Spanked!

It's always easy playing Tuesday morning quarterback, which coincidentally is the name of this new feature I'm starting this morning. How about that?

NOW I KNOW I should have played Larry Johnson and Edgerrin James instead of Brian Westbrook and Willie Parker playing against each other! I can't imagine why they both sucked! Not to mention Mr. Westbrook's ankle injury on the first play of the second quarter, which didn't help my cause.

NOW I KNOW I should have played Owen Daniels, despite his only being played in 17 percent of public leagues, instead of Dallas Clark who was played in 62 percent of public leagues, but still only scored 1 measly point (can we say injury-prone?).

If only I had known all of that -- as of my writing this early Tuesday morning, where I still can't see my final score because I haven't ponied up the $9.99 to see the live scores (it's not just that I'm cheap, I'm po'), I might not have been spanked by Leigh (aka fantasy virgin -- fantasy virgin, my ass, literally) 107-66.

I might have been spanked a more respectable 107-90 (if my math is right at 1:30 in the morning).

Unfortunately (or is that fortunately?), it's not the first time I've been spanked by a girl.

Far from it.

It all started...

...back in about 1973 when I was in first grade. Her name was Robin Richards. She was my arch-nemesis. She tortured me to no end. She SAT on me! On my back! And punched me, and, yeah, probably spanked me. While now I dream of having a woman do that (hmmm, I can't imagine why), back then it wasn't cool.

It was cool to chew tobacco, Skoal, and then swallow it and then throw it up and then never want to chew again. Oh, wait, that was later in fourth grade. I digress.

I think it was about in third grade or maybe fourth grade that I encountered two new archenemies: Wendy Dransfield and Julie Meyers. Even though they both were younger than I was-- maybe two grades below, that didn't stop them from harassing me.

Yeah, stealing my lunch money and chasing me around the playground with whiffle ball bats (okay, I'm making the whiffle ball bat part up, it was all a blur, morphing from one female bully to the next).

One time I remember the twin torturers pushed me down on the monkey bars and I broke my teeth on the top rung of the ladder. I bled profusely and cried like a girl. I think they laughed and claimed they didn't do it.

But not Leigh, she'll probably laugh and say proudly, "Yeah, I did it. Go ahead and cry like a girl."

Thanks, Leigh, I will.

At least I will have got something out of this past weekend.

If nothing else, the spanking you gave me will have been therapeutic, will have allowed me to exorcise my childhood demons or demonesses, as the case may be.

Unfortunately, I don't play you again until Week 12.

Fortunately, I play a girl again Week 7 with Paula's Googly Eyed Goons, so I have a chance to be spanked by a girl again then.

Sick freak that I am, I'm looking forward to the opportunity. Who knows what childhood memories I can exorcise then? We'll see on that Tuesday.

Next Tuesday: I'll be whingeing about my loss to the Washington Crooks. I'll try not to be political, but as the team is Army of Epiphenomenon's I might not have a choice. After that loss, I may recall the cruel torture I received at the hands of the Sandinistas as I entered junior high, you never know. You'll have to tune in and see.