Your Week 11 Recap is courtesy of Maine. I hope you cleared your schedule today...
He said, “of course! Go for it!” Which is a thing regular people don’t say. That’s a generic phrase you’d read in an Archie comic from 1986, which means Jason is letting ChatGPT write his texts for him and explains why he hasn’t bothered doing true matchup breakdowns all season. His mind and fingers have gotten lazy. He’s the Bill Simmons of fantasy football commissioners, meaning he’s still pretty good, but isn’t what he was in 2008.
We mostly get this power ranking thing, which is nice because it kinda levels out the amount of ink we each get (as is legislated by the Equal Time Doctrine) but it does keep us from really getting into the nitty gritty. If you had a good matchup, but own a mediocre team, you don’t get that dopamine hit of timely celebration.
Fantasy is a weekly sport. We’ve got winners and losers - not just vibes. There are facts. And numbers. And all of this needs proper exploration.
True competition is cutthroat. And temporal. And all this broad ranking stuff leaves everyone’s very cuttable throats intact. People are just swallowing, willy-nilly*.
I’m gonna try and not do that. Here’s a true breakdown of each matchup from the past week, unfettered by rankings, but significantly fettered by distractions created by everyone’s team names. So much fettering. If I’m being honest, if I actually do get past my own distracted horseshit enough to get into the numbers, I’ll be surprised. But I’m gonna try.
Pretzel Crushers vs. Sackbuts
Here’s the first fetter. One of the hardest parts about this league for me is keeping up with which team is who. Some of us keep a motif going (e.g. sausage, thong and - as of late - Superfluous Bill), but others make me have to think, which is exhausting on a Sunday morning. I don’t wanna think. I want things set on automatic so I can get old and weird and not have to notice. Thinking is a lot. Why I gotta think?
Not just about “who is sackbut,” but then I find myself wandering down a rabbit hole of “wait… what is a sackbut,” followed by “yeah, but why sackbut” and “what does a trombone predecessor have to do with football” and “is it a play on the sack” and “heh heh, sack.” It’s just too much, man. I’m still brewing the coffee. Thinking is a young man’s game.
Then you have curveballs, like when you wanted the comforting mother’s milk of knowing who falafel is, but instead you’re having to translate Pretzel Crushers into “Travis.” Can we move around like this? Am I allowed to shift from bacon to “coq au vin with lardons?” Are falafels secretly breaded with crushed pretzel? Is this a middle eastern culinary fact that I never knew? Why I gotta think?
Then I have the coffee and remember, oh, it’s the pretzel boy thing. Jesus, I didn’t need that.
But that’s a me problem. You’re here for football. And these are two juggernauts. Juggering all day. This is what James Brown and Curt Menefee would be calling a playoff preview, should you accidentally tune into football 30 minutes too early and have to listen to the pre-game show. This is exciting, if you enjoy watching fantasy football matchups that probably don’t involve you.
Travis has been carried all season by Christian McCaffrey, Jonathan Taylor, Trey McBride and Puka Nacua. Fantasy football comes down to two things:
Both are rare, but Travis has seemingly accomplished the pair. This is why he juggers.
Mike’s success has been far less simple. Achane has been consistently good and London has come on of late, but the rest of his good play has come from solid waiver management, picking up guys like Dart and Monangai. If fantasy football came down to a third thing, it would be:
Unfortunately, Mike couldn’t get enough horsepower out of his motley crew of replacements this week and Travis picked up the win, despite being led by the disheveled remains of Geno Smith during Daniel Jones’ bye week. (What a sentence.)
Diddy’s Bacon Oil vs. Good is Dumb
I’m just gonna get my garbage team out of the way early so I don’t have to think about it anymore. My team sucks. Sucks badly. On the Clinton Scale, my team performs somewhere north of Paula Jones, but falls just south of 47.** We lose a lot and, yes, literally most of my quarterbacks are in their 40’s. If you’re looking for athletic excellence from dudes in their 40’s, you should be playing Fantasy Pinochle or placing bets in your Suicide Shuffleboard league. I’m not gonna waste any more Equal Time Doctrine ink on this. My team is leading the league in Salon Pas patches.
Moving right on to Brother Mike, who named his team after a Spaceballs quote. So good. Spaceballs is the first movie I memorized line by line as a child, so I get a warm chuckle every time I look at this old chestnut across the matchup table. When Jason does the Best Team Name Award later this season, I hope he and ChatGPT consider my vote and glaze this one.
