It is what it is... WEEK 3 RECAP!

from an IM Chat on Tuesday...

MIKE: Yes! Colts are working out: Dan Orlovsky and Brodie Croyle. I thought we couldn't do any better to get Luck. I was wrong
CLINT: Hahahahaha.
CLINT: Love the enthusiasm
MIKE: I think Peyton's career might be over. like 52% sure
CLINT: From local news leaks, or your own gut feeling?
MIKE: just hearing what people are saying about this injury, and that if it gets re-injured, he could be looking at permanent paralysis in his arm. He'll have to do the John McCain with his arm for the rest of his life. Although it would be fitting, that perhaps the biggest, baddest cannon in the history of the NFL is sacrificed for greatness and one last chance to throw on the #18 and get r done for the home crowd full of just idiotic rednecks.
CLINT: I pray that he returns, stays healthy, wins another SuperBowl, and rides off into the sunset on a blue steed.
CLINT: Not a painted horse, a genetically engineered blue-haired Colt.
CLINT: Named Eli.
MIKE: Eli Cooper Horsecock the 3rd
CLINT: Eli Olivia-Cooper Archibald the 18th.
CLINT: The horsecock is implied....not to mention dragging 3 feet on the ground behind it...
MIKE: Elisha Olivia Newton Cooper Archibald Horsecock the 18th
CLINT: Just the biggest, most glorious, royal blue HorseCock ever.
CLINT: THAT he would name Peyton.
CLINT: "Yep. This is my Colt, Elisha Olivia Newton Cooper Archibald Horsecock XVIII.  His dong's name is Peyton."
MIKE: "See that 3 foot long piece of lumbering sausage just swaying back and forth between the hindquarters of this fine fuck monster of a stallion with the swagger of a Navy SEAL? That there is Peyton."
CLINT: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!
MIKE: this is great. I didn't have an intro for the recap. This chat will be it.
CLINT: Poetry. Pure poetry. Let's see Mya Angelou recite THAT at Obamas re-inauguration.
MIKE: it would have been better if they just  retired her ass and let David Allen Grier handle these events
CLINT: Agreed. I think if Obama has gleaned anything from this temultuous first term, it's that.
CLINT: Peyton Manning > Horsecock Manning > David Allen Grier > Mya Angelou.
MIKE: And there's the tidy bow. Alright biddy. Gotta go pickup the kid.
CLINT: Good stuff.
CLINT: One last thing:
CLINT: You might say: "See that 3 foot lumbering sausage swaying back and forth with the swagger of a Navy Seal under the hindquarters of this fine fuck machine of a stallion? That there is Lil Peyton Manning."
CLINT: Something like that.
CLINT: Talk to you later.
CLINT: Biddy.
MIKE: right. I was looking at that too. And what I most certainly DID NOT want, was for someone to think the Navy SEAL Swagger had anything to do with Elisha Olivia Newton Cooper Archibald Horsecock XVIII, but rather was explicitly referring to Lil' Peyton. Ambiguous phrasing can really take the shine off a precious gem such as this. Good catch.
CLINT: Thx buddy. It was you're gem, I just helped polish it.
MIKE: You'll be polishing a lot more than my gems by the end of this season... but you won't be polishing my trophy, because you will fail to possess it outright.
MIKE: biddy
CLINT: Well, I, uh, disagree.
CLINT: Biddy.

WEEK 3 RECAP!

Lucky Division. 3-0

1. Clintonians [404 pts - 1st] 

Trophies Earned: Big Dick Badge of Honor

So. Clint has a fuck-ton of points and no losses. He also has 3 of the top 5 RBs in the league. May Exploding ACLs Be Upon Your Team [EACLBUYT]. 

This. For your whole team. This. [shudders]

2. Boston NoNeckNicks [339 - 4th]

Trophies Earned: DOMINATOR AWARD [largest margin of victory]

Strong start of the season for my bro, but each win comes against the lower half of the league. Nonetheless, beating inferior competition is required to be a champion. Unfortunately for you, next week you do not face inferior competition.

42! pts from Welker. He could have scored -26.5 and Nick would still have beaten Slovy.

-- Gritty Division. 2-1

3. Naptown FinkleHorns [358.5 - 2nd]

Trophies Earned: none

To quote myself - and I quote: "I'm a Whoop His Ass." - Champ circa last week

4. King Slayer [347 - 3rd]

Trophies Earned: FIAT Fuck! Say Fuck! Trophy [closest margin of defeat]

Everyone should imagine a dotted line right below this. If you're below that line, You're currently chasing a playoff spot. Through three weeks of play we've identified the cream of the crop and you're not in it. On the bright side of things, Ryan Allen is above this line, and if he can make it up here, so can you.

