I think those numbers should now be called "The Kaepernick Stats."

But speaking to the Niners . . . I heard a radio program that was saying they should really consider picking Huff off the waiver wire.

Apparently the polls say the Niners need receivers, and since, thanks to Frank's voting record, pot is gonna be legal in this state in January, they should probably go get Josh Gordon too. With Freeman under center they could have an all Josh team.

Not you, Josh Brown, domestic violence is still illegal, you Keystone Light drinking douche-bag.

FANTASYLAND:

Teddy's Stump Speech (7-1) 1st place

Trump's Twitter Game (6-2) 1st place

Cheney's Shot Gun (5-3) 5th place

Well . . . the injury bug . . . which I've been lucky enough to avoid most of the year . . . is starting to bite.

However, it's biting everybody, and this stretch of Bye Weeks hurts all around. But every contest is going to be close . . . except for Cheney . . . he's probably gonna get beat pretty hard . . . especially if the McCoy problem isn't ironed out by Monday night. But he'll still have a winning record and his place in the standings won't move much either way.

Did I mention that my Cheney beat my brother's WolfHunter last week?

Of course I didn't . . . I'm way too much of an adult to point such things out.

But we are in the final stretch. Time to start looking for guys who can take us to the play-offs and beyond. Someone's gonna reach for Harvin.

Probably me . . . because I enjoy atypical punishment . . . and Marvin Jones is breaking my heart all around the world.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 8

This was a terrible week for predictions BTW . . . proving my earlier point.

Every Packers receiver is Fantasy Gold!
NOT, especially not with Cobb and Montgomery killing my hopes for a Trump win.

Philly's D lights up Dak Prescott, proving every analyst wrong and making Steve hate me a little.
Nope.

Bibbs is the new Booker
Super nope.

I win at least one match-up this week.
This one's true.

I don't agonize over my Stafford/Wilson predicament, and I choose right, but I still lose to my brother because of a guy name Jaquizz MF Rogers.
This one was pleasantly untrue as well. Because I won.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 9

Oakland beats Denver in the best prime time game of the year.

Stafford becomes the only QB to throw for 350 yards against Minnesota.

Frank Gore has his second 100 yard performance

I forget to wear my lucky tank-top Monday Night, McCoy and Gillislee are useless.

Steve forgets to set his clock back and spends an hour alone at the bar being goaded into 22 ounce servings of Miller Highlife by a girl with a spray tan and a Lone-Star tattoo, because she too is a Cowboy's fan, and he certainly doesn't look like the kinda guy that would drive a Toyota Echo.



All right, that's enough for this week. I hope you win all your matches (unless you're playing against me of course.) I hope you all go vote on Tuesday.

Elections don't get much more terrifying than this one is, especially considering that I had to explain to my mother-in-law Prop 60, which is about condoms in pornography.

That was a helluva conversation.

Which about wraps it up.

(read those last three lines again.)

The 40ft Post: Asleep at the Wheel

So my wife and step-mom have been spending the week out in Syracuse, NY visiting my step-son who, if the pictures are any indication, is getting his masters degree at Hogwarts.

I've heard two things about the place: One . . . it's cold. And Two . . . we should be missing them a lot more than we are.

My wife keeps telling me to call my dad because . . . and I quote . . . he sounds sad.

He's not sad.

He's drunk, covered in nacho cheese sauce, and wondering if a bacon ranch Dorito sandwich is a healthy breakfast for the dog.

I haven't been able to be so blasé because, you know, kid stuff.

Although I did sleep in til 10am this morning and it was magical.

I did run out of coffee though.

That's a little depressing.

Though not quite as depressing as CJ Anderson.

See . . . a couple of weeks ago there was some rumblings that a time share was building up in Denver and some guy named Booker was looking like Kubiak's shiny new toy.

I . . . being an Anderson holder in two leagues . . . looked at the aforementioned Booker on the waiver wire and said to my self "Nah . . . I absolutely hate handcuffs on my roster"

And I'll tell you why:

They force you to making bad choices.

Like tequila.

Last year I was heavily into having Darren Mcfadden in my line-up because he looked super spry and would be running behind the best offensive line he'd ever had.

But I needed a linebacker in the first few weeks because Kuechly was injured and I certainly wasn't going to drop Jamaal Charles' handcuff.

Who then . . . was Kniles Davis.

So I drop Run DMC, who finishes the year as the #3 RB, and keep Kniles Davis who doesn't see the field.

I've told that story before, so let me tell you about Week 6.

Week 6 McCoy goes down in the middle of the game after putting up insane numbers and knowing his mileage, I race out and get Gillislee. Then Week 7 happens and both Shady and his back-up appear to be fighting over who can suck the most, so I've got two guys on my bench doing nothing.

