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.