The Sports Rag

OK, I know it’s been approximately three months since I wrote a new Sports Rag. In the time since that July issue, the White Sox broke a curse of their own to bring a World Series title to Chicago, causing Cubs' fans to grow itchy, burning rashes.

Hockey is back (um...huzzah?) and, despite the self-serving, non-apologetic abortion of an ad campaign, professes to be better than ever thanks to rule changes like allowing two-line passes, disallowing excessive golie puckhandling, increasing the open ice in front of the net (by decreasing the distance to the boards behind the net), and ridding the game of those infernal ties by having shootouts after sudden-death overtime. If the shootouts fail, then both coaches fight to the death with medieval spiked clubs. Should be fun.

Theo, on the other hand, isn't back. Epstein wisely walked away from his apparent dream job -- see BIll Simmons' recent ESPN.com column, which nails the situation -- due mostly to being behind-the-back-shafted in the press by former mentor Larry Lucchino, via a heavily "pro-Lucchino" suck-up job by Globe writer Dan Shaugnessy. Meanwhile, in Gotham, the Yanks' Brian Cashman re-upped for another few nightmare years with the Boss. (As you can see from the pic on the right, he's already been fitted with a new leather gimp mask, red rubber ball-gag and choke collar. And he's got a helluva lot of gray hair for a guy who's not even forty. Wonder why.)

Anyway, since July, I’ve received more than my share of “What the hell are you doing?” emails. Sorry. Satire sports creation just hasn’t been on the ol’ radar for me lately . . . but for good reason, trust me. I haven't just been

First, I finished my second book, the one on semi-pro football. Finally. I felt like I did back in college, asking for an extension (“Uh, professor, my roommate threatened to kill himself, and my girlfriend broke up with me, and….”) But, thankfully, my editor was buried on other projects so he didn’t have a gun to my head to enforce the September 1 deadline. So, I took a couple extra weeks. Fine-tuned it. Looked it over for what seemed like the 127th time. Smoked some more crack. And sent it off. As Seymour Skinner would say, Done and done.

The title is TBD, so I don’t want to prematurely reveal anything, but it’s basically a Friday Night Lights-meets-Paper Lion look at an inner-city Boston semi-pro football team, and this ubiquitous level of football, seen through the eyes of an overage (almost 40), underdog (never played a down of real football…ever), out of place (veritable poster child for “suburban white boy” playing for a mostly black team) place kicker – yes, that would be me. Book-to-be-named-later is tentatively scheduled for a fall ’06 release, and I can’t tell you how excited I am. While Committed was exciting – seeing it on shelves was a lifelong dream come true – this second one was more of a labor of love . . . and frustration, and worry, and fear, and euphoria. It was just more of a bitch to write. But I think the final product will be that much more satisfying, for myself and, hopefully, the readers. While it has the funny stuff that, many of you have been kind enough to tell me, made Committed such a fun read, it’s also an honest, inside look at the realities of semi-pro football and the lives of the players on this one team. In short, while being appealing (hopefully) to the readers who enjoyed my first book, I think it’ll have more universal appeal as well, due to the core story. Anyway, stay tuned…

Second, I’ve been doing a lot of TV and other publicity for Committed. Publicity is weird: you feel like you're perpetually running on a treadmill, never quite getting to that final destination, but still feeling like you're being productive. I’ve become the weekly fantasy football go-to guy for a great radio show down in Orlando, “The Hideout." I talk to deejays Hefe and J-Dubs and the gang every Friday at 8pm and it couldn’t be more fun. I’ve also done other sports radio shows around the US of A, like Rotoworld.com's Rocco DeMaro's "Fantasy Football Fix" on Pittsburgh's FM 104.7, and Maxim Radio on Sirius.

Most notably, however, I’ve become one of the fantasy football (cough) “experts” for ESPN Classic’s new flagship TV show, “Classic Now.” Hosted by Josh Elliott (formerly of Sports Illustrated), “Classic Now” is a general sports talk show that takes a unique look at sport news and developments from a classic perspective. Which explains why the other fantasy expert on the show is one of classic rock’s true legends, the one and only Michael Lee Aday, aka Meat Loaf! Yes, that’s right: Meat Loaf. The Bat out of hell, I’d do Anything for Love, Paradise by the dashboard Light Meat Loaf. Meat plays in 26 leagues, and has played in as many as 50 (and you thought I was a lunatic). He’s NFL- and FF-knowledgeable and utterly manic -- sort of Chris Mortensen meets Rowdy Roddy Piper. I look downright calm by comparison, and I’m a guy whose own mother almost put him on some 1970’s, prehistoric –- and, most likely, not even remotely DEA-approved –- predecessor to Ritalin. So tune in most Thursdays at 8pm EST, ESPN Classic, to see me, Meat Loaf, and Josh Elliott talk FF.

