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Commentary from the Edge: Week 1
Kevin Ratterree
September 6, 2011
 

So Arian Foster thinks we are sick. Actually he referred to we fantasy brethren as “you people." You people? Seriously? I mean, just when I thought the stigma had dissolved. The social stain lifted. The oppression and scorn a thing of the past. Just when it seemed the mainstream had accepted us as we are and for who we are. And this bozo comes along and tries to erase years of progress by pointing a cyber-finger in judgment at us and proclaiming "You people are sick.”
              
I’ll tell you who is sick Arian, the people that drafted you #1 only to learn days later that you suffered the hammy. Sick, yes. I could just see them as their league payment cleared the bank, screaming at their computer monitors like Rocky at the end of Rocky. Adrian!!!!! Adrian!!!!!

Yeah Arian, we are sick. We are callous, worthless sons of bitches. We go to work every day at jobs that we don’t necessarily love, for a fraction of the pay you will make. And our big treat of the week is plunking down in a La-Z-Boy, and watching you rip our league-mates a new one. It gives us great joy. That is our relationship. We want to be entertained, and you are paid quite handsomely to entertain us, and kick some ass on our behalf.

I think I can safely say that the majority of us sickos certainly wish you no ill will whatsoever Mr. Foster. But our relationship starts at the 20 and ends at the goal-line. If you suddenly find yourself in some sort of life threatening situation I would be willing to bet that my twisted freaky fantasy friends and I will be lining up at our message boards you never will ever read, offering our best wishes, thoughts and prayers to you and your family.

But until then we are really only interested in what you can do on Sundays. We won’t be there to kiss your boo-boo’s. We won’t be there to tuck you in on Sunday night. But maybe someone should be. Because if you think that it is a good idea to show us sick twisted freaks an MRI of your sick twisted hamstring, you have little concept of the thing professionals call gamesmanship. Herm Edwards said it best. “Don’t hit send!” 

And FYI Arian, if it weren’t for all the sick fantasy players, nobody would be reading your tweets, because nobody outside of Houston would know who you were regardless of what kind of numbers you put up last year.

But common sense these days is in short supply. I mean, we have all suffered through a long hot summer, a summer with no football happenings to quench our discontent. No jobs. No money. Stagnant. Overdrawn. Buried up to our necks in the muck. Did I mention no football?  Yes, these were joyful times indeed.

But the NFL throws us a bone and decides to go ahead and cash in on all the money we have lined up to spend on their product. We all knew deep down they were kind hearted souls all along. And just like that, opening night is on the horizon and that magical moment is at hand when Nike meets Wilson. And all is right with the world.

But first, a word from the president.

You have to be f’ing kidding me. Yeah, I swore off talking politics in this column after the last time I poked the hornets’ nest. But this isn’t about party affiliation, my disdain for every District douche bag responsible for cramming this country down the porta-potty, be he democrat, republican, libertarian or vegetarian, or commie card carryin’.  It’s not about that. It’s about football man. Football!

Our refuge. Our sanctuary. Our passion. Pissed on.

Well, almost. It seems someone put a bug in the Pres’s ear that we have kind of taken to this football thing, and it may be best not to force NBC to choose between us and him.

And I don’t normally get liquored up for football. I like to be in an alert state so as to critique my questionable roster choices, and deliver in real-time the appropriate level of self-loathing unadulterated by the numbing effects of alcohol. But I do prefer to be heavily sedated before listening to any fecal spewing politicians. So what am I to do here? You have put me in quite a conundrum Mr. President.

Seriously, can’t we just have a night devoid of depression? Is it good common sense to impose yourself on the most popular sport in America, outside of walking around in a daze pushing buttons on our precious little gadgets, calling people we really don’t know sick and what-not?

Next time any of you politicos consider pre-empting a nationally televised football program, why not just come over to our houses one at a time and kick us in the nuts. That will be the first thing you will ever have done that we understand. Thank you, and God bless America. Ooof!