This is the Great wall of China, Slovy

5. Rated Arg For Pirates [311.5 - 8th]

Trophies Earned: none

Other than Dirk and Don, Frank has the highest disparity between rank and points position. I'm not sure what to make of this other than Frank is very, very average.

Coincidentially, Pittsburghers are known to eat their young.

6. The Slippery Mittens [294.5 - 11th]

Trophies Earned: GMC Never Say Never Trophy [closest margin of victory]

  The Nuts [winner with fewest points]

The Dirk Reclamation Project 2011 is in full swing, albeit held together by roughly the same level of organization and hope for success as Ron Paul's presidential campaign ["no, dude! First we hit the bong, then we stand on street corners and babble about the Federal Reserve and being the sovereign of ourselves, man… Are you going to shower before we go? Me neither."]. He's 6th in the standings and 11th in points, so even though he beat RKA this weekend he still trails him in the points tiebreaker. But, hey, above .500 is above .500, and it's been a while. So welcome to this side of the ledger. 

… or something

-- Need More Grit Division. 1-2

7. Team Zubak [314.5 - 7th]

Trophies Earned: none

I think we all knew Zoobie was coming out with a loss this weekend. 

8. Team RELENTLESS [314 - 6th]

Trophies Earned: none

Barron got a much needed 1st win this week, and traded away All Day while grabbing what would have been his opponent's 2nd highest producer for the week. You may not like the trade, but you can't argue with the results.

9. Knee Grows [309 - 9th]

Trophies Earned: Micropenis Badge of Dishonor [fewest points]

BUTT HURT Participation Ribbon [largest margin of defeat]

Slovy takes an L with the worst outing for the year so far, taking home both the Micropenis and the BUTT HURT. He also changed his team name once again, and once again the internet proves it has no limitations. Internet 2, Slovy 0. Keep 'em coming, Josh.

Wait… I'm confused.

10. Kinger's Cowboys [286 - 12th]

Trophies Earned: none

Gary earns his first win in the League. His Any Given Sunday Cherry is popped. You've been promoted from "never-was" to "also-ran".

-- Expletive Redacted Division. 0-3

11. Rock Hill Stars [326.5 - 5th]

Trophies Earned: The Rake [loser with most points]

Don came in looking for his first win and did all the right things. Make sound trades on Sunday morning when the rest of the league was trying to pray away the pain from the prior evening. Instead, he takes the Rake, is ranked 5TH[!!!] in the league in scoring, but sits in 11th place. This. This right here is what fantasy football is all about. The grave injustice of no good deed going unpunished. Here's hoping Don can get on the right track next week by trading AP to get himself a win over Barron. The circle of life would then be complete.

12. The Bloody Mummers [299.5 - 10th]

Trophies Earned: none

This will be the last time I mention the Bloody Mummers until they win a game*. That is all.

*comedic circumstances not withstanding 

 

Let's just say you've got an uphill battle ahead of you.

-- Champ Out

WEEK 3 PREVIEW

MATCHUPS! WEEK 3 BITCHES 

Battle of the 0'fers! We will have one less winless team this week as Kinger's Cowboys take on the ROCK HILL STARS in this week's Kissin' Cousins Pillow Fight of the Week™. Hopefully this game ends in a tie, otherwise one of you will be tied with Zubak, because...

I'm a Whoop His Ass! That is all.

The Other Cousins. Barron and Frank face off to determine whose hometown smells a little less putrid than the other's. With Franklin Delano Dermody XXIX favored by 18.5, Barron is staring down the barrel at 0-3. For the sake of the league, let's hope this does not happen.

Revenge Match. I fully expect and hope that the Commish beats the Bloody Mummers to bloody pulpers just like I did, completing the cycle of revenge for our 147˚F draft day conditions. Never Forget.

Body Parts. The NoNeckNicks take on the Cunts. I'm cheering against my bro in this one, just so we can wipe out as many undefeated teams as possible. Except for Clint v. Ricky Dale. Never Forget.

The Dirk Reclamation Project 2011. Is this for real? If Dirk can sweep the Allens with a win this weekend, he'll have a winning record for the first time since '09. Ryan Allen, well, is Ryan Allen. Some how his rag tag group of middle-of-the-pack's is leading the league in scoring. Regression to the mean is inevitable. Eventually. Right? 

A new season is upon us.

First, a little housekeeping as I never posted a follow to my playoffs post last season - I beat Don in last year's Super Bowl and am defending league champ. Because, obviously. Moving on...