And I can't use either of them until Week 11 when they're back from the BYE. Maybe Gillislee this week, but certainly not against Seattle in Week 9.

Yick.

Shoulda gone with Booker, but I was sleep at the wheel.

Ooops.

And to top it off, McKinnon has done nothing for me all year, probably won't ever, but I still can't seem to get him off my mind.

Somehow . . . he completes me.

Thank the lord for Frank Gore and his hot-tub time machine. I mean he'll never break for big yardage, but he scores more points falling forward then any other back in the league.

THE BIG NEWS

Obviously this is old news, but I find myself still saddened by the retirement of Arian Foster. Not quite bacon Dorito sandwich sad, but watching him play was a thing of beauty.

Aldon Smith is applying for reinstatement and word around Oakland is that upper management has replaced all his NWA cassette tapes with Prairie Home Companion podcasts.

I heard he's got a thing for Terri Gross too.

Peter's Giants finally dropped Josh Brown, which is good for me, because domestic violence jokes are really hit and miss.

Read that last sentence again.

If you're a HARD KNOCKS fan, how bad do you feel right now for the Texans and their choice of QB? As a Niner fan, that hurts something awful doesn't it?

Bill O'Brian got hit right in the chin dimple with that one.

Though I will say that Kaepernick has put together at least two decent quarters. Now he just needs to do that in a single game. Twice.

I too was thinking about trying a vegan diet while my wife is away, but I still can't eat an entire banana.

I'd make a terrible homosexual.

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS:

Everything hurts.

FANTASY LAND

Teddy's Stump Speech (6-1) 1st place
Cheney's Shotgun (4-3) 5th place
Trump's Twitter Game (6-1) 1st place


Well, it finally happened, after seven solid weeks of nearly injury free fantasy football, every single one of my teams has been bitten by the turf monster in miraculous and terrible ways. I'm sure you all are feeling the pain as much as I am.

Unless you've got Jaquizz and Booker . . . like my brother.

Who I get to play this week, and I'm seriously thinking about not mentioning our usual side-bet, because I'm broke, and he likes really good scotch.

We all like really good scotch . . . right Dad? . . . Dad? . . . you okay there buddy?

Each match-up this week looks pretty scary and I've got a lot of injured bodies and teams on BYE.

If Teddy is to have a chance, I need Aaron Rodgers to throw throw throw.

If Trump is gonna live up to the hype, I need Rob Kelly to show me what he's got, and for Montgomery and Cobb to catch every last damn ball that Aaron throws.

And Cheney, wow, this one's gonna be ugly, because the game will absolutely come down to which quarterback I choose, Stafford against Houston, or Wilson against New Orleans.

I choose right . . . I've got a chance.

I choose wrong and there's a possibility I drop out of contention for the play-offs, because the rest of my season does NOT look great.

Maybe I'll head over to my dad's to check on the dog and see if he's got any Goldshlager left.

Anyway, since I was clearly in a stupor for week seven, here are last blogs CSTs

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 6

1. Kaepernick's Stats Identical to Gabbert's Week 5

Nailed it. Kap: (13 completions, 187yrds, 1TD, 66 rushing) Blaine (18,162,2,70)

2. Falcons/Seahawks game higher scoring than Saints/Panthers

Nope. 50-79 (never underestimate Brees at home.)

3. Texan's defense finally makes Adam proud again

Ooh . . . ick.

4. I agonize all week over my Stafford/Wilson predicament, and choose wrong.

I did, I did, but I still won.

5. AJ MF Green . . . I won't give up . . . I won't . . . Mike.

Nope because New England . . . but Cleveland Week 7 . . . I cried a little.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 8

Every Packers receiver is Fantasy Gold!

Philly's D lights up Dak Prescott, proving every analyst wrong and making Steve hate me a little.

Bibbs is the new Booker

I win at least one match-up this week

I don't agonize over my Stafford/Wilson predicament, and I choose right, but I still lose to my brother because of a guy name Jaquizz MF Rogers.


All righty then. It's late Saturday afternoon and I've got a sandwich to make and I should probably call my Dad.

The 40ft Post: And . . . there's a flag on the play.

So I yelped a little bit last night, watching the Broncos/Chargers game on my twitter feed during my son's fencing lesson.

If that is not the whitest sentence I have ever written, then I don't know what is.

I deserve a pumpkin spice latte for that one.

Anyway, CJ Anderson, whom I have loaded up in two of my three fantasy teams, punches in a touchdown after doing almost nothing throughout the rest of the game, and there's a flag on the play.

Dammit.

