Swami's NFL Pool 2018: Tuesday Taunt III

September 25, 2012

Tuesday Taunt III

'Tis far, far too early for the Reaper to make his annual appearance on the pages of the Suicide blog, but it is safe to say that there will be no worse weekend for the participants of 2012 than that most recently ended, and so.

The scythe was swift and brutal, and lopped off a full on-third of the remaining field. 51 were ended for the second and final time, including for the earliest showing of his distinguished career, the Swami himself.

It should be mentioned that of the Swami, the Factor, and the Swami Spawn, only the Spawn remain undefeated. Which makes less than no sense, given the first-grade mentality of the selectors. Literally.

Weekly Statistics

135 participants
90 week three losers
18 undefeated
60 with one loss
57 deceased

Week Three came close to the record-setting Week Five of 2011, when 92 perished, but the argument can be made that this weekend was worse; most of the 2011 losses were first-timers. The second death for 51 makes the Reaper a very happy hell-spawn, and so.

I have no expectation for Week Four. In truth, perhaps those perished can breathe a sigh of relief, knowing they must not wade into the waters of this ridiculous season once more. Perhaps the old saying fits, and the living truly do envy the dead*.

That is all.

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*Of course, those dead do get a second shot at life with the Swami's Second Life Pool. See post below for more details and watch for the forthcoming email.

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.