Ugly People

I've noticed a trend in my observation the past few weeks. The poorer a player does in Fantasy Football, the uglier they seem. I've decided to start with the abysmal performance my team posted this week, but look for the series to branch out in coming weeks. This is week 8's edition of Ugly People, with original music by yours truly.

Tuesday Morning Hangover

Me: "I was so excited that I finally won, I completely forgot all about TMH" Steve: "Can't be hungover if the party's still going.." #weekeight

6-2

Hi fellas,

A couple of weeks ago our commish went to a Chiefs games and I was impressed by his post. I have never been to a football game. I always wanted to. So this past sunday I was finally able to enjoy the great sport I love/hate for many years. Football!
I did make some rookie mistakes.
examples:
Got there late. Line was long to get in due to security. Did not do any tailgating. Missed both teams entrances. And missed the anthem.
But I had tons of fun! From singing, dancing, and being two feet away from vick, desean, and mcoy and being so close and not nosebleed. The game was horrible, but the experience is what I wanted and it was great!

I recommend everyone to go to a live football game. I'm pretty sure I will never spent that much money again for a game. But the tickets were under valued SOOOOO much! I recommend going to craigslist the morning of the game. People are desperate to sell their tickets due to emergency/work.

The hardest part was: who to cheer for! I live in Philly, but I love my Giants! At the end I picked philly because I wanted to feel the experience of a home game and not get beat up! hahaha I was told eagles are 0-10 at home! Good to know for fantasy!

Enjoy the video!

SSG

Tuesday Morning Specials

"Excuse my French, but I'm in France..." #weekeightpreview

JB's Whom is Who? Part 3

 

 

 

Good afternoon, Gents!

“Hi, you’ve reached Darius. Leave a message at the beep.”...

 

“Hi, you’ve reached Darius. Leave a message at the beep.”...

 

“Hi, you’ve reached Darius. Leave a message at the beep.”...

 

“I’m sorry, the line you have reached is unavailable and cannot be reached.”

Michael Polite sat in his wheelchair, contemplating the situation; flipping the phone open and closed simultaneously. This same contemplation posture he currently held he had become accustomed to for decades now. This same posture is how he sat before a many a sermons he had preached years ago. Today’s posture was different. It was as though a permanent chill was sustained in his spine all day, ever since he decided to pick up the cell phone Francois had left for him to use. Then was the question of why Francois had been around his house at this hour of the night in the first place? Finally, he flipped the phone open and made a call he hadn’t made for months.

“Hey, Reece. My many apologies for waking you. Can you make the long drive to my place right now? It’s important.”

 

Just as Michael flipped the phone closed, his door crashed open. In the doorway stood one man, draped in trench coat material. In the trench coated man’s arms lay another man’s unconscious figure.

“Hutchison,” gasped Michael.

 

“You have anything I can lay him down on? We need to get an IV in him immediately,” stated the trench coat figure.

 

“I don’t even know who you are! You expect me to just let you into my home, here and now?” asked Michael.

 

“Uh, you do want Steven to live don’t you?”

 

“Fair enough,” Michael replied as he wheeled from his window, across the room, and motioned the stranger into the backroom. “You’ll find all the medical equipment you need in that closet over there. Now, can I get a name?”

 

“Yeah, it’s Brassington. Jonathan Brassington.”

*****

“Back in the 1890’s when trains of the Santa Fe Railroad first began to run in the vicinity of Ardmore, Oklahoma, one was held up by bandits seven miles from town where the tracks crossed Caddo Creek. Afterwards the robbers retired to an old house, where they divided and quarrelled over the spoils. One robber was shot and killed. It is a tradition that part or all of the booty was hidden for a time in or about the house. People soon began to say that the ghost of the murdered bandit walked about the place trying to find where the money was hidden and for many years nobody was willing to live there."