Third, to answer one of the questions I get all the time – “Have you gone back to full-time work?” – I’m must report that after two lears of livin' the dream, I finally, finally bit the bullet. Yes, after a glorious run as a gainfully unemployed writer, I’ve returned to the advertising fold. But three things make this more than positive: One, it’s working on a portion of the ESPN business, so I still get to think about sports all day long; Two, they’re paying me actual American currency, and health benefits, both of which will come handy should Celia and I suddenly discover that I’m not, in fact, sterile, despite having gone to college near Three-Mile Island; and Three, they’re fully aware of all my other writing exploits and are cool with my taking time here and there to, say, go discuss the pros and cons of Tyrone Calico and/or Marion Barber III with Meat Loaf. Again, good fun all around being back in the ad world. But I’ve been working my ass off. Man, I’d forgotten that when people pay you for your work, they expect you to, you know, work! Working takes time. I guess that’s why I quit my meddling job to play FF full-time in the first place back in 2003.

So, anyway, that’s the Cliffs Notes version of why I haven’t been able to crank out many new Sports Rags lately. But, hopefully, this one will last a while. And, hey, if you have an idea for a story or, better yet, a fully written story --- and written well, mind you, not to mention really, really funny – that you’d like to see on the site, by all means send it along. I’ll gladly start using contributors if it helps me get new issues up more frequently. But, again, I beg of you: please make sure that anything you submit will A) Make people other than your hemp-smoking roommate laugh; and B) Do not contain butchered grammar, shitty spelling and hidden white supremacist and/or satanic messages.

Finally, above all, thanks for the emails and kind words about Committed. I love hearing all your crazy stories of FF obsession run amuck and I’m glad so many of you enjoyed mine. I hope you’ll feel the same way about yet-to-be-named-semi-pro-football book #2.

But, OK, enough of this book stuff. It’s on to my bread & butter: fantasy football talk, with some asinine jokes thrown in for good measure...

So it’s the halfway point of the 2005 NFL season. Overall, it’s been fun, as always. But, for the love of MRI’s, have you ever seen so many injuries!? Not just injuries of the season-ending variety (Deuce, Javon, Ahman, Daunte, etc.), but injuries of the most annoying kind: the meddling, day-to-day, game time decision-type of injuries that drive fantasy owners to start mixing Liquid Drano cocktails and muttering to themselves in the middle of the night. But before we get to the halfway point, let’s go back to late August.

My original drafted team was:

QB: Plummer, McNair
RB: Deuce, Cadillac, Benson, Ricky, B. Jacobs…and a 15th round flier on Willie Parker.
WR: Holt, Steve Smith, Muhsin, Chuck Rogers
TE: Witten
K: Tynes
D: Panthers

I loaded up on RBs and WRs (and threw in the round 5 Witten pick) and waited until the 7th to grab my QB (Plummer, an underrated fantasy quarterback in 2004, with close to 4,100 yards and almost 30 TDs, which offset the 20 frightening INTs. I figured those numbers would be more than okay for a 7th rounder). I also thought that I’d stolen Muhsin as my WR3 (despite his terrible change of offensive scenery from Carolina to Chicago he was still coming off a 16 TD season) and the talented but brittle Charles Rogers as my WR4 (before I knew he liked huffing spray paint fumes from a paper bag), in the 9th and 10th rounds, respectively. Um…let’s just say I was wrong on those guys.

Regardless, I started off 3-0 behind the absolutely bionic Smith (he’ll be discussed more below in my Mid-Season “FFie” Awards section),Torry Holt, and the electric rookie, Cadillac Williams, who reeled off three straight record-breaking 100+ yard games. Not only that, I had the high points in the league two of those weeks. Party time for our Acme squad.

