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.

Well, perhaps walking is the wrong word.

Jason Street, the wheelchair-bound former QB, and Smash Williams, the egotistical, troubled RB, will be leaving the show in the fall. So much for minority actors.

Where is Herc? He is always so late.

The timing of the announcement makes sense, considering Smash was about to go away for college and Street was about to begin a storyline that no one really wanted to see begun (more on that later, unfortunately). Really, if FNL producers had to choose two characters to leave, Smash and Street were pretty good choices…unless the statutory English teacher was an option.

Their departure, however, will leave several voids in the storylines of Dillon. They were intertwined in so many different aspects of the show, and they have connections to some of the best supporting roles since Arthur Spooner in King of Queens. For instance, have we seen the last of Mama Smash? She won’t really be necessary once her son is gone, unless she plans on marrying Buddy Garrity (note to producers: let’s explore this). What will become of Street’s fast-talking wheelchair friend Herc? We highly doubt quad rugby is paying the bills.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Are Street and Lyla done for good? Whose girlfriends will Riggins have feelings for now? Was Smash ever into Mrs. Taylor? Whom will Saracen boss around at the knock-off Dairy Queen?

Thankfully, we’ll get the answers some time soon, since FNL will be providing both Street and Smash with four-episode story arcs before saying good-bye for good. While it may not be long enough to tie up the loose ends to these two’s complicated pasts, it should at least provide a little bit of closure.

Dillon was not very wheelchair accessible anyway

Street’s loose ends seem decidedly looser than Smash’s. After all, Street is the one who has been through more ups and downs than Tyra’s neckline. Remember the experimental spinal cord shark treatment? The Mexico visitor’s bureau is still trying to recover from that one.

For a kid who started out his FNL career so promising (star quarterback, cheerleader girlfriend, feeling in his extremities), he sure has ended it rather ingloriously (not very good car salesman, soon-to-be absentee father, surly). Though in a sense, Street is a perfect example of the unordinary way that FNL approaches the show. Instead of setting him up to be the invincible jock, the producers squashed his hopes and dreams with one ill-fated neck tackle. Remember the Titans this ain’t.

But you could get the feeling that the tires were wearing pretty thin on Street’s storyline. His character, for all intents and purposes, had jumped the shark. When we last left him, he had miraculously (his words, not mine) impregnated a waitress and vowed his eternal commitment to raising the child (couldn’t he have just left a 15 percent tip like everyone else?). Who knows where you go from there.

It might have been easier on everyone to explain him away in a hastily edited “Street goes soul-searching in his wheelchair-modded Ford Fusion” segment, but producers wanted to reward him with four episodes to say good-bye. In that case, I imagine those episodes will go something like this:

• Episode 1: Street goes to La Maz class.
• Episode 2: Street and Lyla have a fight, which ends with them making out.
• Episode 3: Dillon waitress gives birth to Street’s son, causing Street to go on a five-night drinking binge with Herc, Riggins, and Saracen. Hilarity ensues.
• Episode 4: Landry kills Street.

“House of Payne” might have an opening

Smash’s story may be a little more believable. He has had some of the typical athlete plot points thus far: being arrogant and putting steroids into his rear end. And although his girlfriends have been unusual (bipolar in Season One, white in Season Two), Smash’s story could very well be the same as any number of cocky high school football players.

Smash and Mama Smash politely discuss the ethical and cultural ramifications of interracial marriage.

Smash’s story was just coming to a head when the second season of FNL ended. He was suspended for the remainder of the regular season for legal problems that we have neither the time nor the patience to get into. Let’s just say it involved the Dillon movie theater, bigotry, Applebee’s, fisticuffs, and a Coach Taylor speech. The whole ordeal cost Smash a scholarship at Texas State A&M something or other, but Coach Taylor, being well-connected, got him a scholarship at a rough replica of Sun Belt school.

No doubt when his four episode story arc resumes, Smash will already be in college, partying on weekends and having kids write his papers for him. Isn’t that what college athletics are all about? I can tell you from personal experience that college intramurals are at least sort of like that.