It wasn't even a necessary hold.

Anderson was long gone from the line of scrimmage by the time the offensive hold took place.

Grrr.

I think I got CeeJayed.

Which is the expression I've used ever since I drafted CJ Spiller in the first round of 2013.

It means I listened to the hype and got super burned.

I really should have more trust issues by now.

I also realized I wasn't wearing my lucky tank top.

So that one's on me.

My bad.

Flag on the play.



But back to Week 5 . . .

So one year . . . I did this thing.

I was losing so terribly that I decided to throw caution to the wind and suck up every waiver wire darling I could and remake my team on a week to week basis.

That failed . . . but so does supply side economics.

Even Alan Greenspan agrees.

And he could have been a professional flute player.

Anyway, there was this one magical week where I loaded up some guy (I honestly can't remember if it was Alan Hurns, or Andrew Hawkins), but the dude went off, like stratosphere off, and over time some Fantasy Football pundit would joke that Hurns/Hawkins stats helped NO ONE.

Except me.

It helped me.

And because of that, I strutted around the house for like three days wearing a vest made of animal pelts and insisting to my wife that it was perfectly reasonable to drink malt liquor out of a ram's horn.

The magic didn't last . . . unlike supply side economics . . . and I was back to my dismal self a few days later.

So I told you that story so I could tell you this one:

My brother, god bless, actually had Jacquizz (Gesundheight) in his line-up this week.

Blew my mind.

First . . . because I know Jacquizz . . . not personally . . . but he's one of those guys that is ALWAYS sitting on the waiver wire begging for a chance, the way my family begs for a puppy.

The answer is no.

It's always been no, it will always be no, and if you ask me one more time I'm going to take away your iPod.

But there he was, sitting in my brother's line-up, the SPCA having given him another chance.

That is the magic of Fantasy Football.

You know who didn't have the magic?

AJ MF Green . . . Mike was right . . . AJ MF Green.

However, it was one of those matches that didn't make a difference.

Karen had RuthlessBurger and Zeke. There was no way around that one. I was toast before I finished my first beer.

Which . . . I'm proud to say . . . was around 11:30am Sunday morning.

Usually I'm taking the head off my third by then, flag or no flag.

Alright . . . to the Bat Mobile!

THE BIG NEWS

We all knew Brady was gonna have a good game. I even had a little side bet that Bennet was going to blow it up.

He did. Ha ha.

But seriously, did anyone think Karlos Williams was going to get picked up by the Steelers? I mean sure . . . he's just a slightly tubby member of their practice squad . . . but he had to look a little more spry than Justin Forsett, who got grabbed by the Lions.

And everyone kept murmuring about Tennessee's exotic smash mouth running game, but that title clearly goes to the Falcons who seem to be the only team that is lighting up the stats with two running backs.

And Hoyer, whoosh, I keep waiting for him to have a Texas style melt down and it doesn't seem to be happening.

Everything's bigger in Texas I guess, except for the Texans.

What is it about massive QB contracts that seem so terrible in hindsight?

Can you feel how smug the Jets' front office feels right now after holding Fitzmagic to a one year contract? Their letterhead must read "I told you so."

FLAG.

And then there's Kaepernick, which we'll get to later.

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS:

Not a lot of guys going down (though I feel sorta bad about Peter, who had to watch Lacy on the sidelines for the last quarter while losing to me by a mere 9 points. He was two runs and a TD away from making me eat crow.)

But a lot of dudes coming back . . . Jennings, Foster, Charles, other players I've clearly forgotten, there's gonna be a lot of turnover on Fantasy rosters this week, and that looks fun.

Nobody's getting high, hurting women or children or puppy dogs, or campaigning for Donald Trump, so it's been a nice stretch of common sense this week.

Except for the Broncos' ALL ORANGE Jerseys. They looked like they were all wearing feety pajamas. Or Dr. Seuss characters.

They looked like slow moving traffic cones.

Except Von Miller, there is nothing slow about that man.

Roughing the passer indeed. Flag.

HERE'S SOMETHING I DIDN'T KNOW:

So as I was searching around for football news, all of which seems to be focused on the upcoming return of Colin Kaepernick, I came upon this article from the Smithsonian about Francis Scott Key.

I did not know that the man who penned the words "The Land of the FREE" also said this about Africans in America:

“a distinct and inferior race of people, which all experience proves to be the greatest evil that afflicts a community.”

Wow.

That's um . . . well . . . wow.

Would you call that Offsides? Neutral Zone Infraction? Unsportsmanlike Conduct?

Anyway you call it . . . FLAG, FLAG, FLAG, FLAG!

I hated the song before . . . but jeez . . . where has that piece of information been all my life?

