The 40ft Post: Sad Russell Wilson

I don't like the term surreal.

I don't think you should use it unless you are actually standing in front of a painting that happens to have dripping clocks on it.

No dripping clocks, no surrealism.

You can't have it.

I feel the same way about people who point to their nit-pickyness and say that it's their OCD.

Those who suffer from OCD are TERRIFIED of being caught exhibiting obsessive behaviors. So, in reality, you're not suffering from OCD, you're just kind of an asshole.

Nothing wrong with that, of course, just man up and own it. When you’re at someone’s house and you have the need to straighten one of their wall photos, don’t say; “Sorry, it’s just my OCD.” say: “Sorry, I’m just an asshole.”

Anyway,

So, the point is, last week was surreal.

Dripping clocks and all.

The only bankable things that happened was the Brady grudge match against the world . . . and sad face Eli.

I thought he couldn't get any sadder after that Marshall drop, but then Beckham loses the hot-potato game and poor Manning's iris' swelled up like a dog watching people eat.

All I'm saying is that nothing is sadder than a dog watching someone eat.

Except maybe those who drafted Russell Wilson.

Nobody is sadder than those folks.

Me . . . I'm pointing to me . . . and I did the same thing last  year to similar results, because i don't learn things.

Of the thirteen players on my "Buy My Book" Team, only Frank Gore and Phil Dawson beat their projections.

I came seriously close to dropping everyone and loading that entire team up with old folks. I need to get my hands on Larry Fitzgerald and either Jason Witten or Antonio Gates. I'm not sure.

I'd love to point to any guys my team and blame them, but since it seems to be all of them, I've only myself to blame.

Or . . . 

Or . . .

We remain calm and blame reality.

THE BIG NEWS

Offenses have been terrible.

So terrible.

In one of my fantasy leagues, only one team out of twelve exceeded expectations. Beat projections. Didn't look foolish. Well . . . I guess half of them won . . . So not so foolish, but not pretty.

Compare, for example, Russell Wilson in preseason versus Russell Wilson in reality.

I don't have the direct statistics (they'd be meaningless anyway), but preseason Wilson looked off-the-hook sharp, his receivers two steps ahead of their coverage, his offensive line so ominous John Williams begged to compose their theme song.

(If you don't get that reference, John Williams composed the music for Jaws and Darth Vader)

(He's no slouch when it comes to creating ominous atmospheres)

However, the season begins, and reality steps up and says . . . "Nah"

The Seahawk Offense made Hoyer look dangerous in comparison.

They were so bad I'm considering streaming defenses against them.

(Not really. Between the Browns and the Jets and the Bears and the Niners and the Bengals and the Giants, there are just way too many Pick-6's out there.)

It's like harvest season.

It is harvest season.

And I just read a report that California is in serious agricultural trouble because there aren't enough migrant farm workers. Two million people this year are going to die of famine, and we've got fruit rotting on the vine.

Excellent.

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS

Bradford has got a bruised bone.

(I've been staring at the screen for twenty minutes trying to think of the appropriate dick joke . . . But nothing's coming.)

Read that last sentence again.

Everybody is otherwise questionable. Except B.J. Goodson, one of my starting linebackers from Monday night's game. He'll definitely be out.

Which is kinda funny, because he was good to go about ten minutes prior to the game when I checked my line-up, and yet the announcer said he was being replaced by a rookie about two minutes into the game.

Yahoo was kind enough to send me an email to notify me of Goodson's OUT status at about 6:00 am Tuesday morning.

Not sure what kind of algorithm they're using, but it is slower to see trouble than the Giants' offensive line.

Six sacks, bro, they might as well put in a turnstyle and add a cover charge to enter the pocket.

The bouncer at a Chuck E. Cheese is harder to get past.

I could go on, but Steve is getting a text from Peter right now.

"Why can't he leave my Giants alone?!"

Because, and this is the honest truth, I'm a Niners fan, and I'm a sad petty little man.

My bone however, is delightfully unbruised.

FANTASYLAND

Buy My Book 0-2 11th place

Trump's Twitter Game 0-2 10th place

Daily 114k out of 301k

I have nothing really to say about any of this, I'm as unsurprised as you are.

Buy My Book was a terrible idea.

And Trump’s Twitter Game, so funny this time last year, now is literally picking fights with Nuclear Powers across the Globe.

I thought Buy My Book was fun and pithy and on message while I run the marketing portion of my life. The one where I get people to pay me to let them read words.

Not like the free lolz you're getting here.

The professional lolz.

But funny thing happened on the way to the forum; sales tanked right along with my tanking fantasy team.

That's none of your problem (though it is a little funny), however, as well as being small and petty, I'm also curiously superstitious. I don't freak out about black cats or nothing, but when you tie your real life and your fantasy life together . . . maybe they actually do get tied.

