Swami's NFL Pool 2018: Memories of a Time Not-So-Long Past

September 28, 2012

Memories of a Time Not-So-Long Past

Well, I’ve done worse than getting bounced from the Pool in week three. A few years ago I'd barely scrubbed the Labor Day hamburger grease off the grill when I caught the shimmer of the Reaper’s scythe reflecting off the Weber Genesis. "You gotta be kidd –“ is all I could utter before the swift end came. Zing! Oh-for-two.

At least this year I had a fleeting moment of glory way back in mid-September – pre-Jay Cutler’s teammates hating him – when the Bears steamrolled the Colts. I was young and rebellious then; a cocky kid full of reckless abandon. Ah… my halcyon days. The memories are mostly faded now but I recall it as a simpler, more innocent time. When high school refs could fulfill their dream of officiating NFL games.

But there will come a day when I can live again. A day when I can accept an inept Cardinals offense outscoring Tom Brady and the Pats. A day when I can wrap my head around the Saints blowing an 18-point lead against the Chiefs. Yes. I'll live again. Maybe round about, oh, week five perhaps.

Congrats to those few who’ve made it through this three-week gauntlet still intact. Well done.

-- Shapeshifter

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.