The booth has reviewed both rosters and would like to speak to a manager. Either one. Dead heat on the standings page: To Infinity and Bijan 3-1, The Milkman 3-1. Somebody's about to learn which .500 team was lying. Omar H. has won 3 straight, and has started walking around like they invented zone-read analytics. Somebody tell the benches to stay warm. They usually outscore the starters around here.
Ladies and gentlemen, a football game. Allegedly. The spread on this one is roughly Adil's ego, which is to say: enormous. 3-1 against 1-3 doesn't lie. Okashah has lost 3 in a row and started describing it as 'a process.' The process is losing. My prediction? Pain. Beautifully quantifiable pain.
Every week I say it can't get dumber. Every week this league accepts the challenge. Shamjesus (2-2) is the clear favorite over Shia Killer (0-4), and if you disagree, congratulations, you must be Tarick. Tarick rides a 4-game skid into this one, and the vibes in that locker room — a phone, in a pocket — are grim. May the best roster win, and may the worst manager notice.
The scoreboard is warming up and so is my disappointment. Waiver Sniper at 3-1 should handle this. Of course, 'should' is the most dangerous word in this league, usually spoken right before Zaid ruins someone's weekend. Palestony Soprano has lost 4 straight, which by my math is 4 more consecutive losses than a competently managed franchise should allow. See you at the final whistle, where one of these paragraphs becomes prophecy.
Two game plans walk in. Statistically, at least one of them is a coin with feelings. Records: 2-2 and 2-2. Identical enough that both fanbases — populations of one — are equally nervous. Whatever happens, remember: the booth predicted it, retroactively, with confidence.
History will remember this game. Briefly. Then it will remember something funnier. I LaPorted the Nabers (3-1) versus Black Ts (2-2). Vegas calls this a pick'em. I call it mutually assured mediocrity. Lineups lock soon. So do fates.