 

"However, about seven years ago, a family named Lynch moved into the deserted building. One afternoon, in the summer, Mrs. Lynch left her two oldest children at home and crossed the fields to visit some neighbors. An hour later, she heard her children screaming and ran out with her friends to learn the cause. Almost in hysterics, the youngsters came flying along shouting that someone was tearing the kitchen to pieces and that the tea-kettle was laughing and singing. Mrs. Lynch and others went to investigate. They found the tea-kettle steaming in the middle of the kitchen floor. A fire was burning in the cook stove, though none had been burning in it when Mrs. Lynch left home. The mystification of the onlookers was changed to horror when they observed that drops of blood were sprinkled about. The next day, the Lynches moved out and no family has lived in the building since...until about a couple of years ago, when I moved in,” stated Michael.

 

As the tea kettle resided to a scream or pitiful yelp, Jonathan remarked, “Is that the same tea kettle from the Lynch era?”

 

“Wouldn’t that be somthin? No, I found this old thing at a yard sale a year ago.” Michael wheeled over to stoke the newly acquired fire Jonathan had started to warm himself up. That’s when Michael thought it “polite” to throw some water in the ‘ole kettle. As Michael shakily poured the water into two tea cups, spilling here and there, Jonathan took notice.

 

“Here, allow me.” Jonathan proceeded to steady the kettle as Michael continued to pour.

 

“How’s your family?” Michael asked. Noticing the blank reaction, Michael understood the inappropriate question and therefore knew to become comfortable with the awkward silence of an answer.

 

As a couple of hours evaporated and many sips had been taken from the steamed mugs, words finally drifted into conversation.

 

“You know that I never asked to be a part of this business,” Jonathan muttered. Clearing his throat, “I know that we go back a long ways but it is no excuse. I counted on you to be there years ago and because you failed to show, here we are. In this situation, Steven laying in a coma. And for what? All because you left the game years ago. Am I bitter? Of course, but that’s just how life is I suppose.”

 

Jonathan stood up. “I suppose I should get back out there. You can keep Steven safe, yes?”

 

The wrinkles in Mr. Polite’s forehead became sympathetic to Jonathan’s statements. He proceeded to nod his head to Jonathan’s question regarding Steven’s care.

 

Just then there was a knock at the door. “That must be Reece,” Michael said as his wrinkled frown turned into a wrinkled grin. Just as Jonathan walked over to open the door, the heavy wood snapped from the hinges as the door slammed into Jonathan’s body. Crushed under the door in a heap, now in the same boat of unconsciousness as Steven, lay Jonathan.

 

Anger flooded into Michael Polite’s face, turning the wrinkles into fierce fear icicles; stabbing the air for answers as to why two of his friends lay unconscious, individual lives laying in unbalance. As the familiar muzzle flashed into the room, so did a familiar phone’s blue light fly across the room to crash into the wall. “I believe this belongs to you,” stated the second stranger of the chilled night.

 

As Michael squinted, again his face turned pale. As his lips quivered, he finally put together enough vocal strength to murmur the name.

 

“Austin Gilbreath?”

The JB Podcast: Week 8

The JB Podcast Episode 2 

JB's Pick 6; Week 8

 

"Francois gets DROPPED OFF! by Maucus this week for the upset."

 

 

 

Good afternoon, Gents!

Inside the Mind of JB

2-5 & I had a migraine this morning.

After all of the time I put in for fantasy football, this is my record. This fall semester’s conversations with the various guys in this league brings me to one theme: I go too hard when it comes to life. I’m holding down 4 part time jobs, none of which have anything to do with Andrews University as a student worker, Berrien Springs as a community worker, or even the state of Michigan as a future state resident. I am a captain of my flag football team and attend a full load of classes. I am getting married in less than 8 months and still have an ever budding relationship with Jesus Christ. Then there’s this ugly mug, known as fantasy football.