Any Given Sunday Fantasy Football League 2011

So, I'd have done a recap of the slate of week 1 games, but I was in 1st place with my 1 year old daughter's birthday to plan, execute and enjoy and after attending the Michigan / ND game, figured that my life had jumped the normal track that normal lives normally traverse, with ebbs, flows, ups and downs, and landed itself on an anomalous timespace Mobius strip full of hoppy beer, naked virgin spring-breaking coeds with an insatiable desire to sexually satisfy, with football on every other TV channel and the Godfather I and II on loop on every other one, where nothing ever would ever go wrong ever. As I found this weekend, I just happened to be on the most extreme end of a pendular ride on a bolt of lightning that had just acquiesced the surrounding plasmatic air's reassembly into normalized gaseous molecules. The elemental structure of the universe has returned equilibrium. Fuck. You. Fantasy. Football.

"Cake? What cake?"

Suck it Irish. Suck it.

You might be asking, "Mike, what in the fuck are you talking about?" To you sir, I would say, keep reading.

Antonio Gates scores, uh, NOTHING!?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. THIS IS NOT A QUESTION, HENCE THE PERIOD ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. Because the answer is "yes". For just the second time since 2003. Fuck. You. Fantasy. Football.

The Jets score 32 "real" football points and PlaxToTheMax and LT combine for 1/2 of a fantasy point? That is, in fact, a question, I really don't understand and am looking for clarity. Edit: I just checked: 3 FGs, 1 D/ST TD, and a rushing Tuddy by Greene. Fuck. You. Fantasy. Football.

Brady overthrows Branch in the end zone in the 3rd qtr to cost me 12 combined fantasy points between the two, in what was likely his only bad pass of the season so far? Having those two on your fantasy team is like having a threesome with Brady's wife and his other baby's mama every Sunday. I'm pretty sure I just got fucked by the pizza delivery guy and a Wal-Mart greeter from a small town with unsafe levels of lead and arsenic in their water. Fuck. You. Fantasy. Football.

 

fantasy within a fantasy, like "Inception"

So, all in all, a pretty fun week of Fantasy Football. A couple matches came down to the wire, most notably Nick eeeeeeeeeked out a victory thanks to 3 J Brown field goals to maintain a small lead over Eli's predictably pedestrian performance on Monday night. Gary was hoping against hope that Jacobs could close the gap for him, but Ahmad Bradshaw kept pace and beat his teammate. Kind of funny to watch two backs on the same team playing against each other. And Don was hoping for something more from Hakeem Nicks, but when a guy named "Manning", but not named "Peyton" is throwing the ball to your last player, you can expect to be disappointed. Speaking of, I'm proud that my Colts are tied for the lead in the Andrew Luck Sweepstakes. yay.

The Unlosered Yets - "yet" being the operative word, fuckfaces

1. King Slayer [260.5] - You mutt bastard. You beat the best team in the league. I hope you sleep well tonight and then are haunted by your success and falter like…

2. The Clintonians [256.5] …Clint around week 8 or 9, as he usually does. Last year's playoff appearance was an obvious aberration. For what it's worth [2 wins] Clint has swept his nuclear family series, defeating his little bro in week 1 and his ol' man in week 2. Reminds me of that preachery kid from "There Will Be Blood". I… drink… your… milkshake, Clint. I drink it up… EVERYDAY!

I Drink Your Milkshake!

3. Rated Arg For Pirates [238.5] Frank lives in Pittsburgh [ew], and I'm pretty sure his fantasy football team name contains a baseball reference. There will be a trophy to "honor" this egregious misuse of ESPN's user-editable fields. We should probably also create a trophy for "winner with the lowest points", because you'd get that one, too. Good win, Frank, good for you. Fucking Pittsburgh. I can't wait for all of the Steelers fans about to roll into my city this week and pretend that #18 is under center when they beat the living shit out of the Colts.

4. Boston NoNeckNicks [210.5] Despite his #1 pick accounting for a total of 4 fantasy points, Mr. Brehmer has strung together a couple wins, albeit coming against the two statistically worst teams. Which, since this is fantasy football, really just means the two worst teams. Kickers won't be able to bail you out every week, bro.

The Average Joes - so depressingly average [for me… Dirk is thrilled]

5. Naptown FinkleHorns [256] I am awesome. I am also at .500. But, mostly, I'm awesome.

6. Panda's Are Cunts [249.5] FYI: that apostrophe doesn't belong there. Either way, it's probably the best team name so far this year. Keep up the good work. But we can let it slide for now because you, sir, have earned the BIG DICK Badge of Honor. Coming a week after earning the FIAT Fuck! Say Fuck! Trophy. Things are looking up for you Slovy! Which can only mean one thing: complete and utter failure is lurking right around the corner.

close enough, right?

7. Team Zubak [235.5] Zubak scored the most points of any loser for this week. Check out the Other League News below for details on - yes - another trophy. This loss also cements fantasy lore into fantasy gospel, that Joe Flacco will never, ever fail to disappoint his fantasy owners when he's needed most.

