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

November 20, 2010

The Root of the Week XI

indecision /in-deh-SIH-shun/ noun (1) reluctance or an inability to make up one's mind (2) doubt concerning two or more possible courses of action (3) the trait of irresolution, a lack of firmness of character or purpose (4) the state of being unsure of something.

Yes, my friends, these all apply to you; the first seven emails I received following the update email contained seven different selected teams.

Ravens. Bengals. Saints. Jets. Chargers. Steelers. Cowboys. Titans. Chiefs. Falcons. That's ten teams with more picks still to come, which means this week is positively schizophrenic.

And ballsy, too, it seems, what with the two biggest teams of the week, if there can be big teams with the action spread so thin, are the two indisputably most dangerous teams of 2010: the Bolts, lethally electric in all the wrong ways, and the Cowboys, laughably mired in what could be considered the worst season in the history of football.

I suppose, therefore, there is only one question left to ask: is your indecision final?

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.