Now, I have placed those same high expectations in a much more achievable place, somewhere between not finishing last and maybe scaring someone one week.

“I will give 110 percent, and my groin will give as it is able”

Truth be told, I’m probably being too hard on myself. My fantasy team will be fine, provided I work the waiver wire like a mad scientist genius who puts his fake football online league before his marriage. Am I okay being “that guy”? Ask me again in Week Four.

My precipitous fall from world-beater to dust-eater happened fast and furious, not unlike my favorite movie franchise. One moment, I was stocking up decent players, and the next, I was floundering in a sea of bad picks and jumping on the wrong trends.

No trend was more incorrect than my complete avoidance of drafting wide receivers. Well, to be honest, I didn’t completely avoid wide receivers, but only because the Fleaflicker drafting program wouldn’t let me. I did, however, succeed in drafting receivers no one had heard of.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

My draft took a turn for the worst pretty much from the get-go. First off, I had no idea where I would be drafting, which would turn out to be a convenient excuse once things went poorly. About half an hour before the draft started, I found out the draft order, and the news was not good. In our 12-team league, I was picking eleventh.

Eleventh?! At least Derek Anderson will still be available! By the time the eleventh pick rolled around, the draft board looked like the fifth page of my fantasy draft guidebook. Look, there’s Marshawn Lynch! He’s got dreads! Ooh, Carson Palmer! He hasn’t blown out his knee for a couple seasons! (This line of thinking would later lead to me drafting Palmer.)

But all was not lost. Thanks to an early run on quarterbacks of which I was simply an innocent bystander, St. Louis RB Steven Jackson was left standing, which was tragically ironic considering his health the past few years.

I live for injury-prone running backs, especially when they have the chance to carry my fantasy team. As such, I jumped all over Jackson like I didn’t have any other options (I didn’t!), and I officially hinged my fantasy season on the cankle of a guy no one else cared to have. But hey, he was on the cover of ESPN Fantasy last season. That can’t be all bad. ESPN knows what it’s talking about (nervous laughter).

Strangely enough, that was the best pick I would have for the next hour. My next choice was Palmer, out of panic and poor judgment, followed by another running back, Laurence Maroney, in Round 3. At this point, I had an interesting decision to make: should I balance out

Ryan Grant: not a wide receiver

my roster with other positions or should I build a running back cache that would make Mike Shanahan’s head spin?

I can’t say no to Ryan Grant’s obvious overratedness! Running back cache it is!

After Grant, I drafted Jonathan Stewart in Round 5, and I would have had more RBs if the Fleaflicker program would have allowed me. Who are they to say that owning four running backs in a league that starts at most two is a bad idea? Communists.

Forty-five minutes into the draft, I had one quarterback, four running backs, and no one to catch the ball. “Hmm,” I thought to myself, “what are the odds that Maroney gets switched to wide receiver in the next 12 minutes?” I should have been wondering how things got out of hand so quickly. Throughout the first five rounds, I was under the impression that I was doing well, not reaching for players I didn’t want and avoiding Atlanta Falcons. Everyone else was drafting players based on something called “balance;” meanwhile, I was drafting the best available player every round, like some sort of bizzaro Dennis Green. We all know how that ended.

It was at this point that the Fleaflicker draft program was starting to lose its patience with me. Throughout the draft, it had tried to give me helpful advice, assuming I wanted it. Ha! I hadn’t taken advice from a computer since Oregon Trail DOS! I wasn’t about to start now.

“You have no wide receivers,” it told me. “You should draft WR Roy Williams from Detroit.”

Um, thanks but I’d rather have backup quarterback Jason Campbell.

Finally, in Round 7, I could not wait any longer. I had to draft a wide receiver. So I pulled the trigger on…Jerricho Cotchery?

Brett Favre has made worst receivers look decent, namely Mark Chmura. He was a good fantasy player, right?

What. Had. I. Done. I had just drafted the New York Jets No. 2 receiver to be my go-to guy, a man whose name was a cross between an ancient Biblical city with big walls and a word that up until a week ago, I thought was “Crotchery.” And I used to giggle when I said it. Now I was expecting him to lead my receiving corps into whatever sort of point abyss I was headed.

My rationale behind drafting Cotchery was simple: I needed a wide receiver. Actually, there was a little more thought than that. Cotchery will be playing with Brett Favre this season, and I expected a Greg Jennings-like explosion from Cotchery now that Favre was throwing the ball his way. I had no actual facts upon which to base this.