My body, unlike Dan’s, can’t take the fast paces and all nighters of life. This morning as I laid in bed with motion sickness and a pounding migraine, somehow my mind wandered back to fantasy football. What am I doing wrong? Then I thought...what is the one thing that has made me successful in anything I do? The answer: consistent thinking outside of the box combined with always switching things up as a result of research. Thus, my crazy waiver moves this week. I have noticed that anytime I take advice from others, I fail in what I do in fantasy football and lose that week’s game. The moment I actually go out, do my research, homework, put forth the hours and then look like I’m NUTS for making the moves that I make...I succeed. Has anybody else noticed how quick the fantasy live guys are to reminding everybody when they were right about certain guys they predicted to blow up the week before? What about when they were wrong? We hear NOTHING about that! And the biggest thing that has tripped me up this season is the advice of these guys. I mean, these dudes are getting PAID. Yet, I do this for free. And I am wrong a LOT. Yet, these dudes still get paychecks even when they’re wrong. In conclusion, I am done with these clowns. Cut Spiller, really? Really, Adam Rank?! Okay, let me cut him to then have him blow up in the next 2 weeks, see some other team in my league pick him up off waivers and then I end up getting screwed out of a win once again. Nah, I don’t think so. You see, fantasy football is all about luck. No, not Andrew Luck but luck in its entirety. There is no such thing as skill. And as Justin once said, “we don’t suit up, the players do.” Yet, we take credit for what they do- the biggest form of irony I have ever seen.

This past weekend whilst I did homework & Anya, my lovely fiance, sewed up my pants for flag football games this week...I watched ALL games until the last play of the Broncos-Colts game. Locally televised games on the big screen and the others on laptops. Here’s what I have to say about this weekend’s games:

First off, how dumb do you have to be to diss on Steve Smith’s family & then get torched all game by Steve Smith? Idiocracy. Seahawks & Chiefs continue to be legit. Rodgers & the Packers’ defense keep stepping up through the injuries. Andy Dalton is not that good but he is still putting up major fantasy points. How the Pats can screw up such a game against the Jets, I’ll never know. Bears & Rams are screwed at the QB position. The Niner’s week to week inconsistency completely baffles me. One week Cap looks like a STUD but the next week he looks more naked than those nude photos he posed for in the summer. Steelers have the best disciplined team. ENOUGH with using Peyton Manning & choke in the same sentence! He is human after all, isn’t he? Luck against Manning any given Sunday I’d STILL take Manning, even WITH Luck as my fantasy QB. Giants & Vikes are just...baaaaad. Vikes especially, I mean...what the heck is the front office thinking? And trading Peterson? Nah, brah. Nah. Why give Freeman the ball to pass 53 times when he can’t even hit a billboard if it’s sitting 2 feet in front of him...especially when you have a 2012 MVP RB in Peterson where a Giants defense can’t even stop a mouse?! Dan, have you thought about giving the Vikes a call to suit up and play as QB?

2-5 & I still have a migraine this evening.

Guys, I have some beats dropping this next month along with some theological lyrics dropping on some of those same songs I wrote back in February during my time & late nights with Dan Martinez at Union College & Linda Becker rottweilering down my neck because of her feminist views and because she didn’t like my “overbearing male influence” (her quote, not mine) on campus. Still, I went hard and now they’re finally dropping to the public this next month (which just so happens to be around my birthday of Nov. 1st). Am I ashamed at plugging myself in a fantasy football league Wednesday story? Absolutely not.

Slowing down. Again, I am getting married. Once those tears hit the floors of an echoed couple of “I Do’s”, I am finished with football. As far as fantasy is concerned, with the way things are looking, I’ll probably be finished come December. But you know what? I’m okay with that. Will I stop researching and trying hard to win? Of course not, but this has been fun. My goal this year has been to get you guys closer. And in doing so, there’s been more drama but there has also been more communication between everybody. Like Reece said yesterday, there’s nothing like “comunicado between hermanos” (okay, so he didn’t write a lick of Spanish, whatevs! I paraphrased) on any given Sunday.

2-5 & I still love this league. Cliche but I never get sick of seeing it: “I love this league”. More so than that, I love the guys in this league. Much love to ya’ll. Here’s your pick 6 for the week.