My first pick (#9 overall), Deuce, however, was troubling me. He wasn’t bad, per se, but he wasn’t showing any burst, and wasn’t getting the touches that should-have-been-canned-two-years-ago head coach Jim Haslett promised he would. Actually, it wasn’t all Haslett’s fault, although if he and Mike Tice ever started a bottled water company whose customer base was exclusively people stranded in deserts, carrying wads of spare cash and dying of thirst, they’d still manage to go bankrupt. No, there were natural (Katrina) and unnatural (Aaron Brooks’ accuracy and decision-making skills) elements at play here, too. Plus, as an added bonus, the Saints began every single game down 14-0. In fact, I think it was a new NFL rule -- Rule #125, Subsection IV, Paragraph 2: All opponents of the New Orleans Saints will be granted an immediate 14 points prior to kickoff, thus forcing the squirrely, indecisive bonehead Saints’ head coach to immediately abandon the running game after 13 carries and violently Adebisi the Deuce McAllister owners nationwide. As a result, Deuce was providing steady but unspectacular 70 yards-and-a-TD type numbers through the first five weeks. Fine for a RB2. Not what you want out of your RB1 whom you (thought you) stole at #9.

But there was another little hidden gem in this year’s draft that helped ease the Deuce trauma: an unheralded second-year player out of UNC, a school that’s more known for producing rebounders than running backs. But Fast Willie -- he already had a nickname! – burst out of the gates with two spectacular 100-plus/multi-TD performances, albeit against Tennessee and Houston, two teams that – I confirmed this from the game tape – were starting three NFL players, a Pop Warner player, a retired high school guidance counselor, and six bags of mulch on defense. Still, Fast Willie was the darling of the early season, with most people either having picked him up off waivers, or drafted him late (again, got him in the 15th, the memory of his 100-plus yard game against the tough Buffalo defense at the end of 2004 still fresh in my mind). I felt pressure to sell him high – and maybe should have – but the way I saw it, Willie was house money. I’d keep him and ride him as long as the ride lasted.

So Smith, Holt, Willie and Cadillac were rolling. I was happy. All was good . . . until the injuries set in. Cadillac hurt his arch. Holt pulled up with a mysterious knee ailment. And, the whammy, Week 6, when Deuce pulled up lame in the Saints 346-2 loss to the no-longer-mighty Packers. All reports said it was just a bruise and he could have gone back in had it not been a blowout. All reports, it turned out, were smoking crack. Deuce had torn his ACL, PCL, MCL, NHL, PETA, ACLU, WWJD, and WNBA. He was done for the season.

After pulling my head out of my own abdomen, I calmly called Celia and told her that she might want to change the locks . . . I would most definitely not be much fun to be around for the next, oh, seven years.

But, somehow -- again see, “Smith, Steve” -- I kept winning. And, through eight weeks, I’m currently 6-2. I’ve made some trades. Lost Plummer, McNair, Benson, Muhsin, and acquired Bulger, Aaron Brooks, Ahman Green (I thought would make a decent RB3/bye week starter…so much for that), and traded Ricky for the Bus, figuring he’d at least get me some TDs. But in the biggest deal of the year, I reluctantly parted with uber-stud Steve Smith and Cadillac for T.O. and MCGahee. I just don’t think Cadillac makes it through the entire season, and even if he does, Gruden will baby him with heavy doses of Pittman, what having driven him into the ground in the first four games. McGahee is almost a lock every week for 100+ and maybe a TD, and Buffalo’s rushing schedule is pretty sweet in the second half.

But, again, the FF Gods have decided to cast me into hell once again. Wild child T.O., after a big game against the Broncos – looked reeeeeeal ugly early, but he saved my day with that 91-yarder – has been suspended indeifnitely for conduct detrimental to the team, for his Brett Favre comments, for doing sit-ups in his driveway, you name it. Do you believe that?! I trade Smith and Cadillac for T.O. and McGahee and -- boom! -- the very next week, fatass Reid suspends him. I also really thhnkl b,.mj that Owens, THE%SEKjklhjghekl/ hjetytye and Andy Reid Mcnabnbb %!&*%....sorry, it's hard to type well with the shotgun barrel in my mouth while trying to work the trigger with my toe.

Suicide thoughts aside, I'm torn here. As an owner of T.O. who was counting on him to help carry me to a title, obviously I'm pissed. Very pissed. Charles Bronson-going-vigilante pissed. This just might cost me my season. As a football fan, I'm glad to see a loudmouth locker room cancer get what he deserves. However, and this is my main thought on this: with their season unraveling even before T.O. went off, and facing tough (un-winnable?) intra-division games over the next several weeks, I think this suspension is nothing but a convenient excuse for Andy Reid/McNabb/Eagles management to throw in the towel this season. All the signs are there:

1. They finally have competition in the NFC East in Dallas, Washington and the Giants, and can't run away with the division like the past I-don't-know-how-many years.