My next wide receiver pick was even worse: Atlanta’s Roddy White. Yes, the Falcons have a starting rookie quarterback. Yes, they are not a good team. Yes, I understand that I won’t get points for dropped passes. But hey, someone on NFL Live told me that White would be a sleeper, and I was at the portion of the draft where I start listening to the guys on NFL Live. This is also called the “desperate” portion.

When all was said and done, my fantasy roster looked like this:

• Quarterbacks: Carson Palmer, Jason Campbell, Troy Edwards
• Running Backs: Steven Jackson, Laurence Maroney, Ryan Grant, Jonathan Stewart
• Wide Receivers: Jerricho Cotchery, Roddy White, Ted Ginn, Jabar Gaffney
• Tight Ends: Jeremy Shockey, Kevin Boss
• Kicker: Ryan Longwell
• Defense/Special Teams: Cardinals

I had some comfort to take from the evening’s affair. At least I wasn’t drafting kickers and team defenses in rounds six and seven. At least I recognized all the players on my team. At least I didn’t reach for Derek Anderson at No. 7.

And most importantly, at least it’s over now.

This is a copy of the email I received from ESPN Fantasy Games (motto: “The only fantasy is that we know what we’re doing!”). Let me blockquote my favorite parts:

Unfortunately, due to serious errors with the data we have received for the upcoming 2008 MLS fantasy season we have had to reset all teams.

…and…

This is not a decision we take lightly and fully understand the frustration it may cause

…and, especially…

The game is now available for you to register your team once more. Once again, apologies for any inconvenience.

How a company like ESPN could lose the roster of every single MLS Fantasy team on earth is mind-boggling. What happened? Was it computer error? Was it a sick, twisted joke? Was it B Squared? My theory involves Skip Bayless, in the server room, with the lead pipe. Either that, or Y2K.

Regardless of how it happened (sabotage? remorse? apathy?), the fact remains: ESPN does not want you playing MLS Fantasy.

This post was written while watching the Office.

When did my fantasy sports hobby become an unhealthy fascination? Yesterday, when I signed up for fantasy soccer.

I know very little about soccer, so the prospect of matching wits with hooligans across the country makes me more than a little leery of my chances. Mostly, I just don’t want to get embarrassed. Here are the rest of my goals:

• Not finish last. I am in a pool with Houston Dynamo fans and America. I am counting on someone knowing less about soccer than I do.
• Start Brian Ching every week. Ching is my favorite player and one of the ten I can name.
• Beat B Squared. If my fantasy nemesis is playing fantasy soccer, I will find him. And I will beat him.
• Figure out how the scoring works. I should probably move this up the list.

This post was written while coveting Guitar Hero III.

Going to the dark side has been a lot easier than I thought. With my decision to cheat my way to the top of my fantasy basketball league, I figured I would be wracked with sleepless nights and flooded with feelings of guilt and remorse.

I’m not.

In fact, ever since I crossed the fine line between competitive and compulsive, my team has been slowly getting better. Just this week, I gained three points in the standings by doing the same thing I’ve done all season: absolutely nothing.

My first salvo was sent to the BGs, the last place team in the league. Here it is in its entirety:

Dear BGs,

Happy fantasy Monday to you! I hope everything is going well for you.

Now, let’s get down to business. Just the other day, I was sitting at my computer trying to figure out what went wrong with my fantasy season. I am in ninth place with a roster of guys I don’t know a whole lot about, and I have no idea how to get any better by myself.

I’m sure you’ve been there, too. Being in last place is no fun; I can say that from personal experience. I’m sure you’ve tried everything you can to change your place in the league, but if you are anything like me, you know that nothing works.

So here’s the deal: we cannot win this thing by ourselves, but together we have a chance. Join forces with me, BGs, and we will take over our league in no time. All we have to do is siphon players onto one of our teams through a series of secret trades and player transactions, and before you know it, we’ll be in first place.

This plan cannot fail. It is simply too good. Are you with me? Just reply to this email, and tell no one of our plan. I believe in you.

All the best,

Two Point Dunk Shot

As you can see, he has three days left to respond. I have heard nothing from him since I sent the email, so I can only assume that he is giving my proposition serious thought.