By the way, Mike has three Commanders on his team, which is way too many Commanders. How can you have more than one commander? Do they know what commanding is? That shit don’t work.
But maybe he’s just trying to impress the team and show them he’s a loyalist. I hear in 2030, they’re considering naming the stadium Good is Dumb Arena or something very, very similar.*** So similar.
As for the matchup, I took the rare win. As usual, Treyveon Henderson looked great on Thursday. Unfortunately, the team usually plays on Sunday, so this is one of the few weeks that tactic actually worked out for him. Also, Travis Etienne played well, which gives me an opportunity to propose a new boundary I’m setting:
If you’re an athlete and your dad isn’t famous, I’m not calling you Jr. His name is Travis Etienne, full stop. His dad works for an oil company in Louisiana. I think he gets to own the name. (In a related story, what does Deebo Samuel think he’s doing with this Sr. thing?)
Mike got screwed by Josh Jacobs getting hurt. Also, Lamar Jackson still isn’t healthy. And DeVonta Smith remains on the Eagles. This was ugly all around. Mike’s got waiver wire work to do this week, which, fortunately, is a thing he seems to really, really love.
Thong Eras Tour vs. Last Season, Goodbye
I like to drink bourbon, if you hadn’t noticed. It tastes great and it makes me feel good. Matter of fact, as you’re reading this, there’s a fairly decent chance that there’s a tumbler near me with a small block of ice floating and clinking around in it. I feel no shame in this. I feel no sadness. I accept the consequences of my emotional reliance on fermented corn. When my glass is empty, my wife brings me a new one, then slowly turns my chair toward whatever basketball game is on TV because she loves me. Even my kids are like, “Dad, I can’t wait to someday tell your future grandchildren about you.” This is my life, ever compromised. We’re on the clock here. I know it.
And with all that said, I’m officially worried about Steve. The guy is going through it. The rants are hilarious. Every week is like a season finale of Curb Your Enthusiasm. But, man, this dude needs a hug. Also, a running back. Mostly a running back. And help, love, and support. Plus a running back. When is our trade deadline?
I’m just saying, while Steve claims this is his last season and signs off with goodbye, someone needs to verify that he’s just talking about fantasy football. I’d like to see him change his team name to add, “...but only referring to this league. Obviously, I plan to have a long, plentiful and happy future, filled with mirth. God, Jermaine, you’re being ridiculous.”
I do appreciate that, as Rich is cosplaying as Taylor Swift this season, Steve sat Travis Kelce on the bench against him. This is what they call, the game inside the game. Other than that, this matchup was ugly. Steve started a couple of inactive players. Rich is relying on a British singer/songwriter in his flex spot. Similar to DeVonta Smith, A.J. Brown remains on the Eagles. If this fantasy football matchup was on television, I’d be doing yardwork.
And the ending was way closer than it needed to be. Both teams performed below expectations by an absurd margin, but as a result of Rich fielding a complete roster (even though his defense scored negative points), he managed to lose the least. Enjoy the dopamine hit of recognition, baby.
Unrelated - if CeeDee Lamb played for the Lions, a bunch of weirdo Christian fundamentalists would lose their minds over the symbology, right? I can’t be the only one that sees this.
Netflix vs. Tubi
This wasn’t a matchup in our league, but it’s a matchup worth considering. Also, long form content tends to include ad breaks, so maybe consider this one of those. Or just Additional Fetter.
Tubi wins this by a lot. Not only is it free, but it also has horror movies from the 1970’s, Saturday morning cartoons you grew up with like GoBots and the Centurions (which we never good - you were just young and you enjoyed silly things), funny TV shows from Britain, titties as far as the eye can see, and more Hollywood blockbusters than you’d expect.
What has Netflix got? Some weird six-episode drama from Indonesia about gay kung fu botanists? Netflix has been horrible for years and nobody’s willing to admit it. Get Tubi today, using promo code #BaconMaine, even though it’s free, and thank me later. Now back to fake football.
Coach Jimmy Johnson vs. Just Plain Sausage
When I sometimes accidentally tune into the football pre-game show a half hour early, one of my favorite things is watching Jimmy Johnson try and pronounce players’ names. This becomes even more explicitly entertaining during halftime when he’s tasked with doing voiceover on the first half highlights packages. He’s so self conscious about it and thoughtful, but he knows he’s up against a wild task.
