Swami's NFL Pool 2018: The Return of the Tuesday Taunt

September 11, 2012

The Return of the Tuesday Taunt

There are 32 professional football teams in the NFL. Half of 32 is 16. And 16 is the number of teams chosen by participants this past weekend, the opening frame, of the Suicide Pool.

Half the field of available options.

Does this speak to parity in the NFL? Distrust of rookie quarterbacks? Distrust of replacement officials? Is our collective mentally deficient? Are teams of monkeys throwing [censored] at a board, just to see what sticks?

In order of popularity: Texans, Bears, Lions, Eagles, Saints, Ravens, Patriots, Falcons, Jets, Vikings, 49ers, Cardinals, Steelers, Giants, Panthers, Seahawks. I'm not gonna lie, you people is nuts.

The lion roared well enough for the Swami this weekend, and the Spawn, and the Factor survived her ridiculous Vikings pick*, moving the whole cadre unscathed into Week Two. Joining us are 117 others, as we managed to avoid devastation ala Week One of 2011. In a shocking coincidence, not one person took Cleveland this year.

Weekly Statistics
134 participants
120 undefeateds
16 teams chosen
14 week one losers

We're off and running with Suicide 2012, with a total of 134 participants on the rolls. Who will be standing when the dust settles? Swami curses can't help, nor can mindless weekly selection, both of which I expect will accrue over the course.

That is all.

*It looked good on you, though, Mr. Dis.

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.