Okay, this blog is really starting to cramp my credibility. Just nine short months after I completely ripped into Angel Pagan's chest and tore out his heart, metaphorically, I have to say that for legal purposes, he goes on to help our beloved San Francisco Giants win a second World Series in three years and we resign him. Of course, I praise the signing, noting that I will be forever indebted to "El Cabello Loco," taking back nearly everything I said about him in my rip-roaring rant, Angel Pagan or Devil Pagan?
Now, Morty's Corner forces me to look back on foul tongue once again. Four months ago I got online with a few friends of mine, ordered a slice of pizza, cracked some PBRs with Lump and Stoye, and got down to selecting my 2012 Fantasy Football squad, "Fondle My Footballs," in our league draft. In the post entitled Fantasy Football? I Take It More Seriously Than That, I boasted out my team about as badly as a drafter can. I discussed my favorite picks, why I loved my defense, and rosterbated so hard I'm still chafing right now, seriously, just kidding. LeSean McCoy this, Philip Rivers that. "Greg Olsen at tight end? What a steal," I thought. Well, there I go thinking again...
With a 5-9 record and the second lowest "Points For" total, my team "Fondle My Footballs" fondled balls, alright. As Jack Black says in Tropic Thunder, my team encapsulated the quote: "I'll cradle the balls… stroke the shaft… work the pipe… and swallow the gravy... Get it over here buddy let’s do this…" It was a complete abomination of Fantasy Football strategy. I started people I should have sat, I dropped people I should have kept. All I can think of is Tom Cruise in Jerry McGuire, "I lost the number 1 draft pick the night before the draft!"
All in all, it was a terrible year. I don't even know where to start. Philip Rivers looked more like shot-putter than a quarterback and when he had that 4 interception game against the Broncos back on November 18th, I could have sworn I saw him look to the camera and say, "Fuck you, Morty." It was terrible. Oh, and do not even get me started on trading Wes Welker after three weeks. I am a disgrace to the very essence of fantasy football. Like I said, I finished with 5-9 record, in last place, but some how managed to make the most player moves (23) and most waiver wire acquisitions (14). Talk about over thinking a straight 3-foot putt.
In that death-sentence post I made, I also happened to select my three favorite picks. Wait until you get a load of this shit:
Favorite Pick #1: Wes Welker, Wide Receiver, New England Patriots **TRADED**
Favorite Pick #2: LeSean McCoy, Running Back, Philadelphia Eagles **INJURED**
Favorite Pick #3: Pittsburgh Defense **DROPPED**
For any one out there who thought this post was too dramatic, you do not get it. I hyped up something that not only was not very good, but finished two spots away from dead last. I TRADED AWAY, DROPPED, AND LOST ANY PLAYER I LIKED OR HAD INTEREST IN. C'MON MAN! However, the one glimmer of pride in all of this is my manhood; it's still intact because at least I know I'm wrong and can admit it. Most of you can't even do that. I have a long off-season ahead of me and I believe I can come back and draft a solid team next year. Lord knows, I'll need to if I do not want to keep donating $20 to a friend every year.
Until next time, good luck to all the teams that made the playoffs. I need a beer.
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