#JB’SPICK6

(JB’s Current Pick 6 Record: 29-21)

(Reece: 8-4)

(Steven: 7-5)

(Justin: 4-4)

(Hery: 6-7)

#6). New York @ Philadelphia

JB’s PICK: GIANTS

#5). Dallas @ Detroit

JB’s PICK: COWBOYS

#4). Pittsburgh @ Oakland

JB’s PICK: RAIDERS

#3). Atlanta @ Arizona

JB’s PICK: CARDINALS

#2). Carolina @ Tampa Bay

JB’s PICK: PANTHERS

#1). New York @ Cincinnati

JB’s PICK: BENGALS

Here is where I pass the week's torch to YOUR picks & comments...

Tuesday Morning Hangovers

The odds in this league for winning it all are against you, the odds of repeating are impossible… #weekseven

Helu, Helu

Gotham Knights put his trust in Alfred to bring him through to victory. Shanahan had other plans. I know it can be frustrating when I player disappoints you, and I thought this might be appropriate.

Alfred Morris: 9.5 points

Roy Helu: 22.6 points

Gotham Knights: 3-4

Bane: 4-3

Next time don't hire out your dirty work (then ask JB to write about it)

JB's Pick 6; Whom is Who?- Part 2 (Week 7)

Good afternoon, Gents!

Blanketed with a rare sheet of snow, the previously delicately fallen flakes crushed into grey sludge and tainted by countless footprints; the streets of Kansas City are illuminated with only the soft yellow light from the streetlamps that are scattered across the pavements, shadows disfigured and warped from the shapes they are cast from. Snow falls in light clumps, tugged left slightly by an icy breeze, making the scene suitable for the front of a Christmas card, rooftop slates bulging from underneath their white carpet and the beginnings of icicles fastened to worn black drain pipes.

Had it been an hour earlier, when the sun was still sinking behind the thick grey clouds and casting its final rays onto the city, the streets would be bustling with people returning from work, shopping or merely enjoying the novelty of snowfall before darkness took its place. Perhaps a few children would have scurried along, wrapped up in coats and scarves by concerned parents, scooping up untouched snow from the tops of neglected vehicles before scrunching it into solid orbs and launching their newly-acquired ammo at unfortunate passers-by. Now, however, the streets are verging on desolate. Only a couple of pedestrians brave the unstable surface of the road, unworried by the blackness of the evening and silent in their travels. Steven Hutchison is one of these people, shuddering as a chilling gust of wind creeps inside the fabric of his jacket and brushes against his skin, sending a shiver trickling down his spine like ice-cold water. He throws his hands deep inside his pockets, flexing his numb fingers and wishing he'd remembered the gloves that lie on the desk back in his office at MAA.

Dark, wavy hair traces the young man's cheeks, now sprinkled with snowflakes that refuse to melt. His face is thin, but not bony, and etched with more lines than usual for a man of his twenty six years, time not being the only thing contributing to how much he has aged. A black jacket hangs off his slim frame, the sleeves a little too long and the lightweight fabric seemingly useless against the freezing weather.

Rubbing his palms together in a futile attempt to spread warmth into his frozen fingers, Steven blows into his hands, his breath curling up into the air like smoke where it lingers, doing lazy pirouettes as it rises before fading out of existence. The man smiles at fond childhood memories triggered by this most miniscule of things, happier times in his youth when he'd lean against the wall with his friends pretending their visible breath was flowing from imaginary cigarettes they'd take occasional puffs from.

A real cigarette lays beside his feet, crushed in all of its glory. How he wished he had smoked so that he could at least warm his lips, mouth, and lungs; lungs that hardly filled with oxygen due to the current adrenaline lining his heart. Finally, a burst of familiar blue light comes from his cellular device he has been waiting to take cues from. He waits a couple of minutes for the light to fade and then he starts the long evening jaunt to his directed destination.

The following ten minutes take the young man through alleyways and down native streets, his pace considerably slowed by the icy surface of the concrete beneath his polished black shoes that lack the grip needed for such terrain. Recognizable features of the city such as pubs and routinely-visited shops reassure him that he is on the correct route, though Steven usually views these points of Kansas City through the window of a car rather than on foot himself; details he'd always overlooked are suddenly apparent to him as he walks cautiously along the slippery path.

