Tuesday, August 29, 2006

 

This is how we roll

I am used to losing. That isn't to say I am by default a loser in most aspects of life. Quite the contrary, actually: I'm devastatingly handsome, I have a tattoo so striking you'll go blind if you look directly at it, my bank account is swollen and I'm an absolute rock star at my day job. Oh, and I find the nightlife to be so filled with lovely ladies the entire pursuit is beginning to bore me. Do you have difficulty getting laid? I can't relate; I'm getting laid right now, as I write.

At this point, you're probably wondering two things: (1) is this guy serious? and (2) if he's such a stallion, how in the world can he be used to losing? The first question should be obvious, the second I'll tackle right now: I'm used to losing because I've played so many sports. Played soccer, hockey, basketball and golf throughout my youth, played baseball through college. And no matter how amazing one is at sports -- and I am undeniably amazing, seriously, you really should come see me sometime -- you just get used to losing. You have to.

My point is this: I have devised the ideal method to losing with grace. It's a bit risky, but also a strategy that's been working for me throughout my charmed life.

Act like you didn't care to begin with. It's really the only way. Once you see the game starting to slip from your hands, start half-assing it in a way that says to your opponent, "yes, I know I'm going to lose this contest, but frankly I couldn't care less. You feel like winning? Go ahead. Let's just get this over with, for I have better things to do." By employing such a strategy you always save face, maintain your pride, keep your chin up. Aren't I a genius?

In that spirit, I don't think I am going to do very well in this fantasy football league. More importantly: I do not care. Ha. Beat me all you want, I wasn't invested in the first place. And you know who the real loser is here? The one who cares. Win or lose, I am still a better person than you.

A list of my excuses this season:

1. Rudi Johnson (my first overall pick) kept getting glare from Chad Johnson's teeth bouncing off the stadium lights to break any tackles.

2. Dominick Davis (second round selection) was just too .... (series of mumbles as writer attempts to make excuses through a jag of blubbery tears while simultaneously blaming the tears on allergy season).

3. I will of course blame Bledsoe's bed-shitting on Terrell Owens. After all, if ESPN has taught us anything, it's that T.O. is to blame for most things gone wrong in the world. Other things for which Owens can be blamed: Asian bird flu, bees at picnics, flat tires, the popularity of Foreigner, wind, Bill O'Reilly and the cancellation of My So-Called Life.

4. My roommate convinced me to draft Muhsin Muhammed over Darrell Jackson. He was flipping through my draft magazine and, when I told him who I was going to select, commented, "no, don't do that. Muhammed is listed way higher than Jackson." Trusting the mag, I chose Muhsin, only to have my roommate say mere seconds afterwards, "oh no, wait, I read that wrong, take Jackson he's listed way higher sorry dude my bad it's not too late is it?" Too late to change my pick, yes. Too late to bang my head on keyboard, why no, it's not too late a'tall.

So there you go. You asked for my thoughts on my team, there you have it. I am setting the bar so goddamn low my boys can't possibly disappoint me. I will operate this team as I operate my life: if things are going right, I'm jumping with glee. If things are going wrong, I don't give a shit.

-- Kooby Pickett, owner of team Lick My Love Pump

Comments:
That was very funny. You were getting laid as you wrote the blog? That's yeoman's work, my friend.
 
I laughed out loud on numerous occasions, thank you for that post. It will be the first post seen on MFR
 
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