Maybe sales dropped because I drafted a bunch of crappy teams.

Maybe my teams are crap because literary fiction by an unknown author is a gamble even when you have a marketing budget and a blurb from Stephen King on the cover.

I have no such blurb.

I could make one up, but that would be dishonest.

And Trumps actual Twitter hasn’t killed anyone yet, but you KNOW it’s only a matter of time.

I'll give it two more weeks.

Then an entire overhaul will be required. Teams, Names, wardrobe choices, hell . . . I might switch from IPAs to something disgusting like Bud Light.

I don't know what that will look like, but there will absolutely be a time when I put Eli in my line-up because he is waaaaaaaaaaay overdue for a killer game.

And so am I.

CRAZY/STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 2

Bradford is once again a Top 5 QB.

Sticks and stones may break his bones, but words only bruise.

49er's beat the Seahawks.

It was a moral victory, which they say is the worst kind.

Kaepernick is hired.

No, but there's an amazing piece on him in the Bleacher Report.

Burkhead out-scores Gore, I don't play him but have no regrets.

Actually Gore was my best RB last week . . . No regrets.

Steve and I make it through the afternoon unscathed.

We're both alive, so it's a moral victory, which they say is the best kind.

CRAZY/STUPID PREDICTIONS WEEK 3

Niners get their first win, but Gurley goes off.

I get my first win because Gurley goes off

Cousins starts to rev up his game, but not enough to suggest I wouldn’t be better with Stafford.

Cutler throws for 350 and 2 TDs.

Six Teams in each league outscore their projections.

Allright, that’s enough pandering this week. May your Newtons fig out, may your Cutlers slice and dice, may your Russells be more terrier than jack.

The 40ft Post: Stop Playing With Your Johnson

So I woke up this morning in a delightful mood.

Which is certainly not my default setting.

There was no particular reason for this delightful mood. There's been lots of family chaos, lots of artistic turmoil, and let's be honest, my fantasy football teams got slapped around like a Clinton effigy in a Fox News break room.

But I got up, had some coffee, made breakfast and lunches for the fam, and sat down with my sports apps and readied my brain for the day.

And that's where it hit me.

Thanks to full-on football, I haven't actually read the news in almost two weeks.

And I've really only been paying cursory attention since July.

It's a revelation. It's almost as if I can fix the things I can fix, I can ignore the things I can't fix, and I've got the wisdom to know the difference.

Or something like that.

I still can't fix Kirk Cousins, Russell Wilson, or really anyone involved with those two. I can however avoid them like the plague, unless it's a choice between them and let's say Jay Cutler or an impossibly reinvigorated Sam Bradford.

That was something else wasn't it.

I almost . . . almost . . . felt a little sorry for Adrian Peterson as he watched his legacy go down the tubes.

Almost.

The dude beats his kids.

What kind of dessert is that?

Just Desserts.

Notice he didn't make eye contact with Ingram all game long.

Ingram's like "Bro . . . I can catch out of the back field . . . And my kids receive nothing but positive reinforcement which will disable the cycle of violence in the football community."

Or something like that.

All Day says Peterson.

Nine snaps say Sean Peyton.

The point is . . . Football is underway again, and we have a special few months where when someone mentions Kim Jung Un, you're going to be pressed to figure out if that's a reference to nuclear war, or if he's the new place kicker for the Chargers.

THE BIG NEWS

Obviously, the only thing anyone wants to talk about is David Johnson's injury; I shit you not, there were three essays on CBS Sports alone with advice on what to do about your suddenly shattered life.

But I think, if we're to be honest, you and I, we really need to discuss the utterly fantastic collapse of the New England Patriots.

Now . . . we've all seen high expectations before . . . maybe some of us have had them. We pat our own backs with the feeling of supreme satisfaction when we're finally able to draft Gronk in the third round instead of the first. Where no matter how we did it, we got a piece of the New England Pie.

Instead . . . we got a thin slop of New England Chowder in a sour dough bowl.

And not the good sour dough bowl . . . the cheap one that you get at the Grocery Outlet because you're poor and that's where you have to shop now because, frankly they've got really good kale at cheap prices and don't you judge me.

Now this is not to say that I am fading my stock in members of the New England Patriots. I think this week they've got a grudge match going, indoors, against a New Orleans defense that just made Sam Bradford look like . . . well . . . a young Tom Brady . . . I'm so convinced that they are going to score over 50 points that I'm considering rolling with Burkhead over Frank Gore. And you know how I feel about my Frank.

I mean last week wasn't all a disaster. Brandon Cooks put up a reasonable set of stats sans a TD, and on the other side of the ball, Alex Smith was able to have The Time of His Life.