Go with your heart, BGs. That’s what I do.

Kevan Lee: champion! B Squared: Loser.

The final score was 194-116, a glorious, wonderful, predestined 194 to a spiteful, evil, unbecoming 116. The big result says just as much about my ability at fake roster management as it does about a just and fair world. B Squared went through the entire season swindling and deceiving his way to the top of the league, and I went about my business smartly and coolly. While he was busy plotting ways to siphon points out of my weekly haul, I was planning a three-team trade so I could have the entire Patriots’ receiving corps on my team.

As the last two weeks showed, my plodding, consistent strategy outshone the Squares’ mockery of fantasy ethics. No one on my roster had breakout games that could have been chalked up to a fluke or dumb luck; instead, they all put up serviceable scores that added up to a big result.
B Squared, on the other hand, threw gameplanning out the window and put all his eggs into his cheating basket. He started running backs that were out for the year. He paid no attention to matchups or resting starters. B Squared’s entire strategy seemed to revolve around Tom Brady throwing for 400 yards and eight touchdowns and The B’s girlfriend at ESPN Fantasy fudging the final numbers in his favor.

The championship was basically sealed by the time Week 16 was over. Our two-week playoff rounds were nice inasmuch as they provided me two weeks to run up the score. I didn’t even feel any remorse; instead I was filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling, not unlike the one you get on a snowy Christmas morning sitting around a crackling fire eating cookies and opening presents. Yes, beating B Squared was a little like reliving the holidays except instead of sharing the time with family, I shared it with NFL players I have fake relationships with.

My dominating win was so fulfilling because it meant so much to me and my fellow league members. The Squared’s reign of terror was depressing and awful. We were tired of his sneaky wins and impossibly good autodraft luck. No matter what his opponent did week in and week out, there was always the possibility of B Squared pulling out a win if he wanted to. Living in fear of a man we’ve never met is a terrible way to live. You’re welcome, Toxic Treefrogs. Don’t mention it, Cali McLovin. It was my pleasure, Nebraska Football Freaks. This win was for everyone—everyone not named B Squared.

I took a great deal of personal accomplishment from my feat as well. Having an arch rival, one who stood for everything I stood against, was a thrilling experience. He challenged me to be at the top of my game every week to keep pace and keep things competitive. He made every transaction that much more meaningful, and he drove me to compulsive roster managing in the middle of the night. For 16 weeks, he ruined my life and made visiting ESPN.com a chore.

So you can imagine what a relief it was to beat him. I felt justified in all the time I wasted putting together my imperfect team. I was proud of the way I kept fighting through the cheat and lies and how I never got discouraged enough to mail in a performance or two.

I wish I could say the same about B Squared. It was obvious in our championship game that he knew he was beaten before it even began. I rode into our final on the white horse of purity, and he was nothing but a disingenuous fly on my finely combed mane. He gave up, plain and simple, knowing that he didn’t have what it took to beat me in a fair fight (or perhaps he didn’t see the point in having a fight that was fair). My football knowledge was better, my team name was more creative, my reputation was above reproach, and I smelled like success. Conceding the title was really his only option.

Cheating, as it turns out, can only get you so far.

For the whole year, the two best teams in my league have been B Squared and myself. Regular readers of this website as well as anyone who has seen my most recent temporary tattoo know that the Squares and I are mortal enemies. He of the cheating and philandering has done everything in his power, including but not limited to cheating and philandering, to get to the top. I have done some of the things in my power, including but not limited to collecting members of the New England Patriots for purely superficial reasons, to get to the top.
Naturally, a battle between the two of us was inevitable. And even more naturally, it took a good dose of cheating on B Squared’s part to get it done.

That’s right. I surprisingly held up my end of the bargain by destroying my opponent in the semifinals in ways that I will gladly discuss at length toward the end of this story. The Squares was the one who almost blew it.

BB took a good-sized lead after the first week (our playoff rounds last two weeks apiece), so it was fair to assume that there would be more of the same one week later. Things couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Tom Brady, on whose coattails B2 had ridden all year long, chose the perfect week to not throw a touchdown pass. He started Warrick Dunn who thanked him with one fantasy point. The normally dependable T.J. Houshmandzadeh failed to reach the end zone, and Plaxico Burress and Chris Cooley didn’t do a whole lot.