2. Their schedule down the stretch has the Giants twice (2 losses), Washington (loss), Dallas (loss), Green Bay, Arizona and Seattle (win, win, possible loss), St. Louis (could go either way with Bulger/Holt back and Jackson running strong, but let's say loss). They could easily go 2-6 -- hell, maybe even 1-7 -- and finish an un-Eagles-like 7-9 or 6-10.

3. Their offense is about as balanced as Tom Cruise on Oprah, is completely predictable, and oftentimes utterly ineffective . . . even with T.O. on the field.

4. McNabb is hanging on by a thread, health-wise, can't run anymore due to several nagging injuries and his incermental muscle mass gain, and is wildly inaccurate even when he does manage to get a pass off, which is rare with teams blitzing them into oblivion (like Denver did for three quarters) and giving him two seconds to throw.

5. Their defense, once the team's bedrock, can be scored on left and right, on the ground or through the air -- 25th against the pass, 22nd against the run.

So, by publicly, brazenly chucking the big, bad T.O. they can make a big PR splash ("Andy Reid isn't letting the inmates run the asylum! Yay!!"), make it seem like they're trying to bring the team closer together by now relying upon the "good guys" in the locker room, and go 2-6 -- maybe 3-5, but maybe 1-7 -- over the rest of the season -- which they were conceivably going to do with T.O. anyway -- and blame it all on the divisive malcontent mouthing off at the worst possible time, rather than on all the glaring shortcomings above.

Translation? Win-win for Reid, McNabb, Exec. VP/COO Joe Banner, et al. What, do you think that upper management trying to cover their asses by firing (or in this case suspending) an employee is exclusive to Fortune 500 corporations and politics? Please. Someone had to be the Lee Harvey Oswald patsy here, and T.O.'s indefinite suspension is essentially the equivalent of Reid shredding documents, a la Marth Stewart or Oliver North.

There is a glimmer of good news, however: I do get Bulger and Holt back in Week 10, when I’ll likely be 6-3 after starting -- insert laugh track – Aaron Brooks, Willie, Greg Jones (Bettis is out), free agent Doug Gabriel, trade throw-in and now-starting WR in Philly, Greg Lewis, free agent Daniel Graham, average-as-hell Janikowski, and the average-as-hell Panthers D in Week 9. That is the single worst team I have ever started in the eight years I’ve been playing this game. Hands down. Thanks T.O. But if my Rams come back strong, I should get into the playoffs, with a lineup of Bulger, McGahee, Willie, Holt, Gabriel/Lewis (F%$@#$CK), Witten, Sea Bass, Panthers. As Larry David would say, that’s pret-ty, pret-ty, pret-ty, pret-ty, pret-ty good. A lot of “ifs” though, and the Owens loss was obviously enormous. Stay tuned….but when the dust clears, I don't think I'll be holding the Felon League trophy like the lucky three-time champ (sonofabitch) to the right.

Now, to my mid-season awards. In advertising, there are awards called the Effies. Honoring effectiveness in communications, the Effies are described as “the most significant award in our industry because it honors the one truly significant achievement in advertising: Results.” (Let’s not kid ourselves, though. The Effie is the Teen Choice Award of advertising awards. But I digress.) Hence, I will now be handing out the First Annual Sports Rag Mid-Season FF-ie Awards, honoring a fantasy football player’s effectiveness (or lack thereof) in making his owners happy (or sad, as the case may be), and honoring the one truly significant achievement in fantasy football: Results (bad or good).

The David Caruso Memorial FF-ie for a player who really wishes he’d kept his old job. Derrick Mason. Could have signed with New England and had Tom Brady – only the NFL’s passing yardage leader through eight games – slinging balls to him. Instead, signed with the offensively challenged Ravens and cast his fortune into the twitching hands of Kyle Boller and Anthony Wright.

The Anthony Thomas in 2002, William Green in 2003, Kevan Barlow in 2004 Memorial FF-ie for a running back who exploded in the second half of the previous season and was then drafted way too high the following season. Kevin Jones. Julius Jones could have walked away with this one, but he can’t actually walk on that high ankle sprain, let alone play enough to determine whether he’s a bust or not. Kevin Jones, though mildly dinged up himself, has been brutal (3 YPC, 366 yards through seven games) when you consider how highly he was drafted (mid-late first round in some leagues….ugh).

The Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace Memorial FF-ie for the most over-hyped player heading into the season. Kevin Jones certainly deserves at least an honorable mention here, too. But there are not one, not two, but three more deserving recipients of the SWE1:TPM FF-ie: Andre Johnson, Nate Burleson and JJ Arrington. Clearly, everyone forgot he plays for the Houston Texans, whose offensive line gives QB David Carr – who’s not very good at football anyway – approximately 0.7 seconds to complete every pass. And then he got hurt. Burleson was predicted to have instant Moss-like numbers, but hauled in 10 catches and 130 yards through four games prior to getting hurt. And Arrington, despite his negative-7.5 YPC in the pre-season, was pimped beyond all recognition in the pre-season, often being taken in the 3rd round as a RB2. He was quickly replaced by Marcel Shipp. ‘Nuff said.

The Joan Rivers Memorial FF-ie for the player who we all wish we wouldn’t have to see on TV anymore because he makes our eyes hurt. Jamal Lewis. Whether he’s tanking it because of contract year sour grapes, or has just plain lost his burst due to too many ankle injuries and/or piles of instant mashed potatoes in the slammer, Lewis – who was taken in the late first/early second round in most leagues --- is averaging barely three YPC and has one TD through seven games. Get him back in an orange jumpsuit.

The Diane Lane Memorial FF-ie for the player who FF owners are glad didn’t retire and has inexplicably gotten hotter with age. This one goes to Mark Brunell. Huh? Yes, Mark Brunell. The same guy who used to be on the Jaguars, like, a decade ago? Yup, that Brunell. But he couldn’t beat out Patrick Ramsey or Tim Hasselbeck last season! I know, isn’t it crazy that he has 12 TDs and almost 1,600 yards in six games started? I

The Emperor Caligula Memorial FF-ie for the player most likely to have sex with sheep and/or greased up concubines during a party and then tear his knee apart, thus making him one of the bigger fantasy busts of the year. As if you didn’t know where this was going….to Daunte Culpepper. Mostly because he probably had sex with sheep and greased up concubines during that boat party, and then tore up his knee, ending an already dismal fantasy season for owners who drafted him in the early-/mid- second round. Hope he rebounds in Arizona next season (yup, the smart money is on Denny Green luring him out west with promises of Boldins, Fitzgeralds…not to mention sheep and concubines).

The Sid Vicious Memorial FF-ie for the technological invention that FF players will soon need more than high grade heroin. To Mobile ESPN. That’s right, I have it on good authority that the Worldwide Leader is entering the cellular game with a cell phone – yeah, it’s an actual cell phone, of course – that doubles as, basically, the entire ESPN sports world in your pocket. Can you say “Pick up a free agent running back during your second cousin’s wedding reception”? Start saving up your pennies, gentlemen.

The “chick that looked like Rebecca Romijn-Stamos freshman year but incrementally ate too much free soft ice cream in the cafeteria for nine straight months and then came back the following year looking like Robbie Coltrane” Memorial FF-ie for player who has had the most disappointing sophomore year. Michael Clayton, hands down. Off-season surgery + coming into training camp out of shape + domination of Joey Galloway = sophomore slump. He couldn’t even manage more than 40 yards against the Niners, who are giving up approximately 47 miles of passing yards per week. Partly Chris Simms’ fault, but still, Clayton has been more disappointing than any Oasis album after “What’s the story Morning Glory.” Speaking of…

The Noel and Liam Gallagher Memorial FF-ie for the brother combo who might soon be having a fistfight in front of the whole world. Like you didn’t see this coming -- Peyton and Eli Manning. Here’s the Oasis metaphor: Songwriter/guitarist/singer Noel Gallagher, the older brother, was widely recognized as the gifted “chosen one” in the family and relentless, single-minded creative drive behind the once world-dominating band. (If rock stars did such things, he’d be studying concert/performance film after hours like Peyton studies game film to see what he could have done better.) Meanwhile, his younger brother Liam, the lead singer, was seen as a talented yet wild, unpredictable, ultra-partying -- although his drunken head was never passed around the Internet super-imposed onto other people’ bodies – and carefree scamp just riding his more talented older brother’s coattails into the limelight. Sound familiar? OK, bear with me now. Oasis’ second album, 1995’s What’s the Story Morning Glory, was the musical equivalent of Peyton’s 49-TD season --- an absolute juggernaut after a good-but-not-great album (Definitely Maybe). Loaded with hits, it shattered the moody, grunge Pearl Jam/ Soundgarden mold of the mid-90’s and finally broke Oasis free of the Brit Pop glut and distanced them from the Blurs/Suedes/Pulps of the world. Now imagine this: let’s say the year after Morning Glory comes out, Liam, a year wiser, joins a new band who trusts him, believes in his skills, and wants him to be their leader, and he comes out with a hypothetical solo album that might not have as many hits (i.e. TDs) as his brother’s masterpiece when all’s said and done, but could be just as critically successful, and is at least (by sake of his being in New York) garnering him more media attention. For now, Eli’s fantasy season (1600 yds, 13 TDs, 5 INTs) is only marginally better than his big brother Noel’s…I mean Peyton’s (1600 yds, 11 TDs, 5 INTs) . . . but they very well might eventually come to blows in Detroit in February.

