I am trying to imagine KHAN, the manager of the Future Ex-Cons, on Tuesday morning. After a full day of torturing starving orphan kids -with impractical knowledge utterly devoid of shoplifting and insurance scams- he retires to the teacher's lounge for his powdered wig and bonbons.
The television on, he prepares to drink in his victory. Four points behind Predator Press, he had the only player left Monday might: Stephen Gostkowski. Some French guy.
And it is only then that he smells Mason Crosby's stinky golden toe of my victory. Sure, some of those other guys on my team scored too, but, as any good fantasy football manager will tell you, seasons are won by drafting lots and lots of kickers and defenses early and often. Just ask Billy Cundiff about what happened the week Nate Kaeding, Mason Crosby, and the entire Cleveland Browns defense stuffed him in his locker and wrote "WARNING! COOTIES!" all over it. I bet that poor bastard is still in therapy.
So I ask you "Renal Failure," if in fact that is your real name:
Hm?
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