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

September 11, 2011

The Root of the Week I

Hello, my beautiful people, my lovely degenerates, my faithful followers, and welcome once more to the hallowed halls of the Suicide Pool. It is time once again to sit and contemplate, now on the eve of battle, what it is that has brought us to this place, on this time, on this day, bearing witness to the beginning of a new season of glorious football chaos.

The answer is simple, of course: a new collective bargaining agreement. After months of great concern by the masses, many of whom emailed yours truly to voice and vent their concerns, we enter the new football season none the worse for wear---except Peyton Manning's neck, which has seen better days.

And in the grand tradition of the Suicide Pool, our first week is an all-out imbroglio: as many as thirteen teams have been selected by the masses, representing a full 40% of the league. We've got participants riding the fancies of the Texans, Browns, Cardinals, Chiefs, 49ers, Jets, Broncos, Eagles, Bills, and Ravens, with the first two the favorites of the bunch.

We've also got an already victorious Packer-backer, a series of those unwise enough to pick the Patriots of New Hoodie against my beloveds, and---most remarkably---a number of participants, some of them even some knowledgeable veterans, electing to roll the dice and ride the future Los Angeles Chargers. Clearly, such people do not pay attention, and do not know that the Chargers have been more responsible for Week One losses in the last five years than any other team. One of the unofficial Suicide Pool rules is actually "do not pick the Chargers before Week Six, since they are guaranteed to start the season 1-4". Good luck to you, people. By the by, for those wondering where the Swami allegiance lies, my own choice shall be the Birds of the Desert; the Kolb Bowl should make for some exciting viewing.

And so we have returned once more, myself as host of the Suicide Pool, you as its many loyal and degenerate participants and fans, and together we shall take our first steps down a familiar path---and yet the bends and twists of this coming season shall be new and exciting, and shall truly set the bar high.

And so, without further ado, I now declare this season officially open. Let's get ready to ruuuuuummmmbbbbblllleeeee . . . . .

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.