Meanwhile, his opponent was tearing things up with steady performances from Matt Hasselbeck, Earnest Graham and Brian Westbrook. No one on his team scored more than 20 points, but more than half reached double figures.

At the end of Sunday night’s games, B Squared was trailing by nearly 10 points. And then the cheating started.

Later on that evening, I checked the scores again just to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming some super, fantastic, happy dream where B Squared was losing. Thankfully, the Squares were still behind, except that the margin had shrunk.

Now, I’m no fantasy football expert, but I thought that it was impossible to score points when no one is playing. With the Giants-Redskins game over hours earlier, I’m not sure where his extra four points came from.

Was he getting points for NFL Replay on the NFL Network? Was he getting points for Plaxico Burress making it rain at a New York Sbarro? Did he have incriminating photos of Matthew Berry handicapping an US Weekly celebrity draft?

Well, the extra points helped because he needed far less from the Vikings defense—his only remaining player—in Monday night’s game. And far less is exactly what they gave him. Letting the Bears beat themselves was good for seven points, which gave B.S. a two-point win.

The only joy I could take from B Squared’s escape was my own sheer dominance over my semifinal opponent. The final score was more one-sided than my eighth-grade haircut. I scored over 100 points more than the Big Dawgs, and I nearly doubled their final score. That’s what they get for having an unoriginal team name and for thinking that misspelling is a substitute for cleverness.

My dominance was so complete that the outcome was virtually decided before Week 15 games were even played. Nevertheless, Drew Brees and company still managed to pile it on with a flurry of points and touchdowns. I felt like the Patriots making a statement for no other reason than that making a statement is cool.

If nothing else, at least B Squared knows I’m coming for him. If the two of us would have been matched up the past two weeks, no amount of cheating or fuzzy math could have saved him. I would have destroyed him in a way that he has not been destroyed yet this year.

Make no mistake, when we meet on the fictional field this week, it will be a full on war. And I mean war in the sense that I will be playing fair and he will be cheating. We wouldn’t have it any other way.

My playoff trip is a welcome relief considering the hectic season I have had.  My opening roster consisted of the following:

Last week’s starters had a distinctly different look.

Drew Brees QB
Rudi Johnson RB
Clinton Portis RB
Joseph Addai RB
Wes Welker WR
Dwayne Bowe WR
Kellen Winslow WR
Titans Def/ST
Rob Bironas K

That’s right.  Only two of the original nine lived to see Week 13.  Thanks for nothing, ESPN autopick draft.

I have cobbled together what now serves as my fantasy team, using lots of smoke and a ton of mirrors.  Don’t ask me why I picked up Brees off of waivers.  I don’t know.  Ditto for Bowe and Bironas.  Welker was chosen prior to his breakout based on the fact that he plays for the Patriots and I have an addictive neuroses about owning any and all things New England.

There is oen more week left in my league’s regular season and then the playoffs begin.  Unfortunately, the questions are starting to build up already.

What is my playoff strategy?  Can Calvin Johnson tell me before games whether or not he will be relevant?  Should I be resting my starters now that I’ve sewn up a playoff spot?  When will Tennessee play defense again?  I don’t have the answers to answers to any of these questions.  Neither does Yahoo! answers, which is disappointing. 

Maybe my wife will have some suggestions at dinner.

I thought long and hard about signing any number of Houston Texans. I actively looked on the waiver wire for Green Bay running backs. And I did some digging into just how hard it would be to learn high-tech computer hacking in 10 days or less.

But my most plausible quick fix was going to be a blockbuster trade.

Granted, my league had completed exactly one trade through the first three months of the year: my acquiring Matt Leinart for Michael Turner . Obviously, this trade worked out for neither of us.Since then, all my trade requests had been rebuffed, and most of them weren’t even that outlandish. I understand no one wanting to swap T.O. for Dwayne Bowe, but where’s the harm in a simple Carson Palmer for Drew Brees switcheroo? My fellow league members are lame, B Squared especially.

He is the worst kind of owner—lucky enough to have big talent at certain positions, but stingy enough to keep it all to himself. He starts Tom Brady every week, while Tony Romo sits on the bench. Tony Romo! He is earning more points for B Squared’s bench than Chad Pennington, Leinart, and Jeff Garcia earned for me all year. And yet, when approached for a trade, my Squared enemy smugly declined, refusing to so much as acknowledge my request. Julius Jones tends to have that effect on people.

