Two weeks in a row we've had limited action. Apparently, the masses had much to be thankful for this past weekend, a two-week respite being most prominently at the fore.
Four deaths, two per pool, and the answer to two plus two is boredom. In Suicide, the Iceman falleth and Abercrombie shed its second skin, while in Second Life, it seems only Titans can Mess With Marissa.
I seek chaos; this you know. However, there was minor guilt in the early stages of the pool as so many perished quickly, and brutally. For scant weeks there I actually enjoyed your successes. No longer.
Five weeks left in the regular season means the gloves come off, the noose tightens, and like the gods of old unleashing the fury of the sea-faring beast, so too will the Swami unleash the fatality of the Reaper. We have some excess baggage to shed en route to the Wild Card rounds. We will shed them in Marino Week.
Oh yes, there will be blood.
That is all.