The good-bye from Smash will be a tough one to work out because he may already be away from Dillon and in college when the season begins. Therefore, I imagine that the third season of FNL will conclude the Panthers’ season from where they left off in the winter. The big deal back then was that the team was struggling to make the playoffs, and Smash was unavailable to help until the postseason. Stupid hate crime suspension.

Naturally, the Panthers will make the playoffs, probably on an epic coin flip that Coach Taylor lets Smash call in the air. “Smash chooses heads, baby!” The team’s first playoff opponent? An all-white prep school that Smash’s assault victim attends. The team’s next playoff foe? A team of intolerant Latinos from a border school. The semifinals? Drug testers and KKK members. And in the state championship game, after an epic slate of last-second victories (complete with irreconcilable time clock malfunctions), Smash will score the winning touchdown, ask his white girlfriend to marry him, and watch as Texas Stadium slowly collapses in on itself due to all the political uncorrectness.

I can’t wait for the third season to begin.

If I saw Matt Walsh in the street, I would kick him square in the shin.

Actually, that’s not true. I kick like a girl, and I don’t know what Matt Walsh looks like. At any rate, my motive still remains: I want Matt Walsh’s shin to taste the sued-toed justice of my low-top Pumas for his defaming my New England Patriots. I guess my words, as they have on so many other occasions, must do my social recourse for me.

Walsh was the key piece in further investigation into the Patriots’ purposed cheating scandal. The golf pro (read: retread) from Hawaii (read: escaping real world responsibility) claimed (read: fibbed) to have video proof of the Pats having taped defensive signals and offensive plays from previous games, including Super Bowl XXXVI (read; the greatest moment of my life).

Turns out, Walsh was full of it.

Commissioner extraordinaire Roger Goodell watched the tapes and found nothing good, not unlike my experience with Prince Caspian. Sure, there were some signals caught on tape, but nothing to the degree that Walsh had presumed. Hoping to steal more time in the spotlight, the fink went for sympathy with his stories of forced video taping and non-consensual recording. Fortunately, everyone was done listening.

I, for one, was done listening back in February when the story first got legs. I’ve been known to scare up some questionable sources in my journalism days (parents, children, running backs with fourth grade vocabularies), but even I know better than to trust the word of bitter former employees. Those who ran with the story obviously regretted it–a feeling (regret) that I’m sure Walsh’s girlfriend felt when he came home from his Spygaffe testimony. Still, the damage was done.

The months of deceit courtesy of Walsh are what irks me most about this whole ordeal. This thing took forever to blow over, and all along, there wasn’t anything to blow. Fans couldn’t put the Spygate issue to bed because this Matt Walsh guy was still out there, putzing it up in Hawaii with his Zappruder films. We Patriot fans dealt with so much unnecessary scorn on account of some nobody who was out to get famous.

What does he have against he Patriots anyway? Walsh got to be a part of the greatest NFL franchise of this decade, and he left the experience feeling bitter and wronged? I would have filmed Jay Fiedler at the grocery store if Belichick asked me, and if the Patriots wanted to fire me, I would have turned right back around and quit so they could save my pension for the salary cap. I am the anti-Walsh. So is every other Patriots fan.

Maybe that is what makes this entire experience so difficult. We were dogged by one of us. That hurts. A member of the Patriots turned on the organization so badly that he nearly tarnished the good name of the franchise. If it could happen to a scrub like Walsh, who’s to say what would happen if someone with credibility and respect did the same? I only hope we never have to deal with a Drew Bledsoe ageism suit.

I’ve become so paranoid and insecure since this whole Walsh thing. I’m angry, I’m upset, and my eye twitches every time someone says the number 19. I need to hear from the only man who can make things right again: Coach Belichick.

“For him to talk about game-planning and strategy play-calling, and how he advised coordinators, it’s embarrassing, it’s absurd. He didn’t have any knowledge of football. I don’t know what his agenda is. There’s not a lot of credibility,” Belichick said in a CBS interview, kicking Walsh in the figurative shin.