Nevertheless, with only two weeks remaining in my league’s regular season, I knew that trading was going to give me the best shot to win. However, sensing my awesome strategy and keeping to a strict modus operandi of screwing me over that it adopted at the autopick draft, ESPN Fantasy intervened.

The trade deadline was tomorrow morning.

I had several problems with this. First and foremost…a trade deadline?!?! That would have been nice to know about before I hinged my entire season on changes I needed to make over the final few weeks. And in 12 hours?!?! I don’t do anything productive in 12 hours or less. It’s taken me a good day and a half to write this much of this story.

I was looking forward to taking the next few days to assess my team, study end-of-year schedules, and plan for the greatest fantasy postseason ever. I can’t do all that in 36 hours. I couldn’t even do that in the 11 weeks of football I’ve already been given.

Of course, I guess if I knew it was my only chance, then I could throw together a quick make-or-break plan off the top of my head.

Team performance? Tepid!

Drew Brees? Sham!

B Squared? Cheater!

Starting three wide receivers? Inevitable!

Kicker as highest-scoring player? Been there, done that!

I need a dependable quarterback, a healthy running back, wide receivers with NFL experience, a defense that doesn’t give up 34 points to the Broncos, and a giant head start over whoever I’m playing in Week 15. Does anyone want Brandon Jacobs?

The worst part of all is that my fellow league members are devastatingly slow on responding to trade requests. So even if I did come up with the perfect trade package, no one would get back to me until the Pro Bowl. Wait, do Pro Bowl points count toward weekly totals?

Of course, maybe it’s for the best. I have had a good year with the less-than-good roster I was given, so maybe it will be good enough to get me by in the playoffs.

Ah, who am I kidding? Will someone please take Calvin Johnson off my hands in the next eight hours?

Prepared might be the wrong word.  Assuming all hope was lost (it was), I didn’t really put in my usual work into my roster.  I browsed the waiver wire, finding nothing.  I thought for a fleeting moment about making a trade, but then I remembered that my fellow league members don’t respect me.  So really, my weekly preparation involved nothing more than picking up Rob Bironas because my regular kicker was on a bye.

Then, I resigned myself to losing.  Apparently, I need to have more faith in myself.

Come Sunday afternoon, I had put up season-high numbers with my own version of the Ample Dumpling Gang, and I had nearly doubled the points of my opponent.  My margin of victory was essentially what I expected out of my entire roster, so I was blown away.  Here are some of the highlights:

Drew Brees, 29 points.  Brees was left for dead on the waiver heap a few weeks ago, and I had the foresight (read: desperation) to pick him up, knowing there would be better days ahead.  Sunday was one of those days.  Playing against the 49ers, I didn’t expect much.  If San Fran does something well besides not gaining yards, it would be playing against the pass.  Brees had over 300 yards and three touchdowns, and he will be a very important piece of my team in the next few weeks.

Joseph Addai, 28 points.  After last week’s running back platoon cost me a victory, I pretty much gave up hope with Addai.  He was dependable early in the year, but an injury and an Indy love affair with a back-up running back rendered him toothless.  His three touchdowns Sunday were a very pleasant surprise, and seeing his backup Kenton Keith fumble away the coaches’ confidence was even pleasanter. 

Wes Welker, 14 points.  A free agent pickup three weeks ago, Welker has been nothing short of remarkable ever since.  He had another big day Sunday, and he seems to be Tom Brady’s favorite target to this point.

Kellen Winslow, 8 points.  Tight end points are always a plus, and so is playing the Rams.  Winslow’s points came courtesy of the lax Ram D, which could best be described as charitable. 

Other people contributed to my windfall, too, and all of it was unexpected.  When Ronnie Brown went down with an injury last week, I was sure my fantasy team was going down with him.  He was the best thing I had going, and I was replacing him with Julius Jones.  Yikes.

I guess I never had to worry.  Be it my football acumen or blind luck, my team is in okay shape midway through the season.  As long as my players start peaking at the right times, everything should be alright.  Sunday’s result was a breath of fresh air, and nothing could dampen my mood after that.

Well, one thing could.

B Squared, my undefeated arch nemesis, won again.  He beat me by a point last week in a shady accounting job of epic proportions (you can read about it here or call me at home for a full narrative), and he was at it again in Week Eight.  The Squares were nip-and-tuck with their opponent right up until the end of the afternoon games, and since neither had anyone playing Monday night, this was it.  Leave it to BS to get a garbage time Chris Cooley touchdown to cement his win and continue his undefeated season.