8. The Slippery Mittens [207.5] Last week Dirk's kicker outscored everybody in his lineup except his QB [27 pts], with only his kicker posting double digits [10]. Goes from the BUTT HURT participation ribbon to DOMINATOR AWARD in the span of the week. This week Dirk says:

fuck the world!

Oprah's Holocaust Cellar [because down here it's a little crowded and there's not a lot of hope… BUT… FREE TATTOOS FOR EVERYONE!! you got tattooed! you got tattooed! you got tattooed! everyone gets tattoooooooooed!]

9. Rock Hill Stars [212.5] - The Stars have yet to align for the league's patriarch. I hate to think that Don will be 100 years old before things come together for the Stars. If that's the case, dollars to donuts Don is growing horns out of his head.

this is real

10. The Bloody Mummers [204.5] You "earned" the BUTT HURT participation ribbon, so "Bloody" certainly applies. And if "Mummer" is some English term for "Eric's Asshole" well, then I completely agree.

11. Team Relentless [202.5] Barron's team has been relentlessly hit by the injury bug. Peyton Manning's end of his deal with the devil came due this offseason, and Marques Colston is out for another couple weeks. Luckily, he didn't take Arian Foster or Jamaal Charles with the first pick of the draft, or the funny quotient on this roster would be though the roof. Draft Recap:

Peyton - likely out for year
Colston - out 4 weeks
Collie - 1 head shot from vegetable
LRSH - injured
Ford - injured
Jackson - injured
Moss - not on a team.

Great draft Barron. Seriously. Oops! forgot to mention Bironas in the 13th round. Ouch.

12. Kinger's Cowboys [165.5] Gary, Gary, Gary. Two time winner of the micropenis Badge of Dishonor. Le sigh. It is a rough and tumble league to be sure. On the bright side, you just need to sneak a pack of smokes into work and you'll have your entry fee back in no time. That or a ball of heroin. Six of one, half dozen of the other, if you ask me. Both of which are about 6 more than the number of wins I'm guessing the Ol' Cowboys bank this year. And remember, don't share needles… or draft kickers in the 12th round. Both can kill you.

Other News Around the League…

Shady, Treacherous, No-Good League Manager Dealings. Looks like Clint changed the trade deadline and then changed it back. This is not the first time this happened. Back in 2004 he did this during the playoffs for our PS2 Madden '03 Franchise League. He added Randy Moss to his roster and then promptly lost his first playoff game. Keep an eye on him. [I won the Super Bowl]. -- EDIT: Turns out it was Don and he did it by accident.

Two More Trophies, because Why the Fuck Not. "The Rake" will go to the player with the most points who loses a game. "The Nuts" will go to the player with the least points who wins.

Awarding the WAAAAAAHH! Trophy to… Me. For above whine about losing.

Playoffs!

(Mad "props" to Don for this one)

Obligatory Jim Mora embed:

Yes, Jim. I wanna talk about playoffs.

As Don and I - and only Don and I - can speak from experience, the playoffs in this league are not for the faint of heart. Weeks of preparation, execution, and shit-talking have lead us here. In the heat of the off-season - when the rest of you are unwittingly challenging each other for highest homo-quotient as you debate the ins and outs of baseball, or just mentioned it in passing; In the raging fires of the draft - while some of you auto-drafted, and others yet, simply failed; Through the inferno that is the regular season, demolishing some, and squeaking out wins against others via heightened roster management skills; this is how the teeth of a playoff-worthy contender are cut. There are no do-overs. Unlike this little r-tard that called into 106 Jams in Chicago about 15 years ago who needed three tries to get a shout-out to a hip-hop radio station right.

Apparently, the concept of a "live broadcast" was lost on this prototypical, pre-pubecsent, watched-Fresh-Prince-thinking-he-was-understanding-the-black-experience, suburban white kid immersed in hip-hop culture, Clint Hewetson of yesteryear. The more things change, the more they stay the same. This will haunt you at every turn for the rest of your days, Clint-kickin-it-on-the-southside.

Said r-tard. Frosted tips, indeed.

So those who controlled their own destiny to enter the playoffs handled their biz this week. That would be Frank and me. But mostly me. How about a shout out to those in the playoffs?

Give us our props, indeed. And a shout out to those not in the playoffs...

And here we have 4, count 'em... Clint, Frank, Dirk and Barron... 

4 future Any Given Fantasy League also rans.

Clint searching for his first fantasy playoff win. 

No! Further that way, Clint. Much, much further.

Nice basket, though.

Let's not forget Jessica, right next to Clint's best Burt Reynolds impersonation.

You're Welcome, America.