One week and zero roster changes later, I jumped over 1,000 spots in the league standings. You read that correctly. 1,000 spots. I went from 3,312^th place to 2,091^st by doing absolutely nothing more than crossing my fingers and wishing for the pain of fantasy soccer to go away.

I have some theories on how this happened.

• 1,000 people quit. This is the theory that makes the most sense. My meteoric rise would be far less confounding if it occurred as the result of a massive player walkout. Also, I can understand why so many people would want to up and leave fantasy soccer in pursuit of more entertaining, life-affirming things.

• Landon Donovan had a really, really good week. The LA Galaxy star did, in fact, score two goals, but unless goals are worth 250 points apiece, I doubt that his performance alone boosted my standing so high.

• Colossal computer error. Perhaps something went wrong with the MLS fantasy soccer computers. If they are capable of losing the entire rosters of every fantasy soccer player in the world, then I’m sure they are capable of fudging my numbers a couple hundred spots.

• Fate. I guess my fortune could be explained by the universe’s desire for me to win MLS fantasy soccer. Although, I feel the universe has more important things to worry about.

• I do not understand the rules of fantasy soccer. I know for a fact that this theory has validity, but I have a hard time believing that my innocuous rule knowledge could really play that big of a role in leapfrogging 1,000 people. Certainly, this theory explains why MLS fantasy soccer gives me a headache.

Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t be canceled.

Friday Night Lights, the oft-loved, not-watched soap-dramedy on NBC, has been renewed for its third season. The Peacock used a partnership with DirecTV to bring back the show.

NBC has made it official — it will bring back “Friday Night Lights” for a third season, and it will do so as part of an innovative partnership with DirecTV.

Fresh episodes of “FNL” will begin airing on DirecTV in October. NBC will show those episodes in early 2009, “soon after the network’s telecast of the 2009 Super Bowl,” according to NBC’s Wednesday press release.

I don’t have DirecTV, but I sure will by October.

With FNL’s future no longer in flux, fans can turn their attention to the upcoming season. Superfans like me, however, can turn our attention to unsolicited advice to the producers and directors, assuming they read this website. They should.

Keep these storylines:

• Anything involving Tim Riggins. Riggins, along with Coach Taylor, really stole the show toward the end of season two. The Panthers’ fullback was funny, endearing, and desperate, all rolled into one big ball of bad news. He either needs to be prominently featured in every episode or given his own spin-off. Or both.
  
• Lyla and Christian Radio DJ. This relationship will end badly, probably with a DTR about personal boundaries. Personally, I can’t wait.
  
• Buddy Garrity’s appeal. Garrity went from annoying, pushy booster to pathetic, hard-luck divorcee so fast, I didn’t even have time to remember why I used to detest him. Now, he is so likable, I openly root for him regardless of the situation. Break up that marriage, Buddy. You can do it!
  
• Taylor family. Everything about the Taylor family is great, especially the relationship between Eric and Tammy. They are the Cosby’s of 21st century television.
  

Forget these storylines:

• Interracial relationships. Kudos to the FNL crew for approaching such a difficult topic. That said, can we please move on? I feel weird.
  
• Volleyball. Though the allure of Tyra in spanx is understandable, the whole idea of screen time devoted to volleyball is absurd. What’s next? Math-letes?
  

Deny this storyline ever existed:

• Jason Street and fatherhood. While we’re at it, can we have a do over on Jason Street, too?
  

Bring back:

• Football. As the backbone of the show, football should get more screen time than just a few scenes here and there. Also, I would appreciate it if every game did not come down to a last-second play.
  
• Matt Saracen and Julie Taylor. This couple was great in season one before Julie and her feelings ruined things. Can two people be more perfect for each other? Matt is an emotional mess and Julie could fly off the handle at any moment for any reason. They need to be together.
  
• Landry and geeky girl. When Landry chose Tyra near the end of season two, I was very disappointed. Not only did he take back a girl who will inevitably break his heart, he also said no to a girl who might just be his soul mate. He needs to make things right. It’s not every day you meet a girl who likes Mystery Science Theater 3000.
  