The HBO Extras Memorial FF-ie for the player who has been quietly spectacular. LT gets more (deserved) national praise. Alexander has gaudier TD numbers. But this one goes to Edgerrin James. Indy has turned into a ball control-and-defense team, and Edge has racked up the yards (800, 5 YPC) and, shockingly, the goal line TDs (7).

The My Name Is Earl Memorial FF-ie for the players who have been the most spectacular despite no on earth expecting it. Not to jump ahead, but we have a three-way tie in this category. I’ll admit, when I first saw the ads for My Name Is Earl I thought, “Wonderful, this’ll basically be Jason Lee doing lame Jeff Foxworthy redneck jokes for 22 minutes every week. Horray.” But, man, it’s been better than I ever could have imagined. Funny, smart writing; a breakout actor in Ethan Suplee – everyone points to his Remember the Titans role, but I liked him even better as Johnny Depp’s dope-smoking buddy “Tuna” in Blow – as Lee’s semi-slow-but-kind younger brother “Randy”; best understated-yet-hilarious bit-player on TV in Eddie Steeples’ “Darnell/Crab Man” character; and Jaime Pressley as Earl’s trashy-hot ex-wife, “Joy.” I think people were expecting this show to blow up about as much as FF owners were expecting the following three award winners to blow up: Thomas Jones, Santana Moss and Drew Bledsoe to blow up. All the odds were against him: a highly-drafted stud rookie (Cedric Benson), his injury history (never played a full season). All he’s done is become the #3 fantasy RB. Moss, jump-started by his two utterly improbable, long, late-game TDs to beat Dallas, has exploded to the tune of 42 catches, almost 800 yards and 5 TDs; and Bledsoe has become a #1 fantasy QB again, already tossing 2000-plus yards, 13 TDs against only 5 INTs. Can you say late-round steals?

The Joey Harrington Memorial FF-ie for a player who completely tanked his last chance to prove he can actually play quarterback in the NFL. Joey Harrington.

The Kevin Federline Memorial FF-ie for the player who has finally decided to lay low, keep his trap shut, and enjoy the spoils of his surroundings. This goes to Jeremy Shockey. Eli is Brittney. The passing game is chaotic. And Shockey is finally having the kind of season (4 TDs, almost 500 yards) FF owners have wanted from him since he came into the league, a season that only looks better with the relatively disappointing years from Gonzo, Witten, Crumpler, McMichael, Dallas Clark, and other highly-rated TEs.

The Dick Trickle Memorial FF-ie for the player with the funniest name regardless of whether or not he has anything to do with fantasy football. Taco Wallace. There are no other entries.

The Curb Your Enthusiasm Memorial FF-ie for the player who is funny enough to be on a funny HBO show. Chad Johnson. His “Geico car insurance” line was flat-out hilarious. His comic timing and delivery is dead-on, relative to most athletes. Oh, and he’s averaging about 100 YPG with 5 TDs. He’s really good.

The “what Lacey Peterson’s family would like to do to Scott Peterson if they ever got their hands on him” Memorial FF-ie for the player who is about to unleash hell upon his most hated opponent. Peyton Manning. Monday Night Football. In Gillette Stadium. Decent, but not great numbers all year. Against a banged up, depleted Patriots defense featuring Duane Starks (who, last I heard, was apartment hunting in Berlin, London, Frankfurt, or Barcelona with Fred Smoot). Can you say payback time?

The Emmanuelle Chiriqui Memorial FF-ie for the fantasy football player on whom you have an irrational, unstoppable, 24-7 crush and simply cannot stop staring at, aka the Mid-Season Fantasy Football MVP. Like the stupefyingly alluring Emmanuelle Chiriqui, who plays E’s girlfriend on Entourage, one player this year sticks out as simply being a level above every other human of his kind on the planet. And that player is Steve Smith. The two games he was shut down by quintuple coverage mean nothing when you factor in the five games he’s absolutely exploded to the tune of 50 receptions, almost 800 yards, 8 TDs, many of those catches over 20 yards. Every time he fades back, Jake Delhomme obviously gawks at Smith non-stop like he’s Chiriqui. Naked. Slathered in baby oil. OK, I’m creeping myself out now…time to stop.