I feel like every book of history I had in my backpack throughout my school years was missing a vital chapter called "Oh . . . by the way . . . here's what really happened."

Imagine what this world might look like . . .

Speaking of imagination . . .

FANTASY LAND:

Teddy's Stump Speech (4-1) 2nd place
Trump's Twitter Game (4-1) 2nd place
Cheney's Shotgun (2-3) 6th place

I feel a little terrible now about my Team name choices, considering the last paragraph, but I was shooting for unstoppable forces, and EVIL is an unstoppable force.

Clearly.

Even though I lost to Karen, I still had a pretty good Week 5, and kept my 6th place in the rankings despite AJ MF Green . . . Mike was Right. And moved up to the Number 2 spot in both Teddy and Trump leagues.

Now here's the interesting thing . . . In Trump's league I bitched last week about being in 4th place because of the division match-ups. I had the exact record of my division leader, AND more points, which would have put me on top.

But Mr. Gold had won more division match-ups which put him ahead of me.

The only way I could "Trump" him would be if he lost and I won in Week 5.

That did happen . . . by the way . . . so no give backs . . . but here's the thing,

I was as invested in his losing as my winning. Not a normal preset for my tender heart, but certainly not out of the question. And I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to lose them, spectacularly.

So I looked up his opponent, Ice Burge, and noticed that he didn't have any WR's. They were all on BYE weeks, and the waiver wire was as gruesome as Francis Scott Key's biography.

So I offered Steve a trade, cause I had some good WR's and I wanted to store up my bench.

I offered him Cobb and Crowder, for his Snead and Draughn.

I never heard back from him. Not an "I'll think about it.", not a counter offer, not even a "No F**&ing Way". Just radio silence.

Jump forward a week . . . The two WR's he rode were Inman and Smith Jr.

Those two gave him a combined total of 2 points.

Cobb and Crowder combined for 19.

Delay of Game. 17 point penalty. Still 3rd down.



He still won the match against Mr. Gold . . . no give backs . . . and I ain't even mad cause Cobb done me good, but I wanted to point out that there haven't been any trades this year.

None.

Not even my brother, who I usually trade with almost once every three weeks.

I know y'all are scared. Except you Frank, you're an animal. But being able to trade is so much more thrilling than scrounging the waiver wire. Shore up your weaknesses, give a little, get a little.

Don't be chicken to put yourself out there. And when someone sends you a trade idea you think might be ridiculous, COUNTER. Sure it's everyman/woman for herself/himself, and for every time you leave 17 points on the floor, you might take the risk of having those 17 points used against you, but still.

Make it your goal to get some trading done this week and next.

Except you Frank . . . I like you as a power bottom . . . and I'll flag that anytime.

CRAZY STUPID PREKICTIONS WEEK 5

Kaepernick enters the game (damn . . . a whole week off)

Todd Gurley: 27 carries 8.5 yards (Did I say Gurley, cause I clearly meant to say my very own Mckinnon)

Odell Monster Game, still loses (5-56-1 and lost)

Garbage Time Stafford (The exact opposite, 3TDs first few minutes, bed wetting the rest of the way)_

AJ MF Green: (lol . . . just . . . lol . . . mike)

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 6

Kaepernick's Stats Identical to Gabbert's Week 5

Falcons/Seahawks game higher scoring than Saints/Panthers

Texan's defense finally makes Adam proud again

I agonize all week over my Stafford/Wilson predicament, and choose wrong.

AJ MF Green . . . I won't give up . . . I won't . . . Mike.



That's all for this week. I now get to enjoy the rainy day, cuddled up on a couch, reading a Western Romance book that I'll be narrating in a few days and practicing my country dialects.

Yep, that is officially the whitest sentence I've ever written.

I just hope the penalty is declined.

The 40ft Post: An Ode to Garbage Time

The year . . . 2014.

I was a strapping lad then, full of spit and vinegar.

Quite unlike the snot and merlot I'm filled with now.

Actually I try not to drink too much before noon. I'm fairly convinced the Crossing Guard at my son's school carries a breathalyzer in that formidable looking purse.

But back to the past.

After the most disappointing 2013 any fantasy football enthusiast has ever had, I came roaring from behind and stayed competitive throughout the whole 2014 season.

"How the hell did that happen?" you gasp.

"But you're doomed!" an audience members screams.

"Down here . . . we all float . . . " says the clown in my drainage pipe.


But I had something in my back pocket, and it was fully loaded, the hammer cocked.

That thing . . . was Garbage Time Jay Cutler.

And it was a thing of beauty.