Keep away:

• Waverly. Smash’s bipolar, season-one arm-candy was a little too topical and relevant for a show about hooking up and sports.
  
• The Swede. This homewrecker was entirely forgettable as Julie Taylor’s fling. If she wanted someone with facial hair and a drinking problem, she should have taken her shot at Riggins when she had the chance.
• Landry killing people. Seriously. No more.
  

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.

Some might argue that Tim Riggins is already a superhero.  He gets girls, he drives a truck, and he drinks like a fish—mostly all at the same time.  Anyone who can pull off that trifecta must be working some sort of special power.

Well, what Friday Night Lights fans have known for awhile, Hollywood is making official:  Tim Riggins will be a superhero in the next X-Men movie.

Unfortunately, he will not be appearing as Tim Riggins.  Taylor Kitsch, the actor who plays Riggins, will be playing the part of Gambit in X-Men Origins: Wolverine to be released 2009.  The movie will feature other cool actors and mutants such as one of the Lord of the Rings Hobbits and Ryan Reynolds, but I’m particularly excited to see Riggins’ turn as a Marvel Comics superhero.

I had never heard of Gambit before this announcement, but after a little research, it was plain to me that Riggins was the best choice for the part.  Throughout his Dillon days, Tim has displayed certain qualities that make him perfect for the role.  Take a look:

• Self-described ladies man? Check.
• Failed relationship with the woman he loves? Check.
• Able to manipulate the kinetic energy of other things?  Check.  (I am referring, of course, to Julie Taylor.)
• A history of stealing?  Check.
• Skilled at throwing cards and working the Bo staff?  Probably.

So it is plain to see that Riggins fits the part of Gambit, but does Gambit fit the part of Riggins?  This role is a big deal for Taylor Kitsch, but it might be an even bigger deal for Friday Night Lights.  The only pub created by FNL stars to this point has been Lyla Garrity (Minka Kelly) hooking up with John Mayer.  There’s no street cred in that.

The creators of X-Men should channel some of Riggins’ finer FNL qualities into the Gambit character to make him a well-rounded, cross-promotional individual.  Here are my ideas:

• Give Gambit a surrogate father.

An ideal fit would be Dr. Xavier played by Coach Eric Taylor (Kyle Chandler).  Dr. X could invite Gambit into his home where there would be awkward sexual tension between the doc’s daughter and sister-in-law, culminating in a misunderstanding that gets Gamby kicked out.  Then Gamby would be able to reunite with his wayward brother and heal the relationship between himself and Dr. X in a scene full of heartfelt apologies and hugs.

• Have Gambit help out a wayward peer.

The best way Tim Riggins knows to help someone out is skipping school and getting drunk.  Therefore, Gambit could take that blind X-Guy out for some drinks, let him shoot off his eye laser at the Golden Tee machine, and blow off a secret meeting at the X-Men lair.

• Let Gambit have a cool saying like, “I will end you.”

Riggins was full of great lines, so Gambit should at least have one of them.  Every time he throws a queen of hearts in somebody’s face, he could say, “How ‘bout Saracen sleeping with the coach’s daughter?”  Or after each bad guy who tastes the wrong end of his Bo staff, Gambit could cry out, “What’s the deal with the Shroud of Turin?”  Maybe he should just stick to “I will end you.”

• Make Gambit’s arch enemy a Christian radio DJ.

This is the most important plot point to add.  Gambit doesn’t really have any mortal enemies, so he could totally create a feud with Dr. James Dobson from Focus on the Family.  Their history could go back to when Dr. Dobson flirted with Rogue at a missions conference, creating a jealous grudge between the two.  Gambit never approved of Dobson’s right-wing Christian politics, and Dr. D never thought it prudent for Gambit to control things with his mind.  The climactic fight scene could take place at Whit’s End with Gambit hurling mind-charged milkshakes at Dobson and Dobson quoting damning Scripture at Gambit.

There is really so much potential for Riggins’ part in X-Men that it would be a shame for movie producers to miss out on it.  

Now to find a way to work Buddy Garrity into Transformers 2.

This post was written while listening to mewithoutyou