Normally, I wouldn’t be mad at a win like that.  But B Squared had two people on a bye!  And they were his running backs!  What’s more is that if he and I were matched up, I would have beaten him by 40 points.  Someone inside ESPN.com is obviously siphoning points into his totals.  There is no way he should have been able to compete minus two of the highest scoring positions on his team.  He is in bed with ESPN Fantasy—of this I am sure.  There is no other way to explain how he continues to dodge bullets week after week despite poor planning and complete oblivion to schedules.  He has an unoriginal team name, made original only by my jealous name-calling; he got lucky by getting demigod Tom Brady; he runs his team with abandonment and indifference.

Oh, and did I mention that he is commissioner of the league?

The fix is in, and I’m blowing the whistle.  Armed with the encouragement of a dynamite week, I have recommitted myself to my fantasy league with one goal in mind: take down B Squared. 

And find a reliable third running back. 

No, I am not referring to the fantasy life in which I am king of my own island, live in a house made of Tillamook cheese, and own a dog that speaks English, Spanish, and Japanese.  Thankfully, that one still lives on.

The premature end of my fantasy football life is what I am currently mourning.

Not but two weeks ago, I was undefeated and running away with the league.  Last week, I suffered my first loss, and this week, the giant double whammy of discouragement crushed whatever hope I had left.

First things first, I lost the week’s matchup. 

An ordinary loss would have been easy to stomach.  After all, I understand that losses are inevitable, and I would rather get them out of the way early than later.  However, this was no ordinary loss.

My opponent was the undefeated B Squared (or, as I call them on flaming message board posts, the B Squares).  Tom Brady had carried his team through the whole season, but despite Brady’s six TD throws on Sunday, I was still neck-and-neck with B Squared.

In fact, going into the Monday night game, a good performance by Joseph Addai would give me the win.  Naturally, Addai’s backup Kenton Keith got 15 carries and a touchdown, and I lost.

The fact that the margin of victory was only one point was infuriating enough, especially considering how Addai needed only one more carry to put me over the top. 

More frustrating, though, was that I trailed B Squared 87-81 going into the game, and I lost 103-102—even though he had no players in the Monday nighter.  Now I am more convinced than ever that ESPN Fantasy is one giant conspiracy and that B Squared has mob affiliations.  I wouldn’t be surprised to find Wes Welker cut from my team next time I check my roster.

While preparing for the loss that was apparently predestined, I learned of news that was basically the most damaging thing that I had heard since I got my college business ethics paper back.  Ronnie Brown was done for the year.

I have written often and at length about how this would be Brown’s breakout season, and I couldn’t have been more right so far.  He led the league in total yards, and he was the only viable offensive option for the Dolphins offense.

Much more, he was carrying me over the past few weeks of my fantasy season.  His outstanding performances were setting me apart from the rest of the league, and he was the most reliable player on a lacking roster.

Without him, my team is a dud.  Brandon Jacobs only runs for 100 yards when he’s on my bench.  Clinton Portis scores touchdowns every other week and never runs for more than 60 yards.  And Joseph Addai seems to be content with never seeing the end zone again.

And those are just my running backs.

Eventually, I will properly mourn the loss of Brown and get my team back on the track to respectable.  But I don’t know when.  I haven’t been able to bring myself to even check the waiver wire this week, afraid of seeing Earnest Graham’s name and getting excited and then remembering that he’s Earnest Graham.

Replacing Brown will be impossible, so why even try?  And if I do manage to find an adequate fill-in, won’t the taboo relationship between B Squared and the girl who works at ESPN Fantasy have already decided my league’s outcome? 

I guess in a perfect world, my roster could have the chance to mesh into a formidable bunch.  Drew Brees could play like he did a year ago, Andre Johnson could return from injury, and Julius Jones could go Northern-Colorado-punter on Marion Barber’s leg.  Kellen Winslow could demand the ball in the red zone, and Nick Folk could demand field goals to be kicked on third downs.  Then, maybe everything would be okay.

Although, if Brown’s loss and B Squared’s illicit fantasy ties have taught me anything, it is that this world is far from perfect…and everything is not okay.

Better luck next year, I guess.