With Brandan Marshall, Alshon Jeffery, Martelius Bennet, Matt Forte, and a defense like a trailer park in a hurricane, Garbage Time Cutler had no choice but to throw throw throw.

And throw he did.

I won't belabor the point. I know you'd rather have a very angry Tom Brady than a Garbage Time Hero, with cocaine still on his lapel, and a dead hooker in the back seat of his Jeep Grand Cherokee, but there's a certain wicked gluttony that comes from scoring insane numbers as the victim of circumstance.

Blake Bortles 2015 . . . am I right?

So who is the Garbage Time Hero 2016?

My money (literally) . . . (and I actually mean literally) . . . (not the figurative meaning that my stepson means when he says literally.) . . . My money is on Motor City's Mad Man of Mixed Results . . . Matthew Stafford.

I mean sure . . . he lost Megatron, who had gone from his favorite woobie to just a soggy wet blanket, but his entire receiving core had been thoroughly updated, and there ain't no running game from which to speak.

(Shush Riddick fans, just shush)

And how could I forget to mention Jim Bob Cooter?

Jim Bob Cooter.

You can't even think those words without simultaneously wanting to titter like a school girl and get a sudden craving for a room temperature Natty Ice.

Did you know Cooter was born in 1984?

That's the same year that Van Halen released 1984.

And the title of that book by that one guy. Boy was he wrong. And by 'wrong' I mean off by 32 years.

If DoubleSpeak isn't a perfectly worded description of our political climate, then I don't know what to tell you.

Orwell . . . that was his name.

I should read more.

Anyway,

Stafford certainly proved me right Week 1, while sitting on my bench, and he proved me wrong Week 2, and then right again Week 3, and then wrong again Week 4, so there's certainly an up and down pattern I'm feeling.

But last week should have been a "proved me right week".

Remember the Bears' Defense?

Trailer Park in a Hurricane?

Earlobes in a Tyson fight?

Hopes and Dreams passed the age 37?

They were sneaky good against my Garbage Time Hero.

The Bears did to Detroit's Offense what NAFTA did to Detroit's middle class.

(I was gonna say catalytic converter instead of NAFTA, but I'll bet only three of you even know what a catalytic converter is and why it actually had more impact on American car manufacturing than a trade deal with Mexico.)

Point being . . . Motor City was f&#king itself long before Bill Clinton could.

Y'all should read more.

I bet Jim Bob Cooter would say something like that.

Y'all.

Anyway, The Big D is going up against the Philly Cheesesteaks this week and they haven't allowed squat through the air. The Eagles are gonna win so big by the middle of the third quarter that I'm betting they send out members of their practice squad to do battle with the Stafford/Jones/Ebron connection.

I'm not saying it will happen, I'm just saying that that's where my money's at.

I'll win if it does, I'll lose if it don't.

"Down here . . . everything floats." says the clown again.

THE BIG NEWS:

Guess who's back?

Guess again.

That's right . . . Karlos "Mom's Spaghetti" Williams.

(For the record . . . that's two Eminem references in less than twenty words.)

Actually, Karlos is not technically back . . . he's just off suspension and sitting on the free agent list waiting for a team desperate to get the running game going.

Hmmm . . . I wonder if there is a team out there that needs a running game?

Oh . . . Brady too. I guess he's news. Whatever. I own nothing of The Patriots, though there is a good chance that by mentioning catalytic converters I am now being watched under The Patriot Act.

"But wait!" I say to the Secret Service as they cart me off to the room decorated for Edward Snowden, "It's not a crime to say things that can easily be found on Wikipedia!"

"Shush, Stafford fan," they mumble "Just shush."

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS

I'm sad about Bowman. He was one of the few lights left of a 49er team that's as shiny as a bright copper penny.

By that reference, I mean it looks really shiny there for a second (Week 1), but then you kinda realize it's just a penny in a world that's all about the Benjamins.

Kaepernick really needs to start eating animal protein again. I'm not saying he's the greatest quarterback in the world, but Torrey Smith has a folded picture of Joe Flacco in his wallet that's falling apart from all the tears.

FANTASYLAND

Teddy's Stump Speech: 3-1 (3rd place)
Trump's Twitter Game: 3-1 (4th place)*
Cheney's Shotgun: 2-2 (6th place)

Week 4 was a hat-trick once again despite Marvin Jones' lack of effervescence. Each win was pretty convincing, though there was moment on Monday Night where if Kyle Rudolph had just two more TD's then Charlie's Primo Team might have given Teddy a run for his money.

Now you may have noticed the Asterix (*) after Trump's 4th place notation and that's because the league is set up in Divisions.

And in my division, even though I have the same amount of wins as the leader, and even though I am beating him in total points, he beat me in the disastrous Week 2 Division game and therefore is sitting smugly in his thoroughly unearned spot.

