Fantasy Football: The Top Pick Tango

So we drew lots in the smoky bar. Just like guys dying of hunger and turning cannibal on a lost lifeboat in the South Pacific.

Well maybe not that dramatic, but it was our fantasy football random selection draft lottery.

All drawn from an old gamy Tampa Bay Buccaneer cap.

A hat worn since the Selmans were young, fast, mean, and strong, Lee Roy and Dewey that is.

And I hit the top pick.

One is the loneliest number ye will ever see...well at least till ya get all the way to 24 and 25 which will be my next pick in our twelve team league.

At least a six pack between pick 1 and 24. Our draft is slow. By the last pick I'm jigging like Old Oliver Reed at an open seaside bar

The last guy to draft binge drink like that was seegar smoking Mike Ditka when he drafted Ricky Williams and fell into that whole wedding dress New Orleans mess.

It was New Orleans. Everyone though Da Coach and Ricky were just another cute couple. One drunk, one baked, bouncing beyond Bourbon street.

Just to cause chaos and confusion I immediately put the top fantasy pick this year on the trading block.

Sagely, I sipped a Miller Lite saying Tomlinson's knee is bad and Norv Turner is a sad, strange, tortured clown of a coach who soon will be fired.

But first Norv will destroy Tomlinson's career and the San Diego Chargers future. A puff of powder blue smoke.

And what's with their bizarre San Diego hillbilly, lumbering QB Phil Johnny Rivers? The NFL is just not clicking clear for him as he advances into his average career.

No Tomlinson for me. I'm a Adrian Peterson man, as long as they ditch Tarvaris "No Action" Jackson. That guy's gonna get Peterson's body battered cause teams will have nie in the box knowing Jackson can't complete a post pattern.

Still, I said ordering another beer, Peterson might be so good that he can overcome eight or nine men zeroed in on him in the box and still get 2,000 yards.  Can Bernard Berrian, who bungles and bobbles every other catch, even stretch a defense at least?

And a Buccaneer bird heard Jeff Garcia is being shipped to Minnesota.

Or was it briefly on Broadway Brett Favre being shipped from Gotham to Minnesota for a first rounder and a Viking defensive tackle?

But I'm willing to trade down like Dallas Jimmy Johnson on his second Heineken six pack.

Creating confusion is a draft day key.

Like grim eyed Goebbels, a natural NFL General Manager, once said, tell a lie and keep repeating it and people will come to believe it.

Did ya hear Tom Brady broke his arm mud wrestling Giselle and her twin sister during Carnival in Rio?

No?

Did ya hear Peyton, Eli, Cooper, and Archie got in a vicious bar fight with a group of meth maddened Hell's Angels in some Cajun dive bar in a Mississippi? Yeah, Eli caught a cue to his head, didn't hurt him no, but Peyton dislocated his throwing arm.

How about Larry Johnson and Herm rolling around mean on the ground at training camp. Yeah he's shipping Johnson south to Dallas. Missing an ear, though, they said Herm bit it off.

Dallas? Heard about that mess?

Yeah the National Enquirer said a ticked off Romo caught Jessica, drunk, giggling, and naked at midnight in their hotel pool, with TO, Flozell, Hollywood Henderson and some taxi squad defensive backs. The NY post said Carrie was passed out poolside also.

Yeah HBO got it all but is saving it for a feature movie. Hey their ratings are way down, never should of canned Deadwood, no.

Damn Donovan McNabb came into camp at 320 what is Andy Reid gonna do about that?

Yeah ESPN said Randy Moss retired, said he wanted to walk the Earth like Caine.

Its gonna be a long, strange trip this year. It is every year.

Create confusion.

Mayhem.

Be Loki like.

And if ya get the top pick try to pair the 24 and 25 together in a QB and WR tandem tango

Like Brees with Colston.

Maybe with the skinny dipping dither in Dallas Owens and Romo will drop.

Maybe, maybe not.

Propaganda is a way of life.

Truth is beautiful, without a doubt, but so are lies. So the sage said.

True lies.

Use em.

Did ya hear that McFadden and Russell ran off from the Raiders and went to Old Mexico for a week long bender?

Driving 120 mph, top down screaming all the way with Britney in the front seat...yeah Al Davis sent Howie Long to look for them.

And he didn't make it back either.

No kidding, now how bout that beer?