Monday a.m. November 7th edit: Yesterday, due to injuries, bye weeks and suspensions of mouthy malcontents (OK, T.O. was only "inactive," but still...), I had to start the single worst fantasy football lineup in the history of fantasy football lineups. Ready? Drumroll please: Aaron Brooks, Willie Parker, Greg Jones, Doug Gabriel, Greg Lewis, Daniel Graham, Janikowski, Panthers' D. I was worried at first because, obviously, this team is horrific, and, second, because there's an old, little-known rule in fantasy football: If you're starting two guys named "Greg," you are automatically handed the loss. And then Willie Parker continues my season of injury infamy by hurting his ankle in the first quarter, opening the door for Duce Staley to come back from the dead and steal Willie's numbers (75 yds, TD). Time to work the shotgun trigger with my toe again.

However, my opponent, while getting pretty nice days from Drew Brees and Clinton Portis, didn't get much out of Ronnie Brown, Randy Moss, and Joe Horn. He also didn't have a kicker this week thanks to bye-week mismanagement. Plus, I (finally) lucked out on an injury when Fred Taylor went down (shocker) and allowed Greg Jones to get a late TD and 27 yards. But my big scorer of the day was the Panthers D. For the first time this year, they went off, collecting 18 points against spritely little towhead Chris Simms and the Bucs.

Hence, unbelieveably, I'm only down three measly points heading into tonight, where I have Daniel Graham (and my opponent has no one...and I would have won outright if Randy Moss' one, ONE catch of the day wasn't a late TD!) Considering we get 1pt/reception, and 1pt/10 yards receiving, "all" I need is 2 catches and 20 yards from Graham and I win, inexplicably move to 7-3 on the year, and put myself in prime position for the post-season with Bulger, Holt coming back.

This means Graham will get 1 catch for 11 yards tonight, and I will lose by one. Mark it down.

Stay tuned...

Tuesday a.m., Nov 8th update: Well, in perhaps the strangest twist in my FF-playing history, Graham didn't get 1 catch for 11 yards. Yes, folks, despite having started the worst lineup of all-time (see above) -- I won. Graham came through with 4 catches for 45 yards and a long (31yd) touchdown to give me well more than the four points I needed for victory. Went into Monday Night Football down 3 points, and, with Graham's 28, came out with a 103-77 win. Yeah, I'm as shocked as you are. Sadly, however, the Pats lost. Peyton & C. were simply too well-balanced for the Pats' beleaguered, beaten-up defense and rolled to the win. A torch has been passed. But with San Diego and Pittsburgh still on their schedule, the Colts shouldn't be making giggly prank calls to Larry Csonka and Nick Buoniconti quite yet.

As the the Acme squad, we're now an improbable 7-2 on the year, tied for first place and up a few in total points over the other first place team. The T.O. loss hurts. Bigtime. But if Bulger and Holt come back strong (knock on wood), and McGahee keeps rolling (ditto), Greg Lewis can step up in T.O.'s absence and make some plays, and I can get at least some points out of Willie Parker every week (burn in hell, Duce Staley), then I should be OK come playoff time.

Wednesday a.m., November 9th update: So the T.O. saga continues. Or sideshow. Or freak show. This is amazing.

You all saw the "press conference", either live or during one of the 3,234,583 re-broadcasts on Sportscenter and NFL Network, so I won't get into the particulars, other than to say that the little dude from HBO's Carnivale should have been the M.C.

But one thing sticks out above all: had Rosenhaus not taken the stage after T.O.'s (second) apology, I fully, one-hundred-percent believe Owens would have played Monday Night against Dallas. Why?

First off, this is the only time I can remember that T.O. has ever appeared remotely human, vulnerable, and/or contrite. Sure, his motivation is partly money-fueled (as in, We'd better do some damage control for my next contract and fast!), but I truly believe that he loves playing football -- it's his passion, the only thing he's probably very good at, aside from infiltrating minor league hoops teams -- and will sincerely miss being out there making plays in front of a crowd. That is clear.