Smith was the Patrick Swayze to Kareem Hunt's Jennifer Gray.

And nobody was putting baby in a corner.

I hope for Steve's sake that Hunt continues to perform like that throughout the season. He's got a lot invested in Kareem . . . and I've been to his apartment . . . he really needs a win.

(Just kidding, it's a very nice apartment, and I covet his Beatle's Albums, it's just that there are a lot of picture frames with the stock photos still inside.)

Also because Steve lost David Johnson for 8-12 weeks.

Speaking of which . . . 

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS

David Johnson . . . Obviously. Allen Robinson, which hurts, but only really on a fan level. His 2015 was so outrageously off the hook, and his 2016 so bland, that it would have been really nice to see if him and Bortles could capture that garbage time magic that they once had.

Now we'll never know.

Eric Berry got bit by the turf monster after shutting Gronk out of an entire game. That might not mean much to you, but if the Chief's secondary is exploitable, then their offense might need to be more aggressive, which means Hunt is going to be a Johnson2016 monster, and Alex Smith is going to sit on the waiver wire all year taunting you.

I mean Alex Smith is going to stare at you with those cold dead eyes of his and judge every QB decision you make. And every time he sneaks into the Top 5, you're gonna find a post-it note in your lunch box that says "Top Five."

Written in cursive.

My wife leaves notes like that.

I don't know what it means.

I'm afraid to ask.

FANTASYLAND

Buy My Book: 0-1, 10th place

Trumps Twitter Game: 0-1, 7th place.

Daily Fantasy: 101,000 out of 252,000

It was not a good week for Fantasy Players. 

Okay . . . Maybe Steve had a good week.

Him and I are going to try and get a good spot at the bar this Sunday and see if we can make it through two full games. If week two is bad, we won't know it till the following Thursday.

But as for Week 1,

It was like everything we hoped for, everything we believed in, every decision we failed to second guess . . . Kicked me right in the pants.

Me.

Specifically.

And The Jets. It's going to be a long year for them.

And Tom Savage. 

Damn . . . Finally getting the nod from your coach . . . You the Man Tom . . . You The Man. And then being the man for an entire thirty minutes until your time to shine is completely over for the rest of your life.

I bet he called his mom crying.

I wonder what his apartment looks like.

But this is just the first week.

And this is where I really like to be.

At or near the bottom of the barrel.

Because, and I'm not saying I would rather this than win, but when you're on the loser-roller-coaster, you have to pay attention to things. 

I mean, when you draft perfectly, you spend the entire season just shrugging your shoulders and doing things like setting your line-up on Tuesday morning. You scroll through the waiver-wire the way a teenager scrolls through Facebook.

Scroll

Scroll

Happy Face.

Sad Face.

Angry Face.

Scroll.

OMG.

Lol. 

When you draft perfectly, you do things like hanging onto two defenses, ignore trade requests, fail to finish your beer.

Things that in any other universe would be punishable by death.

However, you get gob smacked Week One and you know you're going to be fighting all year for a little self respect. Every win is a juggernaut. Every rivalry triple hopped bitter. Every touchdown a reason to yell something inappropriate at someone else's wife.

 Not my wife.

She'll fucking gut you.

But other people's wives.

All I'm saying is that no matter how your game has turned out so far, there ain't no part of the next 16 weeks that is going to suck.

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS LAST WEEK

Zeke joins a committee (Run DMC didn't even suit up.)

Cutler Top Five (Didn't even play)

Niners Win (Didn't even play)

Bills score only one point more than the Jets (21-12)

Josh Gordon News (The only thing I called right. He’s out of rehab, and on the waiver wire. I know you want him bro, I know you do)

CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS FOR NEXT WEEK

Bradford has another Top Five outing.

49ers beat the Seahawks, like, badly.

Kaepernick lands on a roster.

Burkhead outscores Gore, and I don't start him, and no regrets.

Me and Steve make it all the way through the afternoon games sober enough to dial an Uber then realize I live like a block away.

All righty everyone. Time's up. May your Kerwynn's play like your Johnsons, May your garbage time and grudge match scores reign supreme, and may your trade offers be accepted with a certain amount of congeniality.

The 40ft Post: Back to Frivolity

Happy to see you again friend.

It's been a long, long, long . . . long time.

And eight months since my last confession.

For those of you that are new to The 40ft Post (Hello Ashlee, Hello Francisco), this blog is a weekly recap of Fantasy Football nonsense. Its purpose, if there is such a thing, is to make you laugh.

You will not find help with your team.

You will not find help with your life.

I will do everything possible to ignore all world events that don't relate to fantasy football or the beer selection at Buffalo Wild Wings. It's not that I don't care, but I am a firm believer that we are all secretly snowflakes, and gosh darnit, safe spaces right now are a really good idea.