And now that this badass trophy is up for grabs:

I recommend that you:



or for those of you with more sensitive sensibilities...



That is all.

- Mike Clements, 

soon-to-be 2010 Any Given Fantasy League Champion

When Fantasy Gets Real… Mad Real.

Week 7 Wrap.

Don traded away 89 points from his roster last week and still fucking won? 

I had taken the time Monday to assemble a fairly epic requiem honoring Don's week of unprecedented tradefail. It was statistically enlightening, personally insulting to Don himself, and full of anagrams of the names of the three players he traded. In the aftermath of some garbage time yardage on a final Dallas drive that literally meant nothing to anyone, including the 1,000 or so fans that stuck around to the end of the game, this fantasy eulogy is now a defunct homage to the massive fail that would have been, were it not for the now infamous 33 yards gained by the Kitna-Witten Express on that fateful drive, which provided Don with exactly enough points to pull out the W.

So without further adieu, the failure that never was, yet will always be…

********

The Tradewinds are a-blowin' (as is Don's decision-making skills). So Don's trade-happy tendencies have finally bit him in the big one. Last week Don managed to trade away the week's highest scoring TE (Heap, 17) and top TWO WRs (Britt, 40; White, 32). Ouch! This might set an all time record for worst set of transactions by a team since the Vikings traded for Herschel Walker. To put this in proper perspective (if that's even possible), the 3 players that Don traded away so carelessly would have been enough by themselves to beat his own team this week, along with 5 other teams. Damn, Don… damn.

Picking up the pieces. It's not surprising then, that Don decided to take Monday off from work, lay in bed, and attempt to audibly sob away his pain. Decibel levels in Rock Hill are approaching jet engine levels today, folks. Especially after Sunday night, when his kicker was locked in as his highest scorer for the week. I'm laughing out loud at you, Don. In a loud and boisterous manner. At a Starbucks. I have laughed all day today, each time that I think about these trades. At least the Panthers finally won a game. Hopefully Witten and Austin perform well this evening, doing just well enough that your favorite player's fumble costs you the week. Still laughing.

Piling on. In related news, Don, if you scramble the letters of the names of the three players that you traded, you come up with these gems:

-Bedridden kitty won't wed a trophy.

-Witty be he, kind Don traded trophy bid.

-Web deity think(s) Don traded trophy.     ("s" added for syntax)

-Bedded honky nitwit trade(s) trophy.       ("s" added for syntax)

Anagrams are my new favorite things.

A Maharanee fag envys ringworm tits.

Hat tip to Clint for the anagram fun. (Ed: Looks like the Web deity is a fucking idiot now, huh?)

*******

And back to reality. So Don's (I'm running out of adjectives) trades last week. Nobody deserves to win after a trading period that terrible. Yet you did, Don. You did. You netted a negative 47 points in those trades and still won. If this has happened before, which I highly doubt, it occurred in a league where the league manager was Satan himself. So instead, I present to the league:

"A Week in the Life of Don 'The Magic Juan' Heweston"

Monday 11:40pm. Don falls asleep happily after a week 6 win over Barron, as Chris Johnson and soon to be traded Kenny Britt outpaced Barron's K Rob Bironas.

Tuesday 10:00am. In between appointments at his practice, Dr. Don looks to make an adjustment to his fantasy team, which is up on his office screen at all times. After throwing out overtures to all 11 of his league compatriots, he finds a taker in one Mr. Clint Hewetson. Roddy White for MJD becomes reality. 

Thursday 11:47am. Don rosterbates quietly in his office to his unbelievable fantasy lineup that includes the #1 and #3 picks in the draft: Chris Johnson and MJD.

Thursday 12:04pm. Still sweating mildly from his rosterbatory activities, Dr. Don gets a ESPN Player Alert text that his starting TE Dallas Clark is out for the season with a broken wrist. Don looks down at his hand, briefly wondering if his spank session butterfly-effected this sad turn of events before laughing it off.

Thursday 12:05pm. Panic sets in. Unsure of the status of his backup TE Todd Heap, due to a nasty concussion-inducing hit from Brandon Merriweather (if you don't know what I'm talking about, I demand your league entry fee to be paid immediately), Don hits the trade block.

Thursday 12:22pm. Offer goes out to one Mikey McNouge. Heap AND Clark AND Pettigrew for Witten. The doctor is clearly desperate. Mike laughs him off. Living in Indy, Mike is aware of Dallas Clark's season-ending status due to the tornado sirens that have been activated. Mike declines the trade.

Thursday 1:54pm. Don and Mike continue to work through bye week issues that are hindering the likelihood of a sans-Clark trade. Don requests that Mike "lend a nigga a pencil". Mike complies with a trade offer of Witten and Driver for Heap and Britt although expressing that Don should feel free to counter without the WRs included in the deal, and Mike would still accept.