Second, and more importantly, from Mike Tyson to MC Hammer, there is no shortage of "build up our heroes, celebrate and revere them, then tear them down, run 'em out of town with pitchforks, and then celebrate their contrite redemption" sentiment in our society (see E! True Hollywood Story/VH1 Behind the Music) -- and that includes football management/coaches, so much so that even a selfish, certifiably antisocial malcontent like T.O. would have been forgiven. And I don't mean anti-social as in, T.O. hangs out in the corner of parties talking to no one and quietly whispering to the host's dog that he (the dog) is the only one who "gets" him. No, I mean anti-social as in, He has deep-seated neuroses and severe psychological scars that make him think he is alone against the world, and therefore purposely, publicly alienates everyone who can possibly be an ally in his life: coaches, quarterbacks, press, you name it. Look, I'm no Harvard shrink, admittedly, but even I and my lazy 2.7 Franklin & Marshall GPA can see that.

And then -- wouldn't it have been great if they blasted the Exorcist theme, "Tubular Bells," over loudspeakers as he walked up to the podium? -- Rosenhaus takes the stage. And what does he do? He glares at the media, a misguided mix of disgust and superiority. Still, the viewer thinks, "OK, now he'll be contrite, humble, quiet, apologetic, and exchange in an open dialogue with the media, right?" Wrong. No matter how many child actors he paid to almost drown so he could valiantly save them and appear as if he actually has a human soul, this is still Drew Rosenhaus we're talking about.

Thus, right from the get-go, like a cable access evangelist, Drew starts shouting, complaining, demanding, acting as if THEY were the ones who were somehow wronged by the Iggles, who stupidly wouldn't accept T.O.'s first "sincere" apology. As if THEY are the ones who are being persecuted when Ray Lewises, Jamal Lewises and Koren Robinsons are out there (cough, allegedly, cough) killing people, selling dope, driving drunk, beating their girlfriends and poor T.O. is being temporarily Canseco-ed. Next question. Next question. I'm a colossal horse's ass who is costing my client millions with every breath I take. Next question...They should have had a Jumbotron with footage of a 1950's A-bomb test mushroom cloud running on a loop in the background. In short, Rosenhaus was an absolute caricature of himself, looking/sounding like a summer stock over-actor who was hired to play "Smarmy Sports Agent 1" in an ESPN Original Entertainment flick. I’m not kidding when I say that if you stuck Rosenhaus with a letter opener, either nitroglycerin or pure crude oil would seep out. (Note: I'm not advocating stabbing him with a letter opener, mind you; truthfully, it'd take a diamond-cutting laser to pierce the armor-like scales that undoubtedly lurk underneath those Hugo Boss suits.)

The result? Rosenhaus single-handedly submarined any last-ditch chance T.O. had of playing in 2005.

Some might say that they were cooked the moment Owens didn't apologize so (allegedly) sincerely the first time around. That might be true. Others might say that Rosenhaus purposely made himself look as inhuman and soul-less as Hitler, Bud Selig, and Michael Eisner combined in order to make Terrell look even more human and vulnerable. That might also be true. And still others might say that Rosenhaus was immaculately conceived from a dog that is buried in an ancient cemetary in the Tuscan countryside. This is most defintely true.

However, while Rosenhaus is clearly an intelligent guy, and I think he'd steal his mother's kidneys if he thought they'd fetch a good price -- FYI, a healthy kidney can get you up to $100,000 in today's seller's black market, but, um, don't ask me how I know that -- I don't believe that he's that smart or calculating. If he were that smart, he and T.O. stage this Vaudevillian spectacle last week instead of yesterday, and Reid, Banner, Lurie, McNabb have a chance to soften up over the weekend -- even though they now had a convenient scapegoat for the team's impending doom (see above). And, in turn, after said softening-of-hearts, there would have been awkward man-hugging, some crocodile tears (perhaps caused by Rosenhaus jabbing T.O. under a table with a sewing needle, but tears nonetheless), and T.O. is practicing with the Eagles today -- making 1. His fantasy owners (re-draft leaguers, mostly, who didn't panic and dump/trade him) absolutely giddy with delight and relief, and 2. Eagles fans cautiously optimistic that, like Tyson after he allegedly found Allah or Leif Garrett after he blubbered and apologized to the dude he put in a wheelchair, their spoiled superstar has turned the corner, changed himself for the better, and is back on board to help them salvage what's left of their NFC East title defense.

But no dice. T.O. is done in Philly.

Nice work, Drew, nice work. You vastly underestimated the sometimes misguided, yet commendable and humanly compassionate powers of forgiveness in this country. If you'd acted even the slightest bit regretful instead of combative, defiant, entitled -- in other words, acted less like yourself -- I truly believe T.O. would have suited up again sooner than later.

As it is, you'd better hope Al Davis or Nick Saban are figuring out how to clear some cap space for 2006.