Monday, September 27, 2010

The Morning After Pill - Week 3

Ever wish you could just bumrush a young Michael J. Fox and jack his time-traveling Delorean? Aside from the obvious political incorrectness of such an act that would only be funny on Family Guy, who hasn’t?

Ok, so you’re thinking, “Last week you compared NutriSystem auditioner Rex Ryan and his organization to Jabba the Hut & his palace. Now you’re talking about assaulting a Parkinsons survivor. You’re a bigger ass than Collinsworth.” Well yeah, that may be, but just work with me on this. The point is, there is not a Tuesday morning fantasy-baller who has not at least once wished for a time machine. I also don’t think there is a Brett Favre who doesn’t share that wish.

Imagine, if you pilfered Marty McFly’s flux capacitor, you could tell your past self to start Charlie Batch and Mike Wallace over Lone-Star losers, Matt Schlub and Anklè Johnson. Who did that? If someone in your league did, check him for tachyon radiation, and if he comes up positive, give him a Marcus Vick special. Heck, stomp him anyway just for dumb luck. Yeah, I’m sore about starting Schaub and Jimmie Clausen in a two-QB league due to injury. Go ahead and laugh.

Speaking of all things Vick, he’s sure sharing the love with his pass-catchers, eh? That is, all of them except for Brent “Tom from Magnum P.I. would be better” Celek. Just think. You could go back and be among the 1% of managers in the game who started Tony Moeaki.

So you finally chose this week to bench Spiller? I feel your pain. All you have to do is hit 80mph, inject the plutonium, and you could reverse that decision, looking like a genius because you started Fitzpatrick too.

But we haven’t even scratched the surface mayhem we fantasy football zombies could unleash with a time machine. No, I’m not talking about pulling a clichĂ© “Biff Tannen” and giving your past-self a stat book to take to Vegas and make future-self filthy rich. That’s not what this is about. We fantasy-ballers aren’t that sophisticated, and are usually way too drunk to follow the logic anyway. No, this is about being able to say, “Yeah, I started Peyton Hillis in every league. Eat it, beeeeeotch!”

For instance, why only go back to last week? We could go back several years and save the fantasy world from ever drafting Kevan Barlow. World Peace is small potatoes. We could change the course of history and the domestic violence rate in our nation’s capital if someone took the delorean on a trip to Dan Snyder’s house and clubbed him until he promised not to trade away ‘Skins draft picks well into our grandchildren’s generation for T.J. Duckett and Albert Haynesworth. I could even go back and figure out a way to fix that run-on sentence. I’ll bet Sean Payton wishes he could take the delorean for a spin about 5 seconds back before icing a blocked kick. Smooth.

I’m actually convinced that this technology is actively being used, but maybe from our own future, and by very intelligent, benevolent beings. How else can one explain the cryptic, sudden, and almost complete disappearance of the sideline reporter? Yeah, we all hated them, and we don’t miss their useless, annoying presence. But where did they go? I think that someone in the future, say 2020, finally had enough. Perhaps the mixing booth missed the chance to show the greatest play in the history of the game because some sideline babe in a sensible leather jacket was interviewing receiving coach Hines Ward about how he encourages his receivers to get bikini waxes. “Yeah, Suzie. I tell them, ’If you take care of the balls down there, they’ll take care of the ones up… Wait, what just happened?'...” Meanwhile, a reverse-bootleg-play-action out of the wildcat ends up with a 99 yard catch & run TD as the clock runs out. Thanks, future-man, for coming back to our time and doing something about that menace so I can see that play live. I don’t know how you did it, and I really don’t care (as long as you don’t put Tony Korn-holer back on Monday Night Football).

On the other hand, if someone did go back and told the Tampa Bay staff to run Le Garrete Blount 25 times on Sunday, I wouldn’t be able to do my weekly serenade. Sing it with me again…

You don’t tug on Superman’s cape,
You don’t spit into the wind,
You don’t blah, blah, yada, drunken slur, something,
And you don’t run 100 yards on the Pittsburgh Steelers

So thanks for not doing that, future-dude, but you obviously did set off some sort of temporal paradox. Good thing the space-time continuum is self-healing like Anquan Boldin’s inhumanly regenerating jaw. How else do you explain this?:

Obviously, Troy was supposed to pick one Sunday, as usual, but something got messed up by all the time travel my weak opponents used to clean my clock. Good job fixing things, Universe.

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