Thursday 2:02pm. Don, distracted by watching and rewatching the clip above, and fighting the clock to squeeze out another self-pleaser before his 2:15pm appointment, accepts the trade as-is.

Thursday 2:08pm. Don, heads to his next appointment and forgets to sanitize his hands. No harm comes of this other than a little inner guilt - which quickly passes - after shaking hands with his patient.

Saturday 9:30pm. After getting caught up on DVR'd episodes of Project Runway, Don checks his fantasy lineup and player news one last time, and reinvigorated by this unstoppable lineup retreats to his bedroom and throttles his wife like a burly Clydesdale stallion mane-deep in mating season.

Sunday 9:25am. It's Football Day in America. Don sits down in his Carolina Panthers pajama bottoms and Steve Smith jersey (true) to a delicately prepared breakfast of made-from-scratch football-shaped pancakes (just the way he likes them!), butter already applied in a fashion kind of similar to laces and leftover McDonald's french fries arranged on his plate to look like goalposts. The previous night's conquest has clearly left Mrs. Don in a giving mood. He let's out a sigh "Damn!" he thinks to himself, "This is going to be a great day!"

Sunday 12:52pm. Unfortunately for Don, those made-from-scratch pancakes weren't quite cooked all the way though before being plated and served. And the thing about consuming undercooked pancakes is this: they're thick and buttery on the way in, and tend to behave as such on the way out, too.

Sunday 1:48pm. Upset from having missed at least the first quarter of the Panthers game, as well as having utilized all of the toilet paper and kleenex within dropped-pants-waddling distance, Don resorts to using washcloths and other various bathroom linens to clean up the mess that Mrs. Don created (damn those pancakes!). It's going to be a rough week of laundry in the Hewetson household. But none of that matters now. All that matters is how the Panthers are doing. The ROCK HILL STARS have yet to cross the good doctor's mind as he still considers them a lock for the week with the whole galaxy consuming force that is his backfield.

Sunday 2:23pm. With the shitty mess behind him mentally-, physically- and chronologically-speaking, Don looks to rekindle the joy he felt after that first bite of flapjacks. He sits in his La-Z-Boy. The Panthers are tied at halftime. HOORAY! They have the opportunity to take the lead for the first time since the first half of the first game of the season (which they lost). Jim Brown comes on screen for the halftime recap. No, that's Jimmy Johnson's perma-tan. Don yells to Mrs. Don - who's in the bathroom, um, cleaning - telling her to get him scheduled for an eye exam.

Sunday 2:25pm. After seeing highlights from the Falcons and Titans respective games, a sinking feeling sets in. Don quickly thinks through why Kenny Britt and Roddy White sound so familiar. "NO! I traded them. BOTH. They're having career days, and last week they were on MY roster!!" PANIC. He flips open his laptop. FEAR. He clicks to the league scoreboard. DESPAIR. Mike and Clint are thrashing their opponents, while Don is struggling against his daughter who's on a 4 game skid after starting 2-0. Don tries to undo the damage, but it's too late.

Sunday 4:07pm. Furiously refreshing the scoreboard hoping, wishing that something will change, even though there are no active games, Don throws up a little in his mouth. Partly because of the pancakes, but mostly because he's realizing the extent of the failure that is his roster management skills. The Clydesdale is no more. 

Sunday 7:58pm. Don currently leads Jessica by a point. She has Aaron Rodgers and Roy Williams still to play. Don has Miles Austin and Witten in his cannon, yet his mighty cannon is feeling more pop-gunish by each passing play. Don begins to feel a little ill. Again. He b-lines to the bathroom but Mrs. Don heads him off. Having just finished a 7 hour cleanup and rehanging the twice-washed shower curtain, she forbids his entry. Not again, buddy. Too depressed and sick and woefully inadequate-feeling to argue, Don hops in the SS Camaro and hopes that all 400+ horses will get him to the Perkins down the street in time to handle the only business he can still - barely - control.

Sunday 9:52pm. Don returns from the Perkins. Sweaty, flushed, and weak, he walks in from the garage and trips over the threshold, collapsing face-first into a basket of yet-to-be-washed washcloths in the laundry room from his earlier endeavor. "WHY GOD? WHY?!" He thinks he screams, but it escapes through his larynx as nothing more than a whimper. He gathers himself, still-mint-condition Panthers PJs and all, and heads upstairs to take a shower and go to bed. "Fuck Sunday Night Football Fuck Cris Collinsworth. Al Michaels, too." Don mutters to himself. He quickly takes it back, but can't find the DirecTV remote that doubled as an ass scratcher during Monday Night Football the week before.

