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

November 5, 2011

The Root of the Week IX

I believe it was the Butterfly who said, "They passed down all the roads long ago, and the Red Bull ran behind them and covered their footsteps."

I also believe that none of you will take from the above quote what I wish you to, instead wondering why the Swami is talking about energy drinks. You're wrong, of course, but then again, you've been wrong before.

Well, all but 18 of you.

And so we come to Week Nine, which is particularly important given it is followed by Week Ten, which triggers the playoff team selection clause in the rules. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you deserve the Red Bull.

Speaking of, the vast majority have placed their eggs in the basket of a very ornery beast. It is half-red, half-blue, and wholly unpredictable. I suppose it makes no difference that a Blue Bull is not a bull at all; it's an antelope, and therefore exists only as prey for larger animals. Additionally, several Texas ranches offer nilgai as the prey in sport hunting. Karl Rove shot one. Just sayin'.

Now that the majority feels better about their pick, who should the majority root against? The Boys, naturally, and as usual. The Pats, who got their groove back with a late flurry of picks. The Dirty Birds, who have yet to win a big game all year. Plus a smattering of others, too minor to mention.

Here's hoping you and yours don't end up Haggard by the sea.

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.