Hi everybody,
Sorry for the delay, but Yours Truly was on a secret assignment - which only now can be declassified, as the mission is now complete.
No, it wasn't a covert op* (* operation) to Iraq. That was aborted, due to my turban being detected as a towel from Holiday Inn (damn you, corporate branding and defense budget cuts! damn you to hell!).
So instead I served as "Commander-in-Chief" of my own "fantasy" football team.
It was a chilly weekend on the frozen tundra of Lambo field ... wait, actually it was Ed's Sports Bar, and besides, Lamby hates that nickname. Anyway, it was just the boys, as much to our surprise and chagrin there were few obvious females present. Maybe it was all for the best. A drinking establishment is no place for a woman. Still there remains almost three quarters* (* note the football tie-in) of action remaining in that new bottle of Old Spice, so there will be other opportunities to score.
Before I begin, allow me to bring those of you who may be somewhat unfamiliar* (* ladies, Canadians, folks from Detroit) with football, up to speed. In the interest of brevity, I will only seek to explain principles of the draft itself (as those are the only principles I feel comfortable with).
The NFL Draft is an annual event that occurs every April. It consists of 7-rounds, where each team, in order from worst (by record) to best (Superbowl champ) within each round, selects an eligible college player. Once chosen, that team owns the rights to a player (similar in concept to the first blogger kidnapping Yours Truly and possessing exclusive conjugal privileges). The players have no say over which team picks them. It could be the New England Patriots (Pinks), or the Detroit Lions (Crash Test Comic). That is part of the fun and intrigue.
Packaged in with the draft is this unusual and shadowy fellow by name of Mel Kiper Jr., who - not unlike the groundhog - appears above ground once once per year to prognosticate. Here is where I would poke fun at Mel's distinctive hairstyle and flamboyant manner, but I prefer to not wind up in an oil drum or landfill somewhere. This young don suspects Mel doesn't innocently hang-out at the Elks Lodge with his approximately 51-weeks of free time. Unless of course there are Teamsters present.
And I certainly don't want to wind up like this guy (below), with Jack Nicholson camping it up on the big screen as The Pug. Who needs that? Still, I have been discretely informed that Yours Truly(!) will have the inside track for next year's draft if I show up at the Machus Red Fox Restaurant in Bloomfield Township, Michigan, early. And alone. I can't wait!
So now that I have briefed you* (* this time only / from here on out, your panties come OFF during our more common "de-briefing" sessions) with the pre-draft analysis, let's recap how I did:
Round 1: Worried that the Detroit Lions would once again this year snap up all of the good Wide Receivers, I had to strike quickly. In a nod to the immortal Billy "White Shoes" Johnson, I used my first pick on Billy "White Sheets" Johnson. To the casual observer, these two are "night and day" different. "Shoes" is an African-American Houston Oiler from the 1970's; known for his trademark white shoes, flashy persona and blazing speed. "Sheets" white-shirted for the Klansman of the Mississippi Valley conclave, has a knack for finding the seams in coverage, and runs a blazingly crisp cross(ing) pattern. No one is faster at eluding black defensive players as if his very life depended on it; the sheet serves to conceal the sudden zags after zigs, and is there anything more aerodynamic than a pointy hat? Meet the "White Missile*" (* not to be confused with my own "Mr. Happy").
Round 2: Attempted to stay closer to team "needs" with this pick. Deficiencies in several key areas required immediate attention: 1) low percentage of illegitimate children in the red zone; 2) outmuscled by opponents in tittie bar fights; 3) inadequate completion ratio at Playstation; and, 4) uneventful drives. Unfortunately no prospects appeared to meet any of these criteria. So I selected Maurice Clarett as a rehabilitation project instead out of the supplemental (penal) "system".
Round 3: Decided to think "outside of the box" with this pick, trading up to select a NON-promiscuous cheerleader. I'll take the heat for going with "less experience" at a skill position, but hey, that's what practice is for. And it never hurts to have a Tight End who can block against opposing penetration.
Round 4: At this point, it seemed wise to go with the "best athlete available". Which is why I didn't. Instead, I decided to "fill another gap" with this pick. No, I did not choose another cheerleader. There will always be Free Agents for those positions still available up until "last call". Instead, I wanted someone with flair, in order to run the audio in our stadium.
It takes a rare bath-house, er, club-house leader to effectively convert androgynous glam-rock into testosterone-laden anthem as an essential addition to the sporting homophobe's playbook. And per my scouts, there was one clear choice in this area: an aural thoroughbred who seemed to effortlessly hit on exotically eclectic cylinders through "We Will Rock You", "We Are The Champions", and "Rock and Roll, Part 2" twenty-a-day drills. Since Freddy Mercury is no longer on the board, my choice is Gary Glitter and his right-angle penis (see photo below).
Stay tuned for the follow-through on Pug's Picks 5 through 7 !
.
