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Archive for the ‘Week 7’ Category

Pals 34 Rooks 31

The Rooks had to make a statement this game to show the league that they were a ligit contender and not a hack politicians sitting behind a Halloween mask made of chewed up Fritos praying the sun would not bake them to cracking before the game ended. So they waited, posied to drop oil on the Pals and punish the front running ponies for not making the right calls this weekend. ‘Twas not to be. The arrow ment for the heart of the Stallion turned ’round mid air by the inujured hand of Jay Cutler, sending it back over the walls and into the eye of the watching Rooks. With only one running back, if you can call Ricky Williams a running Back, the Rooks were praying their fairy tale season of joy and stipper poles would continue to unfold, but as a man in movie once said, heroes die in fairy tales all the time. Monday Night was a little colder in the Castle – so perhaps they should have used some of that oil to warm their troops instead of wasting in on the Pals. Now in sole possesion of first place at the Turn, the 2 time champs look to have a solid enough team to stay in contention until the bitter end. The way this season is shapping up, nobody is out of it yet, so the further you can keep your heels from the meat grinder the better you will sleep at night. The Pals trotted home accross the George Washington Bridge late at night, riding through Harlem and greeting thier faithful as the sun started to hit the bricks of the Pal Pen. The are back and aren’t going anywhere. Rooks, how will you define yourself next week?

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Bugs 54 Ubermen 31

Do you remember the Hagler / Hearns fight? Three rounds of heavy hitting and unrelenting power? The Ubes and Bugs walked to the center of the ring and started swinging, but the Bugs brought a bunch of bruisers from Chicago and a large man dressed in Purple not named Grimace from Minnesota and that was all she wrote as the Bugs won big gut check game without their bye week Red Birds. A big roady into the midwest for the Bugs proved they could take the change of seasons, while the Ubermen have so many eggs in that volatile Dallas basket they must be questioning the validity of the Easter Bunny right about now. Ubes, are you satisfied enough seeing Marshawn Lynch go for 78 yards and a TD every week? We don’t think you are. The QB question in the Backwoods must be answered before they are to march all in step. This is, after all, a machine that requires precision. The Bugs stay at the head of the pack for the turn of the season and just hope that their backfield can stay healthy enough to push through the winter. Yo Adrian will have to do it all by himself, but now is the time that D lines start to tire and those big, bruising backs can dominate a game. The Bugs had a private box for Governer Palin at the game and my sources tell me that the team’s tailor is personally responsible for the suits she’s wearing on the campaign trail. We know you’ve got peep holes in the dressing Room Bugs. Can the Ubes make the right coaching decisions each week to pull into the playoffs? The Price of oil in unknown.

Mr. Bug: OK Bug Children, we’re all going to the beach.
Bug Child: But Mr. Bug, I don’t have any lotion.
Mr. Bug: That’s OK. We did the Ubes nice and dry, so there’s plenty left in the trunk.
Bug Child: I’m not going to tell my mom you said that.
Mr. Bug: No Bug Child, you wont.

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Krons 53 ‘Lics 31

Revenge is sweet, except when you’re stuck in a sour patch, kid. The ‘Lics thought they could take out the Krons and pay them back for last year’s despicable show of sportswomanship, but alas, Stephen Jackson came to the Prom this year with a purpose and Clinton Portis was already back in the hotel. By the time all when said and done, it was the ‘Lics and the Wolf Dog by themselves in the middle of the gym dancing together to the scratched record fuzz of Careless Whisper, the Ukrainian Smooth Jazz version. Hurting. The Krons skipped around their fallen foe, throwing hard boiled eggs that will leave the smell of stained humiliation because this Franchise that can never seem to get control of themselves. Ronnie Brown and the Wildcat formation are a video game, not a real life event like Fantasy Football. Though week on defense and Kickers, the golden boy from South Southern Cali has to be considered a favorite for the Belt. You know the Christian is going to come around, one just has to wonder what Lord the Krons worship other than themselves. We love it Kronaiders! ‘Lics, do you have another late season run in you? Hit it wolfie:

Wolf Dog you came short
Chance for leg bites now all gone
Winter. Sleep. Better. Whore!

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X 33 Riders 14

Oh Jerry. The train was leaving the station and everyone was waving goodbye. I thought the reason you weren’t there was because you were looking for the perfect goodbye outfit, but alas, The Schwartz was wrong. Again. About you. Running along the other side of the Orient Express was Jerry Rice in a Randy Moss Jumpsuit driving a convertible MG then jumping from the driver’ seat to an open box car. After dusting himself of Rider Remains, Jerry laid down a blanket and dined on Caviar and a stolen bottle of good enough whiskey from a ‘Stache Team that seemed to be reading their own headlines, though we’re not really sure they have the whole alphabet thing down. While in the middle of the meal, Jerry couldn’t help but chuckle at the front page news of Larry Johnson being suspended and LT hurting in the wing foot. Riders, is it you who are heading to the back of this Fantasy Train? Is there a back this year? It appears that there are only the have’s and the have some’s, but nobody has a name card to tell the difference. That stench coming from Riderville may be the fumes of their season starting to rise into the night. Jerry is alive with His Patriot Receivers and Ryan Grant, who refuse to grow body fat or fade away. No sunsets for you Jerry. Well done. Well done. Riders, are you done? Show me something before you get uglier than you are!

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