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

October 7, 2012

The Root of the Week V

"I am born again, and live a second life."

So sayeth the Swami, and a handful of others who find new lease on life with the 1st Annual Swami Second Life Pool.

Not to be confused with the brave souls who still diligently strive for success and glory in the Suicide Pool, and contrary to common question, never the twain shall meet. In separation infinitus.

The Swami rides the coattails of the Spawn this week, plopping my Second Life down on what lies at the top of the beanstalk, along with my little deductions --- and my yang, as it happens. The other members of the Swami ride Coughlin's brood in Week Five, as well.

Action on the G-Men, the 49ers, the Texans, the Vikings, and a host of other teams much likelier to lose. Week Five in 2011 was brutal on the Giants; perhaps the chaos will reign again in 2012, though it is unlikely.

Strap on your cap, buckle your belt, and grab your wooden club as we roll into Week Five, Fo Fum, where I smell the end of this meaningless pun.

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.