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

December 2, 2012

The Root of the Week XIII

For those who've survived long enough to see this point of the season in past years, which we lovingly call Marino Week in the Suicide Pool, you will know how ridiculous the pool becomes in the waning weeks of the regular season.

For those who are new, good luck to you. This is where the hair-pulling gets really intense.

Case in point: the first eight emails I received with picks had eight different teams selected. Bills, Jets, Chargers, Panthers, Broncos, Cowboys, 49ers, Packers, Lions, Patriots, Ravens. The Spawn? Slot them on the Raiders.

Light has struck, and the masses have scattered for cover. And so the only thing there is really for you to do, mister or missus surviving participant, is to hope and pray to whatever or whomever you pray to that the team you have selected survives. It's the only way to fly in Marino Week.

As I said, good luck to you.

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.