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.)
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