Monday 7:27am. Don, having woken up every 45 minutes the previous night to vacate either his bowels or his esophagus, calls in sick to work. Today the good doctor needs to focus on self-healing his body and psyche.

Monday 10:45am. Mrs. Don asks if Don would like some pancakes for breakfast. Don screams at her for her insensitivity and calls the Dallas front office to get in contact with M. Austin and J. Witten express the import of their performance tonight, but falls asleep when he gets put on hold. 

Monday 1:21pm. Don wakes up to a busy signal. He heads downstairs and grabs his laptop and brings it back to bed. DAMN! Losing by 17 points. Witten and Austin vs. Roy Williams. Rodgers two picks the night before have given him a fighting chance.

Monday 9:00pm. Romo goes down with a broken clavicle and the echo of laughter from the universe reaches Don's inner ears. Nobody even knows who the backup QB for Dallas is. Shit. It's Jon Kitna. Two hours pass without an offensive first down. Don eyes the kitchen knives reluctantly. He briefly considers any outcome where he doesn't have to face those assholes in his fantasy league a good one. 

Tuesday 12:02am. Kitna to Witten for 24 yards in absolute fucking garbage time. The unthinkable has happened. Don has tied things up with Jessica. A moment later another pass for 9 yards. Now the impossible has happened. After trading away -47 fantasy points in a single week, Don has won, yet again, 82-81. He heads to the bathroom - feeling much better, thank you - turns on the exhaust fan, and evacuates the last of the fantasy evil that remained from the preceding week. It's morning in America, and the sun shines upon Don "The Magic Juan" Hewetson.

Fin.

As the League Turns...

Week 4 Recap. HA! So all I'm really interested in discussing is that heading into the CHI/NYG game I held a 56 point lead over Dirk, 89-33. He had Jay Cutler, Devin Hester and Greg Olsen starting in that game, the three of which combined for a total of one point (-4, 2, and 3, respectively). One. Well played, Chicago Bears, well played. 

But while we're at it, we may as well talk about Clint getting thrashed by Nick, favored by 45, yet losing by 38 and Barron losing to Zoobs to eliminate all the perfect records in the league. 

Don the Magic Juan is still unbeaten, but has the distinction of a tie on his record. Oh, the shame, the humanity. Jessica got abused domestically, yet again, and now sits at the .500 mark. That sandwich keeps looking less and less likely. 

My 73 point domination of Dirk is tops for the week, and I now sit atop the league in scoring. Suck it. The Sissy Fight of the Week goes to Frank and Jessica, which if they combined their scores would still have lost to myself, Nick, and The Old Dongslinger, Zoobie. Barron's loss locks us up at the top of the west division, with the tiebreaker for general awesomeness going to yours truly (but not that truly).

Week 5. So here we are. Well, here I am, anyway, covered in baby feces and spitup (picture not included, you're welcome!), and filled with a sense of joy that none of you will ever experience: the knowingness of championship fantasy season. Who knows where you mutt fucks are. Although I do know that DirkaDirka and Clint (and perhaps Jessica "n't break .500" Hewetson, as well) are visiting The League Elder in NC, so be sure to be on the lookout for any shady incestual/ancestral trades that occur over the next few days, as it's a virtual lock that once more than one Hewetson is in a room, diabolical scheming and plotting doth occur, although generally with funny and ineffectual outcomes. In related news, the state of North Carolina braces for shocking behavior unmatched since Strom Thurmond's love child was thrust into the limelight. 

And I'm pretty sure Josh is in a dark room somewhere progressing through his new Intermediate Yoga DVD's hoping to Tongue Kiss His Own Shithole at some point in the near future (stay classy, Slovy). Zoobers is likely watching this attempt to transgress unwritten laws of self-pleasuring, moist towel in hand. 

On the east coast I know my bro Nick is in Boston, licking the wounds of a failed BoSox season - if he's lucky, Amanda's doing the licking for him - while lamenting about a dying ember that was once a great and mighty flame - a beacon fire for those lost in the wilderness of unfulfilled promises and disappointing seasons - as he abandons his once great love for the Purple and Gold; Ryan Allen currently walks aimlessly through the streets of midtown Manhattan wearing his Jim Miller #15 Chicago Bears jersey, being spat upon and having feces thrown upon him by native New Yorkers as he still tries, John Nash style, to unravel the mystery of just what the hell went wrong Sunday night with his beloved Bears. The answer (nothing, they just suck, just like last year and the year before and the decade before that) will not penetrate his delicate psyche until well into his 40s. 

His little bro Eric is engaged in this same walk of shame and despair, albeit in Lincoln Park, Chicago, a tad more weepishly, in his #8 Rex Grossman jersey, and with the spittle and feces being hurled upon him in a much more sympathetic manner, but hurled nonetheless. 