There’s something refreshing about knowing that an 82 year old man from Texas doesn’t have a chance at pronouncing Emeka Egbuka correctly. And seeing him struggle to understand where to insert the implied N sound when saying Tua Tagovailoa. I like knowing that we’ve still got guys on TV that, as soon as the camera is off, probably whisper questions about whether or not Amon-Ra St. Brown’s name makes him one of the wokes. I love it.
I would love to see a sit down with him and Wade Phillips, where the two of them navigate a conversation about Ladd McConkey and Jaxon Smith-Njigba, just to see them sweat over who slips first. This is five star television. Everyone would watch. DraftKings would set a record for contrived prop bets.
But despite the misleading name, this matchup is really just the commish vs. Sean, as evidenced by the Sausage. Sadly, Sean seems to have lost his king title, which means he’s probably made one too many trips to Epstein Island with Just Plain Andrew.****
Both of these teams entered the weekend at 4-6, so no juggering here. Just naught.
Early Sunday morning, I got a Yahoo alert that said Jason dropped Darius Slayton and picked up Jerry Jeudy. It was one of those transactions where you see the names of the two people involved and assume the owner of that team is in bad shape. If Jerry Jeudy is considered an improvement over someone on your roster, you’re lost, baby. Deck chairs, Titanic, etc. It was the Bhayshul Tuten of transactions. A harbinger of underwhelm.
Fortunately for Real Coach Jimmy, this weekend’s highlights packages would absolve him from having to talk about Emeka, Tuna Tungavailoa, and Amon-Ra, as they all sucked. Standout scorers in this matchup had regular ‘Murican names like George, Matthew, Chris and Jordan.
This matchup made me watch the Monday night Cowboys vs Raiders game to see who won, which is fine because that was a thing I was going to do anyway. Jason had Dak. Just Plain Sean had the Dallas defense. During the game, I received the following texts:
“Geno Smith plays like the clock in his head is a sundial.”
“Geno Smith looks like he swallowed the invincibility star from Super Mario and around the time he gets near the end zone, the song is over.”
“Geno Smith must have watched a lot of Bernie Kosar film this week. And sat through an Elvis Grbac documentary.”
This is the only reason the matchup was close. But Fake Coach Jimmy pulled this one off in the end. Congrats, Commish.
Fight Fire with Fire vs. Additional William
When I lived in Richmond, my first apartment was around the corner from Extra Billy’s BBQ. It has since changed locations, but due to the nature of long term memory, I can still smell that place in my mind every time I see Robby’s team name. He may be thinking of having a powerful roster, led by a famous confederate general - hell bent on rebellious victory, but I’m thinking about pulled pork.
(And ham, which is also pork, but without all the violence. Ham is pulled pork that decided it wasn’t going to put up with anybody’s bullshit. Ham stands its ground.)
Robby’s team features Josh Allen, Bijan Robinson, a side of coleslaw and a smooth hickory barbecue sauce. I’m sorry. That’s just what it is. An absolute winning combo. I hope he’s got some FAAB left to pick up a sweet tea.
Brad, in a somewhat less optimistic turn, appears to have named his team after a Metallica song where James Hetfield very calmly tells the listeners to resign themselves to an eventual death caused by nihilistic smoke inhalation after a nuclear war. (There’s also lots of very aggressive guitar, relentless double bass kick by Lars, and a repetitive outro, which is very uncharacteristic of the band, he said sarcastically.)
Brad’s team has too much talent for this level of darkness. Breathe regular air, Brad. It’s okay. We’re all okay. Just because the price of gasoline molotov cocktails has dropped 1000%, 1500% in the last year doesn’t mean we gotta make shit burn.***** You’re gonna do great this season. You’re the master of muppets. You’re gonna injure ‘em all. Happy, but true.
As far as the matchup went, again, Robby has Josh Allen and Bijan Robinson. Coleslaw doesn’t need to have a big week when your QB scores six touchdowns. The barbecue sauce can be runny if your running back is scoring 28 points. Very little else matters. Serve that shit up on a styrofoam plate and keep your spot in first place, Pitmaster Friedman.******
If I had to guess, I’d assume we’re gonna get a Robby / Travis finals this season. The rest of the year is just ceremony. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. Anyone wanna trade for Ricky Pearsall, just for funsies?
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* This was my first Donald Trump jab.
** This was the second one. Maybe a little too on the nose this time.
*** This was the third. I enjoyed it way too much.
**** This one, surprisingly, was not about him.
***** This was a two-in-one kinda.
****** I checked Google for the exact phrase “Pitmaster Friedman” and, unsurprisingly, this word pairing has never existed on the internet before today. I got a good chuckle."
