Welcome, Owners, to yet another post from our never-ending league and latest excuse to avoid dealing with the important things in life, like family, work and that weird skin growth you haven’t told anyone about yet (Seriously, do something about the rash, it’s starting to smell). Yes, in addition to our esteemed Commissioner beating us over the head with mind-numbing analysis and the manic musings of our resident madman, Smeet, #GMRRFFA is bringing you a brand new weekly (Commisioner hopes) column (title still pending). In all actuality, Commissioner was poring over his Twitter analytics by candlelight and it turns out our owners still have unaccounted bathroom time that demands entertainment. Pretty sure, Smeet skews our average on this one, but who am I to judge a grown man with well-regarded lactose issues, who demands pasta with only butter and cheese, following it up with a milkshake for dessert?
So Enough With the Foreplay, What’s This Column Actually Going to be About Anyway?
Hey, what’s the rush, killer? No matter what the Stockholm Syndrome owner, and the groupchat’s resident sex tourist says, foreplay is a fun, yet important step to enhance arousal for all parties. Don’t skip it, that’s just selfish.
Anyway, I digress. Basically, I write all that to hide the fact that I have no idea. I mean, I have some ideas, they’re just not any good. I imagine, this is probably how Fredo feels on draft day. I’m pretty sure I was given free rein to find topics, as long as I stay away from the Commish’s precious statistics and I steer clear from the rantings that Smeet has etched into the walls of his padded room. Little behind the scenes insight for ya, nobody has EVER asked the mailbag any questions. EVER. Have you ever seen James McAvoy in Split? That’s pretty much his whole process.
Who are you and why are you so bad at this?
Don’t pretend to care who I am. We both know what you came here for, and that’s slander against the other owners. If you must know, I’m the proud co-owner of the Vienna Sausages and more importantly I am lonely, lonely man with too much time on his hands. Apparently, those are the only qualifications needed to post on this site.
So, what’s next?
Ok, so you’ve got some homework. I need a name for the column and judging by the Commish’s suggestions, I am DESPERATE.
So, I’m begging for your help. Send me some suggestions. PLEASE. We, as a league deserve better. Otherwise, I’m going to spend the rest of my life telling people I write that “Commentary on Commentary on Commentary” column.
That’s it? This was an incredible waste of my time and I want my 5 minutes back.
First off, I’d be lying if I said that was the first time someone said that to me. But I will say, in this context, it stings slightly less. Slightly. To the point, I did not want to miss posting the first week of the season. If you think the Commish is pushy when it comes to horseshit trade offers, you should try working with him. And since some of you in the league have had that displeasure, then it should come as no surprise to you that he is shirking his responsibilities yet again and I have been “volun-told” to be a regular contributor.
Also, I think there is something to be said for posting without a title, direction or clear idea of where any of this is going, just for the sake of having to give you, the owners. If it helps, try to think of this inaugural post like it's a trophy. Not just any trophy, but a shining brilliantly, gleaming in the sun, custom-designed trophy. The one we all want and have been waiting for. Now imagine the individual tasked with acquiring said trophy, waiting for the ideal situation, biding their time for millennia, for the very stars and planets, themselves, to align to the optimal configuration for our prophesized trophy to magically fall from the heavens above.
Now instead imagine a hero, a true specimen of a man. A man knows what the people have been waiting for--what their taut and highly honed fantasy football orifices have been aching for. And this man says, "Enough. Enough of the waiting. The people need their trophy. My people deserve their trophy." This man doesn't wait, he acts. He moves with purpose. He runs into the burning building, scratching and clawing his way through wreckage, exiting victorious, the remnants of a trophy scorching and melting over his blistered palms. All for his people. All for the league. All for you.
I can be your hero, baby.
