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

October 23, 2011

The Root of the Week VII

I considered referencing the USC win over the golden dome in this post, to revel in the sweet smell of victory and the absurdity that was the 9 point dog-status of the Men of Troy, but since there are not really any Notre Dame fans in the pool -- or perhaps any left in general, outside the media -- I decided to refrain. Therefore, I shall not mention USC's two touchdown win.

What I will talk about, however, is Week Seven of the NFL season, which sees the vast majority of participants on either the Saints or the Cowboys, and sometimes both. A handful of other choices represent a tiny fraction (Packers, Ravens, Steelers, etc), but if you're rooting, I'd root for the one you did not choose.

As for myself, in the spirit of all things Troy, I shall root for the first time for a team who I've long not thought of with any form of affection, despite a period of time spent in my backyard. However, a few recent changes in management and a significant change under center, and suddenly the squad becomes a whole lot more palatable.

Therefore, on the bandwagon of the Silver and Black I go.

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.