Ah jea, back for another season of fantasy - it's like fun and failure having a baby - or like eating a whole jar of Nutella by yourself. Get ready for another round of meaningless picks by me that are really just poorly-veiled (and poorly constructed!) insults at friends, family, the profoundly handicapped and myself.
Lonesome Kicker vs. Urban Achiever
Unless the NFL lets Peterson's wheelchair onto the field, there's a decent chance that Mark Ingram might actually be Ian's starting running back. That's kind of funny because all Ian has to do is look on over at Paul's team to see the guy who's actually going to get points as a running back on the New Orleans Saints. It would be a enough to make a grown man scream. Pair that with Andrew Luck not having any against a reasonably stout Bears defense (you should hear my Art Modell puns - been work-shopping them all week), and I say Paul walks away with a relatively easy one this week.
Gone in 30 Minutes vs. The Chefs
Like a line-up of Thai hookers, Ryan's team is full of unknowns. Is Robert Griffin going to be good, or is he going to have a droopy uncircumcised man-hammer beneath that mini-skirt. Same goes for Richardson, who nobody has actually seen play. As far as I know, he's not even a real person, the Browns just made up a guy to give their dim-witted fans a little hope before they go home to disappointingly beat their wives. Another walk-away victory here with Derek helping Ryan fall into a doorknob this week.
The Downs Burns vs. Reckoner
Even with a 38 point lead, I think Wayne' chances of winning are about as solid as a Tupac hologram. And like Tupac, perhaps Wayne's best work is when he's not around, since I actually think his drafted starting team is decent (his back-ups however sound worse than Tupac's eighth post-mortem record). Not that I love Lindsay's team either - I don't. The names sound okay, but something just isn't right - like turning a long-dead person into a touring partner at Coachella. It's probably a little bit Lynch, and probably a lot bit Vick, and then a little bit Forte. Methinks all of these guys are in for down years - and will be about as well-received as Tupac's next tour - the "Please Just Let Me Die, Baby" tour. Despite all that, it's Wayne who will be crying so many tears when Lindsay wins.
The North vs Banana Grabbers
Having Peyton Manning start with Alex Smith is like seeing big beautiful breasts on a morbidly obese woman - they quite effectively cancel each other out. Larry's put a lot of faith in someone who's been remarkably mediocre for a long time - and no ancient Randy Moss is going to change that fact. If there's an upside for Charles it's that Bryan is relying on another Charles - one who may or may not be one hit away from selling cell phones at the mall. That said, Manning is one good hit away from permanently speaking like Jean Chretien on ambien, so really this is all just a toss-up. I'll say Bryan takes a squeaker this week.
Bare Cupboards vs Dirty D
Speaking of squeakers, I was looking up things on Urban Dictionary the other day and I came across doing a "Fleener." Apparently, that's when you take a handful of hot poo and push it through the screen of your neighbor's storm door. Half of Dennis' team will probably be fleening me all day - Ryan and Rodgers and Foster and Colston make for a potent pair-of-pairs. The only way this stays close for me is if Shannhan plays trickster god once again and starts somebody other than Royster. While I think my team will put in a workmanlike effort - one might even say yeoman - I don't think it will be enough against Dennis' relatively healthy superstars in week one. Dennis fleens my screen door and I have to wash off the corn nuggets with my front hose.
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