Well-practiced in the quick motion, he pulls down his left sleeve with the opposite hand and flashes the cheap watch hanging around his wrist at his face, taking in the time as he does so: twenty past seven. It seems early for night to be falling, for the streets to be so void of human activity, but winter is taking its place and the evenings are rapidly shortening, each day slightly more restricted than the last by premature sunfall.

Without warning, a banging sound tears through the unoccupied air. Steven wonders, for a split second, what it was, before staring down in shock at the answer.

Blood stains the white shirt beneath his jacket, left by the gunshot. Gasping with fear, Steven takes off at a dead run to the nearest alley; forgetting about the ice, his first step is an immediate slip and all goes black. Hardly conscious, Steven feels the warm liquid trickling between the gaps in his fingers, running down the backs of his hands in disjointed lines.

"This isn’t Gotham City," is whispered into Steven’s ear, followed by a familiar hispanic laugh. “The Bane should’ve stayed home tonight. There won’t be any poetry flowing from him this evening,” says another, darker figure. As the gun’s muzzle is slipped back into the dark figure’s trench coat, the all familiar blue light from Steven’s phone flashes on through his jeans pocket. A glove reaches down and pulls the device into the bare cold. “Now you have my permission to die,” states the figure in the trench coat. Another hispanic laugh rings through the barely conscious mind of Steven as footsteps crunch away from him. Time seems to slip by at a barely audible rate. The panic is rampant through Steven’s mind but slowly fades to black like the blue light had faded from his phone.

This blue light that had brought about so much panic to Steven in those last few seconds of consciousness was the same blue light that had read, “Call from Shadow Man”.

#JB’SPICK6

(JB’s Current Pick 6 Record: 25-17)

(Reece: 5-1)

(Steven: 5-1)

(Hery: 3-2)

#6). Dallas @ Philadelphia

JB’s PICK: EAGLES

#5). Buffalo @ Miami

JB’s PICK: BILLS

#4). St. Louis @ Carolina

JB’s PICK: RAMS

#3). Cincinatti @ Detroit

JB’s PICK: BENGALS

#2). Minnesota @ New York

JB’s PICK: GIANTS

#1). Denver @ Indianapolis

JB’s PICK: COLTS

#JB’SUPSETS

+1). Tampa Bay @ Atlanta

JB’s PICK: BUCCANEERS

+2). San Francisco @ Tennessee

JB’s PICK: TITANS

Will Steven continue to live up to his name of The Bane or will the mockery of his nemesis this week knock him back onto the ice of unconsciousness? There’s only one way to find out: Sunday. Here is where I pass the weekend torch to your comments...

Breaking .500

Tuesday Morning Hangovers

 "For the record, I didn't use my secret weapon this year, but I'll share why another time..." #weeksix

JB's Pick 6; Whom is Who? (Week 6)

 

 

 

Good afternoon, Gents!

They called him Shadow Man. Practically everybody in the neighborhood knew him-the man who would sit in the upstairs window of his house, looking out into space, oblivious to the world. Some people said he’d gone crazy after his wife had left him, some had guessed that his career was that of too much stress, whilst others said that he’d lost a son or a daughter. The truth was, nobody really knew for sure. He was just known as Shadow Man, because his expression was always blank, like a shadow.

Francois Crawford knew that he had a different name, one that he no longer used, that had been lost to the world. He was the one who brought Shadow Man food, and took care of the rent. Part of the money came from Shadow Man’s social security; he assumed the rest came from an inheritance, or from an insurance policy Shadow Man had stashed somewhere. He was always dressed in the same simple clothing, although not always the same clothes, so he knew that Shadow Man didn’t have to spend all of his time in the wheelchair that he used to watch the world outside his window.