"Do you expect me to care?" he says.

"No, Mr. Gold. I expect you to die."

(NSA note: That's a James Bond quote, guys, I do not, in fact, expect Mr. Gold to die.)

Though praying for shinsplints is not out of the question.

This week, I'm playing against two girls . . . and Peter.

The two girls are in 1st place and 2nd place, respectively, and Peter . . . not so much.

He's a deep 5th to my unfairly judged 4th.

And he's a Giants fan.

For reference . . . I'm Xavier Rhodes to his O'Dell Beckham.

He plays with passion and emotion, I like to push people when they're already out of bounds. It's a good match.

The girls I'm a little scared of. They don't play with passion. They play an emotionless game of cat and mouse and they do it without mercy or regret.

I'm seriously considering going out and getting my wife some flowers just so Kharmic Male/Female Ju-Ju is ever so slightly in my favor.

Chicks love flowers.

In order for me to win any of these games next week I need Aaron Rodgers to light it up after the BYE.

I need Garbage Time Stafford to hit the panic button in an efficient but ultimately fruitless effort.

Jim Bob Cooter.

And . . . since Brees is sunbathing naked this week with Willie Snead,

and everybody in that particular effing league is holding onto like six quarterbacks,

I actually need Brian Hoyer to rock my world or Peter is going to send me a dead fish wrapped in Luca Brassi's bullet proof vest.

"It means he's sleeping with the fishes." says Corleone.

"I've slept with a fish." says the clown in my drainage pipe.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS LAST WEEK

Alright so last week I predicted Hoyer/Jeffery 2016. I was half right, Hoyer went 302yrds and 2 TDs, but it was Eddie Royal on the other end of the line.

I said the Bills would dominate for 3 minutes, I was right, but they dominated the rest of the game too. Sorry about that Patrick. At least you get Brady back . . . tanned penis and all.

I said Leveon would be eased in (nope) and Wheaton would go off (1-30-1, so, nope-ish)

I said Fitzmagic would get benched after 4 interceptions, damn close, only three, he lives another week.

And lastly, I said the Browns would get some good news. Well . . . um . . . they get the Patriots this week, so . . . um . . . at least after the game the opponent's locker room will smell vaguely like coco-butter and whatever the smell is you get after sunbathing naked with a supermodel.

I bet that's a good smell.

"I'd like to smell like that." says the clown, sadly. "Now I smell like balloons and that gray stuff that used to be toothpaste that collects in the U-bend of the bathroom sink."

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTION THIS WEEK

Kaepernick enters game before the 4h Quarter

Todd Gurley, 27 carries, 8.5 yards.

Odell has a monster game, Giants still lose, and Eli can't stop going on about how soft Clay Matthews' hair is.

Garbage Time Stafford saves me from Karen's wrath.

A J MF Green . . . Mike . . . AJ MF Green.

AND FINALLY

I wish you all the best in your fantasy endeavors. And by 'all' I really just mean Steve who needs to beat Mr. Gold this week despite having to go against Brady in a grudge match against Goodell.

Also, I need more readers, so if at any point I made you laugh, you owe me at least one share on Facebook or Twitter . . . even Myspace would be fine Peter.

Note: I bet Peter's the third guy besides me and Dad who knows what a catalytic converter is.

He's that old.



"Nobody ever gets old down here." says the clown.

Shush, Pennywise, just shush.

The 40ft Post: Flush Gordon (Ahh-Aaaaaah)

Dumdum, dumdum, DUH DUH DUH DUH Dumdum Dumdum . . .

FLASH AH AAAAAH!

For any of you who are wondering, that's the opening drum line and first lyrics to Queen's Title track for the Flash Gordon movie.

And if Freddie Mercury wasn't singing in your head when you first read it . . . he's certainly in there now . . . will be there all day . . . and I'm certainly not sorry.

So . . . surprise surprise . . . Josh Gordon . . . aka Flash . . . will be spending the 2016 NFL season sipping cucumber water, in a terry cloth robe, contemplating the meaning of life.

It's a sad fantasy day for all of us who had him stashed. We were ridiculed, cajoled, our fathers shook their heads in disappointment.

I had a little bit more evil in my heart. I wanted to do what I did in 2014, which was to hold Gordon until the week before he was about to go on, and sell him to the highest bidder.

I made the playoffs that year.

It was a good plan.

It was an even better plan when Gordon showed us this preseason, that he was still able to shred a secondary.

But alas . . . news comes in that there's a warrant out for his arrest. We Flash-Stashers breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out to be a paternity suit and of no interest to the NFL.