I just recap the BIG NEWS, INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS, LEAGUE GOSSIP, and make some CRAZY/STUPID PREDICTIONS for the coming week.

Other goals include sewing deep seated resentment between myself and all the other league managers, to mercilessly tease those of you who actually root for real teams, to normalize alcoholism, to dramatically overestimate the fantasy superiority of Frank Gore, and to remind my brother-in-law that he's already 15 minutes into a 20 minute break and it's time to pinch it off.

I make that joke every year, and it never gets less funny.

Anyway.

The last, and most important goal, is to make sure that Karen (Woof) doesn't win for a third year in a row.

I'm not condoning collusion.

But I'm not not condoning it either.

She's waaaaay too good at this game.

Make honest reasonable trades people . . . that's all I'm saying.

BIG NEWS

So as I write this, we're all waiting with baited breath to hear the final verdict in the Elliot case. Those who took him in the second round, those with Run DMC locked and loaded, those with Alfred Morris on their bench . . . Peter basically.

That's not a tease. Peter's got a helluva team this year.

Even his rookie tight-end looks impressive.

If you're not familiar with the phrase "double-entendre", look it up in the dictionary and then read that last sentence again.

In Cosmic Charlie, tight-ends are at a premium.

It's like a Tindr search.

I could go on all day.

I don't have much stock in the Elliot case; I do have Run DMC loaded, but I'm ready to replace him with Fall Forward For Five Frank Gore, and not even feel weird about it.

As soon as Zeke hits the field, I'm gonna try to trade Darren to Will for a third tier defense.

Will also has quite the tight-end.

INJURIES AND BAD DECISIONS

There really isn't much news to go around. Andrew Luck will either be a lottery ticket or not. Cameron Meredith, Spencer Ware, and Tannehill are really the only big ticket players to end their seasons in August (if you didn't see it, the Meredith injury was so brutal even the ESPN announcer insisted it not be shown again).

OBJ will be fine, Hopkins will be fine, Demarius will be okay, it's going to rain in New England on opening night where I'll be watching on my phone because my son has got fencing lessons.

I drafted more Patriots this year that I intended.

Two . . . I drafted two.

But aside from Elliot, the only real bad decisions so far have been a Snead DUI and why the hell did Buffalo cut their number two running back this late in the preseason?

Makes no sense.

In fact, nothing Buffalo has done this off-season has made any sense.

But . . . in all fairness . . . I don't own a left handed can-opener, so my decision making is pretty suspect as well.

FANTASYLAND

So usually in this spot I like to do an autopsy of all of my massively disappointing teams from the previous year. But, alas, all my teams last year fared pretty good. First Place in Cosmic Charlie, Second Fiddle to Woof (she's a monster, an honest to god monster), and Third in the final league.

I won't be taking on a third team this year, seems selfish. Instead I'll be trying out one of those Daily Fantasy Leagues where you pick a new team each week.

Apparently, that's where the real money is.

And you know, I'm all about the Benjamins.

Speaking of politicians . . . last year I did something a little different. I named all my teams after unstoppable political figures.

And they were, for the most part, unstoppable.

Now "Trump's Twitter Game" was funny and ironic back in August 2016, "Cheney's Shotgun" was a can't miss laugh-a-palooza, and "Teddy's Stump Speech" was a nod to the classics.

I like to change team names each year, but I've never actually won before, and Trump's Twitter Game continues to be an unstoppable beast. I feel bad about it, but I think I've got to ride that pony until it drops.

As for Cheney, he's been knocked completely out of the running for the most despised world leader of the 21st Century. I'm not even sure if he'll make the top twenty at this point. So he's gotta go.

And as I said earlier, I wanna pull out of anything that smacks of world news (safe spaces safe spaces) so I've decided to stay on message because in real life, I'm building a marketing campaign for my new novel.

It goes something like this:

"Hello, My name is Josh, Buy My Book."

Snappy right?

As I said before . . . I'm all about the Benjamins.

However, if you have disposable income and the time required to sit and read . . . Do Not Buy My Book. It's a silly novel. Spend your time and money making a difference in the world.

So why name my Fantasy Team after a marketing campaign if I don't want you to actually buy it?

Excellent question.

You can find the answer on page 127 of my book.

CRAZY/STUPID PREDICTIONS FOR WEEK ONE

Zeke returns to the field but is stuck in a committee behind DMC and Morris.

Cutler is a Top Five QB.

The 49ers crush the Panthers

The Bills score exactly one point more than The Jets, but nobody knows how.

There's Josh Gordon news, and either me or Adam snatch him up.



Okay, that's all til next week. May all your Gores fall forward, your Greens stay healthy, and your tight-ends become difference makers.

It's time, Frank.

It's time.

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.