“So, how are you today?” Francois asked one Friday afternoon as he stopped by on another one of his monthly rounds. Looking at the window, he added, “The weather’s nicer today, isn’t it? I’ll bet you’re glad that storm is over with.”

Shadow Man didn’t answer as Francois gathered up the envelopes on his kitchen table. His face was impassive as always, although Francois thought he saw a flicker of recognition in Shadow Man’s eyes. “Well, I’ll just take care of these, then. See you next month, okay?”

When he was gone, Shadow Man continued to sit in his wheelchair, looking out his window at the houses beyond. He knew there was a world out there that he was no longer a part of, a world of noise and people-people who brought danger, and did bad things to each other. In his withdrawn silence, he’d wanted no part of that world for years, and tried not to think about what had made him that way.

Long ago, when Francois Crawford had been a little boy and Shadow Man had been the same age then that he was now, he had been different. The world had been different, too, and it had been part of the life he shared with his wife, who’d been his connection to it. It was when the bad thing happened to her that the connection had been severed.

“I need to go out of town for a few days,” she’d said on the last day they’d spent together. “It’s just a short business trip. I should be back Sunday night.”

“Another one?” He sighed. “I was hoping we could go out for dinner this weekend.”

“I know, but the company has been having some problems with one of their suppliers, and as usual I have to go there and straighten things out. I’m sure it’s no big deal-I’ll be back in no time.”

“Well-I guess I’ll see you when you get home, then.” Except that he never did…

The police brought him the news two days later. It didn’t sink in right away, and when it did he thought at first that they must have made some sort of a mistake. She was on her way home, he was sure of it. All he had to do was wait…

He’d kept up this facade for a while, of course. Just to keep up appearances, for his family and friends. But the connection he’d had with their world was already gone. It was gone when they took him to identify the body they’d found; when they told him about the young man with dead eyes whom they’d arrested for her death. And it was gone when he went to her funeral, and in the long, silent years that followed, as he watched the cars and his neighbors outside change.

Or, at least he thought it was.

Then came one cool night when the moon was full, and it was so light that he could see the narrow street in its entirety. He saw two figures that he knew didn’t belong there following Francois Crawford as he headed up the street. Shadow Man wasn’t sure why he was there-it wasn’t his normal visiting day, and at any rate he wouldn’t have come at this hour of the night. But he was there, and Francois seemed to know the figures that were following him, because he turned to confront them. Shadow Man couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the discussion seemed tense. Then the tension mercifully faded as they walked away. Francois watched them go, and turned to leave.

Something stirred inside of Shadow Man as he watched. At first he’d told himself that he wouldn’t get involved, that he wasn’t part of that world anymore. Ignore them and forget, he told himself. Except that he couldn’t, because he saw the two figures again. They were walking up the street, following where Francois had gone…

He had a cell phone, one that Francois had given him in case of emergencies. He’d never used it, but he kept it on the kitchen table where Francois kept his mail. He was out of practice; it took some effort for him to remember how to dial Francois’s number. But he did, and when the voice mail’s recorded voice on the other end answered, Shadow Man recognized it immediately and his face went white.

“Hi, you’ve reached Darius. Leave a message at the beep.”

#JB’SPICK6

(JB’s Current Pick 6 Record: 19-15)

#6). New York @ Chicago

JB’s PICK: GIANTS

#5). Carolina @ Minnesota

JB’s PICK: PANTHERS

#4). St. Louis @ Houston

JB’s PICK: RAMS

#3). Detroit @ Cleveland

JB’s PICK: BROWNS

#2). Pittsburgh @ New York

JB’s PICK: STEELERS

#1). New Orleans @ New England

JB’s PICK: PATRIOTS

#JB’SUPSETS

+1). Heartbreak Kid VS. The Sith

JB’s PICK: The Sith

+2). Limited Edition VS. SSG

JB’s PICK: Limited Edition

JB Prediction: The Sons of Thunder SHOULD beat The Educators this week but the only person that can keep Darius, aka Shadow Man, from winning is Darius, aka Francois Crawford. Here is where I pass the weekend torch to your comments...