Swami's NFL Pool 2018: No Losers

December 2, 2016

Friday Taunt XII

It was a very Happy Thanksgiving Holiday weekend for all except the Reaper, who sat at home and did literally nothing from Thursday to Sunday as all 62 participants emerged unscathed from Week 12. The Saints, Titans, Ravens, Cowboys, Bills, and Beloveds all won the hearts and minds of the masses this weekend past.

We now enter Marino Week, which has proven tricky for some in past seasons. I would be particularly scared if I was one of those still holding a Swami Hex card; some of you were taken off the Hex list for rolling Beloved last weekend. Double cheers, and an extra glass of champagne for you.

Onward we merrily roll with Danny Boy as our parade marshal.

That is all.

November 1, 2013

Friday Taunt VIII

This is what happens when everyone wins. Swami gets bored, Swami falls asleep, and you get no Taunt until Friday.

I hope you're happy with yourselves.

Not one person succumbed this week to the sharp of the scythe, and the Reaper is not happy. He is quite agitated, actually, and as such I fear for you all.

Now, logistics: this week, Week Nine, represents your last opportunity to select a team you will be able to reuse in the playoffs. Beginning next week, Week Ten, any team selected the rest of the year is burned up for good. This makes the Reaper very, very happy. He expects great and glorious chaos this week, what with Jacksonville on the Bye.

Week Eight Stats
160 participants
109 winners
0 losers

I have to go back to sleep now. All this participant winning is exhausting. Let's all come together and put a little life back into this thing in Week Nine; I've had quite enough self-entertainment, thank you very much.

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.