Swami's NFL Pool 2018: There Is No Taunt On This Sad, Sad Week II

September 24, 2015

There Is No Taunt On This Sad, Sad Week II

"They stood resolved, and ready at the bell,
and candles light the places where they fell."

I know not where this day finds you. I know not from where you read this, not your circumstance nor your situation, nor whether your mood runs to merriment or melancholy, or some measure between.

I know not, and there is, truth be told, little knowledge to be had on this cold, cruel evening in the middle of the week. It is three days since the devastation of Sunday, just two since the cruel Reaper continued his rampage on Monday night. We are all still feeling it, all still carrying the burdens of what was, is, and will forever be . . .

. . . the single worst week in the history of the Swami Suicide Pool.

I do not think it will be possible to ever top such a week. I think we could take 200 brave souls, have them make picks independently for one thousand weeks straight, and still never come close to touching the sheer and utter carnage rained down upon us this week. Week Two of 2015 shall henceforth be known, like Voldemort, as the "Week That Shall Not Be Named."

Before the actual statistics and before I add some additional commentary, it is pertinent to discuss October of 2011, Week V. It is a flashback not many will want to flashback. Here is what was said then:

"It was carnage, utter and absolute; the single bloodiest weekend in the history of Suicide. 83 participants rode the Giants to their untimely demise, 92 took losses in total, and 37 perished for the second and final time. 102 remain alive, 78 with one loss. For those keeping track at home, a full two-thirds (66%) lost in Week Five. After five weeks in, only 16% remain undefeated. No one with multiple entries remains unscathed. The theme of the season is destruction, devastation, chaos."

This past weekend makes Week V of 2011 look like a few fine young people taking a pleasure cruise. Week II of 2015 is a few fine young people out for a pleasure cruise at night through eel-infested waters -- and everyone knows the shrieking eels are loudest right before they strike.

That sound you heard on Sunday? Well, they struck. Observe:

# - Two weeks into this short, deadly season, only 14 participants remain undefeated -- only fourteen!!?!

# - The losses piled up in record numbers: 76 were denied heaven's pearly gates via the Saints; 37 thought they had avoided the bloodshed and rode their Colts into the ground on Monday; 26 liked the trendy Ravens pick, but quoted Poe, 'Nevermore.'; 25 wanted protection and took the Beloveds in honor of Swami, including the Swami himself, only to fall, sadly, along with all the rest; and the Rams, Eagles, and Titans all added multiple participants to their backing parties ... only to disappoint them with ridiculous losses.

For those counting at home, that is 174 losses suffered in total by the participants this week. 174??? WTF??? The single bloodiest, most devastating week in history. Our own personal Antietam. The number you are looking for is 88% ... 88% lost their lives. I have no words. 'Tis rare, yes, but I have no words to describe the scene.

Some small measure can be found in this one last thought --- save for a few random undefeated survivors, the whole rest of the pool is in the same boat. So many bit the dust, the playing field is very nearly level.

And so onward we merrily roll in Suicide 2015.

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.