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Predictions. Philip Rivers wins the MVP. The holy triumvirate of Rivers, Gates, and Jackson lead me to fantasy glory.  LeGarrette Blount will turn in a first round running back type season. I’ll take the Falcons over the Packers in the NFC, and the Chargers over the Patriots in the AFC. Yeah, that’s right. You heard me. I just stated publicly that a Norv Turner coached team will beat a Bill Belichick coached team for the right to go to the Superbowl. That is a doomed prediction if there ever was one, but the little voice in my head keeps telling me to say that. So it’s out there. What the hell, you’ll probably forget.

And in closing brothers and sisters, let’s have a moment of silence for the World Championship of Fantasy Football. Okay, that’s enough. It turns out that after the new owners took over a few years ago they forgot a few incidental things, like paying the winners of their leagues and such. These douches went Bernie Madoff and left a lot of winners, losers.

In a side note, one of the alleged crooks in question, a Mr. Dustin Ashby allegedly has been afflicted with a nasty case of the cancer. I would truly like to wish Mr. Ashby all the best.

And some still people still call us sick.

Misery Index

10) Chiefs: I thought I had seen everything until I saw Haley’s approach the preseason. In his world, you play your starters the whole game in the last preseason game. Injuries? Pffft. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted, that all too brief vacation from the list of teams that football forgot. The schedule maker was riding shotgun for last year’s drive for the playoffs, but he bailed and put a nail in the left rear tire at that last stop. But that doesn’t even matter because Haley ran the damn thing out of oil anyway. Nice job coach.

9) Bills: Well, at least the roster has turned over quite nicely since the end of the Jauron era. Merriman? Huh? That’s something. You open the season against the Cassel-less Chiefs. So after you kick the Chiefs ass this Sunday we can move you out of this dumpster at least for a week, so you have that going for you. Thanks for stopping by. Probably smell ya later.

8) Redskins: Skeletor and son of Skeletor have spent the off-season trying to convince the football community that they are the only ones smart enough to see that John Beck is a superstar in waiting. Meanwhile, the guy who according to the gospel of Skeletor was assumed to be the backup, now apparently week one starter Rex Grossman must be buying in, because he thinks the ’Skins are going to get rings. But Skeletor’s biggest feat this off-season was convincing a bunch of otherwise rational thinking fantasy players to buy into Tim Hightower as the season-long feature type back. Classic.

7) Browns: The other night I had a vision. A vision that Colt McCoy was the real McCoy. And Peyton Hillis actually got stronger as the season wore on. And that Browns defense was just stifling people. The Browns were mowing ’em down they were. Then I woke up and told my wife not to buy any more mushrooms from that farmers market where all the hippies hang out.

6) Vikings: It’s official. Minnesota is where old quarterbacks go to die.

5) 49ers: Apparently the new head coach doesn’t see the easily distinguishable connection between Alex Smith and the unemployment line.

4) Colts: Peyton’s Place is becoming quite a Peyton Place, no? He’s fine. He’s not fine. He gets a huge new contract. He’s not on the PUP list. He needs a second surgery. He doesn’t need a second surgery. This is a landscape changing fiasco going on here folks. The good people of Indianapolis are about to get a cruel, cruel dose of NFL reality sans Peyton Manning. There is no way you are going to be ready for this, and it is going to be painful. Just bend over, grab your ankles and try not to scream too much.

3) Seahawks: After watching Carroll & company work their magic this off-season, I would suggest that the head coach try to find a job in an area where high powered chronic is not so prevalent.

2) Bengals: Does anything else need to be said about this organization? Carson Palmer left 10 million on the table. Palmer basically paid over 10 million dollars to not be associated with this team any more. Worth every penny.

1) Panthers: I’m not sure what to make of Cam Newton’s ability. I mean, lets get real. No run-first quarterback with less than average accuracy has ever led his team to glory. Of course, considering what has happened here over the last several years, they might be happy just to have a player that can make the crowds ooh and aah once in a while en route to a 13 loss season. Mission accomplished!


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