About Thursday of last week I decided that paying attention to the first round of the playoffs might be the best damned thing in the world since nudity on cable. Saturday was then designated as the "Day I Overdosed on Football" as I parked it couchside about 4 feet from the television and rooted wholeheartedly for certain things to happen. Some did, and some didn't, let's recap...
As mentioned around here more times than Brittney's vagina, I'm in a season pick 'em pool, and no it's not one of those megapussy winners only pools. No, this is the real deal, against the motherfuckin' mafioso damned spreads, to top it off, the Tuesday lines. That's right, the openers. No time for adjusting to what popular opinion dictates, nope, the "Holy Shit We Have NO Fucking Clue Line Let's Just Hope These Idiots Miss" lines. Once again this year, after a fucking abysmal start (by abysmal I mean I averaged three games right for the first five weeks of the season) I managed to scratch my way back to the top of the "superillegalfootballgamblingpool". Now, the playoffs really bring meaning as the, well, whatever, the games are more important so I need to get them right.
As I put a permanent ass print into my couch, I was surrounded by a bunch of assdouches who kept speaking about Larry Johnson like they'd been bunkmates at fat camp, or gay camp if you will. I heard all kinds of statistical predictions for the game against the Colts, and I'm not making this up,
Idiot #1: "He'll go for 375 with 4 touchdowns against that defense today."
Idiot #6***: "Really? Wanna bet?"
Idiot #1: "Well, no. But he will go for like 280 with 3."
Idiot #6***: "Really? Wanna bet?"
Idiot #1: "What do you think he's gonna do then smartass?"
Idiot #6: "Well, I don't see Indy letting him beat them that way. I mean, wouldn't you be forced to quit or kill yourself if you were a coach there and you let him beat you?"
Idiot #1: "What?"
Idiot #6: "Well you're dumb as a dead fucking rock and I'm not explaining it to you. He'll probably get a hundred and a touchdown."
Idiot #1: "How does a rock die? You're the idiot."
Needless to say the smart quotient in the room was set on kindergarten, but thing went exactly like I thought. In fact, they went perfectly according to my little plan. And save the Jets debacle, I picked up three games in the "superfuckingillegalfootballgamblingpoolthatthecopscanneverknowabout".
You see, my little plan was for the Colts to win, and win handily, which they did. Peyton looked atrocious lobbing interceptions like he was anxiously giving away his backdoor virginity. But, like Herm Edwards kept slobbering into microphones, his Squaws deserved the playoffs and performed accordingly. Hey Herm, just a tip here, maybe I don't know shit*** but, if Indy is crashing their one "most likely to kill your running back" safety, maybe you ought to come out throwing to the spot he vacates. I guess that might be helpful in the future Hermy. Anyway, Indy rolled, and now media types everywhere are climbing back on their high horse. "It's Indy's Year!!!" I can't wait.
With the afternoon game done, my television started eminating an odor of feces as the NFC polluted the evening session at my house. It was enough to call it a night and prep for Part II of the "Master Plan".
The Jets were Part II. Unfortunately, that sucked shit for my picks, strangely I convinced myself that would be a field goal game. It wasn't. But, Part II of the Master Plan fell right into place. New England is back baby, and they are stumping into town next Sunday afternoon to attempt a tackle on our Bolts. And, as you well know, New England has won three Super Bowls, their Quarterback has given gracelessly aging single women hope for their lives, rebuilt New Orleans with toothpicks and duct tape, "solved that thing" in the middle east and reversed global warming. So when we pound them by 24 on Sunday, it will be the shocker of the century, and we're not planning on being generous with the lube, being the #1 seed and all.
That's right, give all the love to those that aren't us. You see, there are two tiers in the AFC right now. Tier #2, which encapsulates everyone that isn't us, and then their is Tier #1, which is all inclusive of, us. Tier #2 contains all of the teams that aren't going to beat us. Call it parity, call it a significant step down in talent, but they can't play in Tier #1. But no one knows this but me and Max here, and well, now you. You see how the Master Plan works? Take the attention and focus from us, do it. It's good. It helps. It's almost like we are underdogs. Just the way I wanted it. Awesome. I can't wait for Sunday.
Allison of the Pats Cheer Squad Will be Defecting this Sunday
*** Idiot #6 was myself, as I was the sixth dumbest idiot in a room that contained six people.
Oh, Go Bolts!!!
1 comment:
Ironic. The Jets mess was the only game I picked right against the spread. Picked all the winners right, though, for what's that worth. Which is nothing.
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