We just prayed he would stay away from any intoxicant heavier than Gummy Vitamins.

In a blog I never got around to posting in Week 2, I wrote this:

"If I was running the Cleveland Browns, I would send Gordon off to a farm in Siberia with an MP3 player that only had 'Eye of The Tiger' on it. He should be plowing snow, not co-eds."

I was extremely proud of that line.

But now there's news that he's decided to enter rehab instead of returning to football.

It's probably just as well . . . what probably happened is that he wasn't going to pass a drug test and decided to hide away instead of getting a lifetime ban from Goodell.

The Players Union really needs to renegotiate their stance on marijuana.

It's just silly.

Though . . . not quite as silly as the debate over Colin Kaepernick.

When people talk about the protest rather than the issue,  I've decided to send the DJ's an email saying that Josh Brown, the kicker for the Giants . . . BEATS HIS WIFE! . . . LeSean McCoy got into a bar brawl with an off duty police officer . . . and Adrian Peterson is a child abuser.

I know that last one was soooo 2014, but if my brother can still hold a Michael-Vick-Grudge, then I'm going to cuddle my All-Day-AP-Rage.

In fact, I drafted McKinnen just so I could root for a Peterson injury, which makes me look really petty, but pretty effing smart now, don't it.

I don't know much about protests, I'm not even sure I'm allowed to have an opinion.

For my two cents . . . The Star Spangled Banner isn't a very good song; it's hard to sing the standard melody, the singer is always gonna go flat in the beginning, let alone the butchery that happens when the vocalist lets loose on the word 'Free'.

I love me some Gospel and R&B, but even if you miss one out of every ten notes, that still hurts when unaccompanied by a decent back up band.

Not to mention what happens when a troop of bagpipes get a hold of our national anthem.

Don't know if you saw that one, but my kilt wept.

Or maybe I just peed a little.

Either way.

The point being . . . it's good to talk about an issue we need to talk about, and the most American thing anyone can do is to shake up the establishment.

Anyway, since I haven't posted in four weeks, this blog is gonna be a long one, so Frank: don't forget that you only have a fifteen minute break . . . and Pro Tip: If you flush right after the log drops, the smell won't linger as long.

Since y'all already know the news, I'm gonna skip right down to Fantasy Land followed by Crazy Stupid Predictions and then go to lunch.

FANTASYLAND:

Teddy's Stump Speech: 2-1 (3rd place)
Trump's Twitter Game: 2-1 (4th place)
Cheney's Shotgun: 1-2 (7th place)

Draft Grades: A-, B-, C+

Now my buddy Steve likes to say if you finish Week 4 at 2-2, you're in pretty good shape.

The reason being, you don't really know what you're team is like until they've put up or shut up, and the Yahoo Draft Grades are only capable of showing off how good their auto-drafting is.

Auto-draft and you're gonna get high scores.

Heh, heh.

Now the draft for Teddy, and the draft for Trump, went pretty damn good. I felt prepared, I got the players I wanted, I had a good balance of solid and risky, I didn't draft either Josh Gordon or Arian Foster and there wasn't much overlap, so if one team went down, it wouldn't effect the other.

Cheney was a different story. I was in the 11 spot, and I realized, to my utter horror, that I had no plan for the back of Round 1.

This is a league where you don't get your draft order until 30 minutes prior to go-time.

I hate the very back of the draft. Your first two picks are always riddled with question marks. Round 2 is a scary place to be. Here's a list of the guys that went in Round 2:

Bell, McCoy, Reed, Robinson, Freeman, Allen, Lacy, Hyde, Cooks, Newton, Ingram, Martin.

How many of those guys would you want on your team in Weeks 1-3?

So, I'm staring down the barrel of Round 1, hoping there's a run on QB's and that someone is crazy enough to take Gronkowski (sucker). Which did actually happen, so I end up with a choice between A.J. Green and Adrian Peterson.

You already know how I feel about AP, and it's a PPR League, so I feel good with Mean Green.

Then I gotta pair him with someone.

RB's fly off the board at an alarming rate, so it's grab one now, or you'll be looking for Ameer Abdullah to lead your back field.

I get McCoy. Solid choice I feel. He's got some miles, like 40 year old hooker miles, but with Watkins to stretch the field, he won't see a lot of stacked boxes.

(Addendum: He sure will now . . . but unlike a 40 year hooker, he's gonna get a lot of touches either way.)

Now looking down the barrel of a very long Round 3, is when I start to fall apart. I grab Watkins on a hope and a prayer, and then I make the first real mistake of the draft, I stretch out for Russell Wilson.

