The 40ft Post - Killing in the Name Of

Welcome, welcome, welcome.

Why yes, sirs and madams, the Fantasy Football Season 2016 is ready to get rolling like a 2015 Eddie Lacy down a gentle slope.

For those of you who are new to "The 40ft Post" it is a weekly fantasy commentary on all things that make me laugh.

We'll do the Big News of the Week, Injury Round-Up, What to Watch For Next Week, My Own Private Fantasy Land, and Crazy Stupid Predictions.

This is not an expert analysis, nor are you likely to ever read a single thing in this blog that will help you out with your respective teams.

To prove my point, in the 5 years and 8 teams I have managed, I have only been invited to the playoffs once (thanks in large part to Jay Cutler's garbage time stats), however, I will add that I once would have taken top honors had Percy Harvin not had two touchdowns called back. I lost that game by exactly 1.37 points.

So, suffice it to say, when it comes to the meth-like addiction I have to Fantasy Football, I am Jessie Pinkman.

I AM NOT THE ONE WHO KNOCKS.

The goal of this annual blog is to make me laugh and possibly make your Wednesday morning trips to the toilet a little more enjoyable. Lookin' at you Frank, looking at you.

Now the first goal when we are three weeks from our draft (or three weeks past, in the case of my fun team) is to take a deep look into the darkness that was last season, and figure out exactly what I could have done better.

The first bit was obvious. I took Megatron over OBJ in the second round . . . and I did that twice.

I did that because I have squirrel-like flight response to everything Eli Manning. More about that in next week's blog when we talk about Love/Hate relationships.

The second bit was going RB heavy, even in my PPR league. And because of that, I got smoked by the third bit . . .

Injury.

Injury freaking everywhere.

To prove that analysis, in my PPR/IDP league, of the 19 members of that roster, I ended with only a single player from my original draft. Brandon Cooks.

Thank you Brandon.

Also, of that 19 player roster, over half the players I finished with weren't even drafted. Who the hell  bought stock in Charcandrick West when Kniles Davis was the clear back-up?

Nobody . . . that's who . . . but I did have the advantage of being kinda mostly sober when Jamaal went down . . . and I have fast fingers.

In my own defense, I won 5 out of the final 6 contests, but it was too little, too late.

I'm sure the injury bug bit you too. I know it did. I've been watching you.

But my teams got throttled like a Jeb Bush Super PAC.

Please clap . . .

There didn't seem to be any through-line. No particular thing I could point to and say, "Yeah, Buddy, either throw some dirt on it or go sit with Victor Cruz while he's getting his mani-pedi."

And then it hit me in the face like Dirty Sanchez's Offensive Line,

It was all about the Team Names.

See, in the beginning of last year there was a smorgasbord of ridiculous avoidable injuries in the preseason, and frankly, I couldn't help myself from poking a little fun at the players expense.

My PPR/IDP team was named "PierrePaulsFinger" After a really stupid 4th of July party.

Then, to compound my error I named my STD team "Genos Oral Surgeon"

Part in bad taste, part just to tease Frank's beloved Jets.

Don't push, Frank, easy does it.

Now, if I were to follow the same path of bad taste, I might name my teams something like: "LetThePhoneDropMcfadden" or "PeeALittleStraighterNextTimeLeveon"

But that's not going to happen this year.

This year I've named my teams after unstoppable forces of nature. Like a 2013 Adrian Peterson, or Von Miller at the Super Bowl, or Josh Gordon's Pot Dealer.

And since it's a complicated world, and I'm a complicated guy, I've decided that the theme this year is Unstoppable Political Forces of Nature.

It is an election year after all, and I plan on offending you, regardless of who you vote for, at least twelve times over the next eighteen weeks.

That is my promise.

So we'll be toting the line with THREE, count 'em, THREE leagues this year, because a wise man once told me that if you can't win . . . add more teams until you do.

Puts the odds in your favor. Assuming you don't draft the exact same team, or tempt the gods with your dark sense of humor.

No matter how dark funny you think you are, the gods are dark funnier.

As I've said . . . I'll be managing three teams this year. One FUN league with strangers I found on Yahoo. One STD League with a surprising amount of people from New York, and of course, my wildly scoring PPR/IDP league, where I get to go head-to-head against my family, friends, one guy I randomly went to high-school with, and Karen.

Karen won the league last year, which, my brother told me is pretty good for a girl.

(That was a joke . . . Karen's a mean competitor with an absolutely filthy trash-talk game)

(That also was a joke, she's a very nice lady.)

So this year, my FUN team is:

"Teddy's Stump Speech"

After our beloved Theodore Roosevelt during his BullMoose campaign where he was shot in the chest, and finished the speech anyway. Rough Rider indeed.

Unstoppable Political Force of Nature

Next comes my STD (Standard Scoring, not Sexually Transmitted), to be named after the legendary New Yorker and 140 character juggernaut:

"Trump's Twitter Game"

There ain't nothing, nothing, more unstoppable than Teflon Don's tiny little thumbs when it comes to creating an absolute shit-show and then walking away with millions of dollars in campaign funds.

Now, I know Donald Trump might not get anywhere near the Red-Zone come November, which is just about the time I'm gonna need the good juju, but win or lose, his Twitter Game will be on point and unstoppable until Hilary takes the oath of office.

Or Armageddon.

Okay, so lastly, in my PPR/IDP league, for the most seriously unstoppable unflappable political force of nature . . . the man who gave us WMDs, Haliburton, and told a congressmen to go f#$% himself on the House floor, the Darth Vader in a room full of prepubescent younglings . . . I give you:

"Cheney's Shotgun"

On February 11th, 2006, while serving as Vice President of the United States, Dick Cheney shot a lawyer in the face while quail hunting in Texas.

Not only did he avoid any injury to himself or his reputation, he actually had the 78 year old half faced man apologize for getting in his way.

It doesn't get much more injury proof than that.

So with that . . . it's time for me to sign out.

Pinch it off Frank, your family is starting to worry.