Let's take a trip back in the past, all the way back to August when the '09 Yahoo league 552357 held it's fantasy draft. Wilt, sitting with the second pick, buried in a stack of statistical information. AP has to be going one, he obviously thought, as the seconds dripped down to the 7 p.m. draft start. The fuck is the second guy supposed to do? Searching through the ranks of running backs, he decides it would be between Mo Jo and Michael Turner. Neither caught his fancy as the clock began to roll on the draft with Greatones sitting with the top pick. A minute passes by, as Wilt continues to assume AP will be off the board, seconds left......#1 Pick: LARRY FITZGERALD.
Flash forward to this weekend, where I take on the braindead soul of Greatones in week five of the Next Level league. Sitting at 3-1 Plaxico's Sweatpants (my team) has a large lead ahead of the third place team and only a loss behind the top squad. Greatones: dead last. The projections have the Sweats favored by 20. Deciding to have some fun with the mentally hadicaped Greatones, I combine the nordic trio Brett Farve, Sidney Rice, and my crown jewel Adrian's Peterson (leaving Donovan McNabb's 31 on the bench)
Sunday moves along smoothly, with no hiccup in the first slate of games, where AP goes for a modest 18 along with a combined 19 from Brett Rice. Cedric Benson leads my squad with a 21 pointer to give me a solid 15 point lead heading into the late games.
Just like Plaxico's real sweatpants, I was hanging loose, not paying attention to the happenings of the second round. Meanwhile, the gun began to slip further and further. While my laptop slept, Greatones had a little handcuff up his sleeve as well, one with Fitz and Warner. When the point raking was over, the two had shot off a round of 45 points into my quadricep to best my superior team by 18 points going into the Monday night game, Jets at Dolphins.
103-85, down to the worst team on the planet, and with only Ronnie Brown and Miami's defense to save me. I had no hope, no will to watch, but did, only because Monday programming is shittier than your colon. To my surprise, Ronnie led the game off with a drive, that he perfected, with passing as well as running to get them the early score. Instantly, I took the lead by 3, my hopes dangling in a defensive performance. Those hopes were washed away with the next drive with a Braylon Edwards catch (Whaa??) for a TD. Back under the score, where I was stifled for the next 3 quarters. With all belief exhausted, I hopped in my car to head back to my house, listening to the game on and off on the way back. I enter my house with no idea of the game's (or my game's) status.
I awaken my laptop, and power up the Olevia (can't afford a Samsung on a college student budget) and find both point differentials are the same with only 1:26 to go and the Dolphins with the ball on the 16. Third down and 10 as Chad Henne steps back in the pocket with the blood of my self inflicted shot to the leg on his hands. He surveys the field and lobs a pass which takes eons to land, but nestles into the hands of Greg Camarillo.
1st AND GOAL. Ronnie walks onto the field, with no clue that he decides the fate of a Kansas 20-year-old's fantasy fate in his wildcat package. The snap, Ronnie straight to the left guard, jukes outside the tackle and has light. FOLLOW THE LIGHT RONNIE, FOLLOW THE LIGHT. He fights for it, inches away from breaking the hole and the plane, as satanic Kerry Rhodes swoops in to seize Ronnie. Time still left.
Henne back on the field with Ronnie for some added support in the shotgun. PLAY ACTION? Henne trying to destroy my dreams, launches a ball at Anthony Fasano. It seems like Purgatory before the ball sores to the ground as an incomplete pass. 17 seconds left. Third down and four, the Hispanic crowd moaning for Ronnie as he steps back into his Wildcat form. Staring at Rex Ryan, Ronnie growls and yells, YOU COULD USE NUTRISYSTEM!!! which doubles as the snap count. He grasps the ball out of the air like an eagle does a pigeon, and steams forward with the strength of 90 elephants behind Jake Long's godlike blocking. He's lost in the pile. Is it a touchdown? Did he accidentally defy the space time continuum? YES AND YES. TOUCHDOWN PLAXICO'S SWEATPANTS. The crowd (me and Bubb) cheers, yelling and chanting to the sound of T-Pain.
This win goes out to Greatones, who left me the best player in the league and perfectly contrived my comeback to pull a win out of my ass. 106-103 to take sole possession of second place, and help me burn off unneeded calories jumping around like Bill Gramatica.