Swami's NFL Pool 2018: The Root of the Week VII

October 23, 2010

The Root of the Week VII

At this point last year, the numbers -- 45 undefeated, 42 with one loss -- were very close to where they reside this year, which sees 46 and 49. Of course, this year we had 35 more participants. The grand NFL experiment known as parity seems to be working, to the hair-pulling dismay of our glorious group.

What, not the Bronco you were expecting?

For those who kept the Saints or Ravens in their pocket, hoping to squeeze one or the other in before the playoff-reusability-barrier of Week Ten, this is the week you've been waiting for; those two teams are the biggest favorites. Sadly, or perhaps not so, the Swami has already used both, and must go a different way.

The Chiefs have moved into the limelight as a popular pick amongst the remaining masses, interspersed with a handful of Falcons, Patriots, Seahawks, etcetera, and one very ballsy Cowboy pick -- and this participant is so confident, he actually had to tell me twice.

There is another smaller, more illustrious group, however, which has elected to ride the pony. The Swami is a member of this hearty little band, perhaps not quite as flamboyant as the photo above illustrates, but hearty nonetheless. Here's hoping the silver and black goes a more garish powder blue upon leaving Mile High.

That is all.

Introducing . . .

. . . Ze German, a frothy, filthy, unfiltered 'Skins-lover bringing you weekly rants from his tapestry-laden castle high upon the Zugspitze peak. There is wisdom and method to his madness, however, so pay attention -- just look out for the women and children.

. . . The Holy Light, and the best of us, a beacon of strength, dignity, and truth, and shining where there is darkness. As it was in Ezekiel, his word is his bond and his name is the law, and he shall strike down those who dare not listen when he doth speak.

. . . The Hooded Fiend, brilliant, diabolical, devious -- the smartest man you've never met, and will never have the chance. Locked away in the dungeons below a nondescript building, we only bring the Fiend out to post when the situation is most dire.

. . . El Doctor, the tall, dark, hunky, and handsome resident surgeon of Suicide. Women love his strong hands, men respect his keen mind, and Swami requires his wicked wit, but no one understands his almost unholy passion for autos and linen pants.

. . . Man of Wench, that staunch fan of all things Philly and a fine specimen of masculinity, bold enough to tie the knot with the feisty, infamous Wench. Whether at the grill or at the bar, with a healthy glass of vino in his hand he'll bill you by the hour for a taste of his good times.

. . . Master of Macabre, a delightfully sinful and sinister purveyor of doom and gloom, keeper of all things dark and deathly. It is unsure what horrifies more: his spectral air, his cadaverous crypt, his Machiavellian machinations, or his penchant for Princess and the Frog.

. . . Shapeshifter, he of the ever-changing ways, ever-shifting forms, and everlasting enthusiasm. Our newest commentator brings forth pomp, verbosity, and circumstance on scale to rival even the Swami himself. Shifty, yes, and subtle when necessary, his form is never out of fashion.