(side note: it's amazing how easy it is to google image search Chicago QB fumbles, you don't even need to include the word "fumble" in your search criteria)

Frank sits just outside Pittsburgh, waiting for the "triumphant" return of "The Bathroom Attendant with All the Right Moves" (thank you, Zoobie, for that one) and hoping that he's placed in isolation, away from all mildly- to non-attractive women in a 3 state radius. 

looks like a stand-up guy to me

Barron sits quietly in Bedford because, well, that's what you do when you're in Bedford.

This week Barron and I challenge for the outright lead in the west division, while Jessica and Zoobs fight for respectability and relevance, along with Eric and Nick, and Frank and Ryan. Don looks to waltz (that's what you old people do in your free time, right?) to 4-0-1 against his winless son, Dirk. So much for the apple falling from the tree analogy. Clint is favored by even more this weekend against Slovy than he was last weekend against Nick, so I'm expecting another Clintonian loss, in pure Clintonian fashion. 

Until next week, pussies!

I'm back. And may you all get fucked.

So after a two game hiatus of active participation in this poor excuse for a fantasy league, Mikey Clements makes his triumphant return.

What's sad, is that in my absence, not only did not anyone contribute to the excellent level of shit-talking that I established before taking leave, but all you Mick R. Tards were able to accomplish was a botched trade. Speaking of, if EDA had proposed the same deal a week earlier, there's no way i'd have reversed that trade. Don possesses a Christ-like capacity for forgiveness. I'd work on that, Don.

For reasons that should be obvious, I changed my team name to the Cate Rileys last week. This was in honor of my new daughter, born on 9/18 at 1:51am after 17 hours of labor and weighing 8 lbs 3 oz. Cate Riley Clements is pictured here...

Delmar: Everett, I never figured you for a pater familias.

Everett: Oh yes, I have spread my seed.

And for the record, it takes an F5 Tornado of a loadslinger to make a baby this cute.

However, that team lost due to a missed 20 yard field goal by Garrett Hartley in overtime, and a yard or two here or there left on the field. Or had Rodgers tossed that ball to Driver in the back of the end zone instead of running it in, I'm atop the division with the Pride of Bedford (which is not too unlike the whitehead pimple on a hemorrhoid), Barron Hewetson.

Long story short, the team name "Cate Rileys" is 1-1. One more loss and this "unconditional love" theory is out the window.

Now on to important things...

1/4. We are roughly a quarter of the way through the season, which is a perfect time for a recap and snapshot of where the league stands now. I'll do this by division so you secondary alacrity-deprived mutt-fucks don't get too confused.

In the east, Clint remains undefeated. He ranks only 7th in the league in scoring, but has by far the fewest points against. So way to go, I guess. This should catch up to you soon. Don completely fucked me this weekend and I've prayed for a plague upon his house for the past two nights as he sits a half game out. Maybe this bedbug epidemic will find it's way to Rock Hill, SC this week, and Don's crotch specifically. The rest of you bastards really need to step up to make this a competitive division (this excludes Slovy and Nick, whose seasons are already over).

In the west, as previously stated, Barron leads the division, putting up respectable scoring numbers while, like Clint, has played the weakest competition by a mile. Jessica and I are "tied", although if the playoffs started today, I would get the nod, as: 1. I'm not a woman 2. I have scored more points. Ryan Allen, Esq. sits two games out after three, and holds the distinction of just barely not being worst in the division, as Zuby and Dirk sissy fight their way to the bottom of the league.

Week 4

Perfection vs. Perfection. Two 3-0 teams take on two 0-3 teams. Clint v. Nick and Zubak v. Barron. This does not seem to be a week where teams will trend towards the mean. Life is a cruel bitch that way.

Women's League News/The Feud/Kissin' Cousins Bowl becomes the Ike & Tina Bowl. My three favorite highlights combine into one, as the only Hewetson family head-to-head matchup includes the only family member in this league without a penis battling against Jess. Last week Jessica took it on the chin from her other cousin Barron, which leaves the women's league scores at:

Jessica: 2

Barron: 1

Ryan Allen: 0
Dirk: 0

and leaves Barron with an oh-so-awkward feeling as he falls asleep at night. This week Frank hopes to make this feeling his own.

Bring out the Gimp. Ricky Dale and I look to keep Slovy and Dirk from rising up from the depths. They essentially are the personification of the gimp. You haven't heard them, they aren't self-sufficient, laugh at other's misery, and will soon be knocked the fuck out. Oh, and they don't mind it in the ass.

Average Joes. Finally, Don and Ryan battle for mediocrity. May you both fall short.

Fatherhood calls, pussies. See you on the flip side of week 4.