Swami's NFL Pool 2018: RIP

November 16, 2018

The Fiery Taunt of the Root of the RIP Week

And so the Swami returns to the land of the living, having come through smoke and fire and flame . . .

. . . only to be ousted from the Swami Pool by virtue of wing-clipped birds shot down by (one night not) impotent cowpokes . . .

. . . along with fifty other fellows who thought the Eagles, Jets, Falcons, etc, would ensure Week Ten survival.

'Twas not to be, however - only a few got through unscathed and so now we look at a much more manageable field: three unbeatens only and two dozen more.

Week Nine/Ten Stats
159 participants
3 undefeated at 10-0
24 with one loss at 9-1
132 deceased

Side bets on whether this topsy turvy season will reach the playoffs will be taken.

The Swami is dead. Long live the Swami.

That is all.

October 6, 2015

Tuesday Taunt IV

He has come for me ... and so I must go. The Swami has fallen, long live the Swami. The birds were shot down mid-flight, taking the Swami and 26 others with them. After the devastation of the Week That Shall Not Be Named, there is no hiding place.

The Reaper hovers over the Pool, unrelenting, unshakable.

Week Four Statistics
189 participants
13 players at 4-0
128 with one loss

27 week three losers

48 deceased

I'm off to the Happiest Place on the morrow for birthday celebrations, and perhaps to salve the wounds of this short season, the shortest season of all in personal Swami history. Fittingly my end came about in Week Four, when the darkness took me.

To quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

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.