My theory being, he was so good after last year's Bye Week, so poised, so efficient, and they're gonna have a healthy Jimmy Graham and a game plan to boot.

He's Top 3 in every single expert analysis. Every single one.

I could've gotten Matt Forte . . . that hurts a little.

But no worries, I feel super good about my back half strategy, where I diligently mopped up some break out kids like Marvin Jones, Ebron, and Stafford, which is a shit ton of Detroit, but so far so good. I got Christine Michael and McKinnon, to back up McCoy, Gore, and Jennings and a line-backer crew that are all household names.

My projections are competitive, and this time, I've got Flush Gordon as a mid-year lottery ticket.

Game On!

WEEK 1

Teddy has a solid win, Trump has a solid win, and Cheney . . . well . . . here's the thing . . .

I lost by one single play.

It's Monday Night, the score is tied: 210 to 210.

If I'd gone with my original game plan and not bet the horse on Russell, I'd've won, but alas,

Only men left on our rosters are two Line Backers . . .

My Timmons to Mike's Shazier.

It's back and forth all night. If either of us win it'll be by a fraction of a point.

Then . . . tragedy strikes. Ryan Shazier catches an interception and runs it for 20 yards.

I don't have to see the look on Mike face to know that he's nodding his head with a slight smile that say's he knew all along.

The silence in the room was palpable. My boys look at me, raise their beers, my wife pats my head, my son asks me if this means we'll lose our house.

"I don't know, Timmy." I reply. "I don't know"

Somewhere . . . a dog farts and leaves the room.

WEEK 2

I pull off the hat trick.

But the bad one . . . where everyone loses . . . horribly and without honor.

Mike tells me that's what happens when you draft A. J. Green.

Adam tells me he feels bad that my teams aren't very good at football.

"Maybe next year." I say.

"Probably not." he replies.

WEEK 3

I have an epiphany. Rather than relying on information or skill or expert analysis . . . maybe I should consider counting on luck.

I noticed, over the last year, every time I've worn my 49ers jersey, #38 Jarrod Effing Hayne, I've been totally waffle stomped.

I won the jersey in a raffle the very day Jamaal Charles torpedoed my 2015 team.

I was wearing it when I drafted Cheney's Shotgun, and then again during all of Week 2. And the Niner's have not looked good since Hayne left, and Hayne didn't even make it into the Olympics.

The Jersey might be cursed.

Without considering alternatives, I awoke last Sunday morning and tossed on a UC Davis tank top.

I don't support them, but I do owe them a truck load of money for my step-son's degree, and the all cotton material is actually quite comfortable.

When the coffee kicked in and I finally leaned back in my easy chair . . . every one of my teams lit up the scoreboard like they were playing pin-ball while the rest of the leagues were sipping tea on a croquet course.

Later in the day, I removed my tank top, and the points stopped rolling in. I shit you not. All got quiet on the western front.

Now here's where it gets weirder: I've sown up Teddy's match pretty well. And, despite having benched my #1, #3, & #4 draft picks, Cheney's Shotgun has a 150 point lead and will finish off the week with 270 points.

That's what you get when you have Marvin Jones on all three teams . . . Mike

So it's Monday Night . . . again . . . and I need exactly 44 points from Brees and Coleman to win this week's match. That's about half of what other entire teams will score in their entirety.

No easy feat I'm saying.

I don my Lucky UCD Tank.

TD Brees, TD Coleman, TD Brees, TD Coleman, TD Coleman, TD Brees.

I officially pull off my first hat trick.

The good one.

WEEK 4

Thursday . . . Tank Top . . . A.J. Mutha Fuckin Green . . . Mike.

Now who knows what the official ending will be, but I'm feeling pretty good despite losing Flush Gordon and Sammy Watkins in the span of a half hour.

and I'm certainly gonna wear my UCD tank top til Tuesday.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS FOR WEEK 4

The Detroit Defense makes Hoyer/Jeffery 2016, look like Hoyer/Gordon 2013

The Bills dominate for 3 mins 42 seconds, then you should all go home.

Leveon Bell used as a decoy . . . It's Wheaton's day to shine.

The Jets bench Fitzmagic after INT 4, and from nowhere, The Real Flash Gordon returns out of the comic books and leads them to victory . . . Ah aaaaah . . . he'll save every one of us.

The Browns get some good news. Any good news. Doesn't matter.



Well . . . that about wraps it up for this week. I'll be posting on Wednesdays from here on out, assuming of course that my lucky tank-top continues working it's magic, or at least my wife hides the hari-kari swords and promises to let me binge watch Luke Cage this weekend.

You really need to go back to work Frankie.

Safe travels Mr. Steve.

A. J. Mutha Fuckin Green . . . Mike.