"Why, Johnny Ringo ... you look like someone just walked over your grave."
The infamous red sashes are NOT part of the Cowboys uniform, which means I have no qualms about taking them for the official Swami Clan pick this week - except of course that doing so breaks two rules: (1) no road teams, and (2) no teams playing in their division. That, and the Giants have caused much mayhem this season with their very modest win total.
The masses have scattered to the four winds and it is certain not all will survive. Bengals, Titans, Bills, Cowboys, Packers, Chiefs, Steelers, and Chargers all have gotten run this week; not all of those teams will win. Root for your and against the rest, and come Monday perhaps we will have a few more Reaper-ed
Still, despite trepidation, it is Week Fourteen - which means rules are made to broken and very little remains. The pickings are slim, indeed.
The Factor rides with the Cowboys this week.
"Well ... bye."
As we near the Week 10 marker, when the season really gets real, when the noose tightens and the claws come out, it behooves to remind participants of how precious time really is. Once eliminated, 'tis another ten long months to the start of the Suicide Pool for 2015, when a fresh batch of hope springs eternal.
The crystal ball has proven worthy thus far and the Swami and his brood will look to improve upon their successes in Week Eight, along with the other 25 undefeateds. Most action seems to be coming in this fine weekend on the Cowboys of Dallas, breaking the rule of divisional rivals, with secondary action on the Beloveds to best the improving-but-still-hapless Kitties of Jacksonville.
The Swami has already utilized the Beloveds, of course, trusting their competency long before this point, likewise the spouse and offspring. The brood will, therefore, go in four different directions: the spouse on the Swashbucklers, the girl on the Browns, the boy putting his faith in Bootleg's heir and riding the Cowboys with the masses, and the Swami himself settling down for a round of vision-gathering with the shamans of the Chiefs.
Good luck to those who remain as a wave of nostalgia washes over in honor of those who have fallen. It serves as another stark reminder: like sands through the hourglass, so pass the weeks of the Suicide season.
That is all.
I'm your Huckleberry.
Far be it from me to tell all of you what to do, but in keeping it short and sweet, you all's crazy. Yes, I get it, the Browns are the football franchise equivalent of a Rodney Dangerfield-Lindsay Lohan love child, totally fracked with absolutely no respect. But really? Really?
You believe in the Romo and Jerry show that much, to the tune of all but a small handful riding with Curly Bill, donning the red sash? Well, I'm sorry, but there has got to be some law; you've called down the thunder, now you've got it. Make no mistake, it's not a reckoning I'm after, it's devastation.
To quote Johnny Ringo, an educated man, "Eventus stultorum magister." Translation: Now I've got two guns. One for each of ya.
That is all.
.
.
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PS - The Spawn will ride the Skins. What better week to be a Redskin than when the rest of the field is a Cowboy?
