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The Diary of a Fantasy Virgin: Week 8

Whatever you do today, please include voting on the list. The greatness of our country comes down to the citizens and their votes. The voters wield scary power. Just ask Harry Reid. All is determined by the vote. The transition of power has never been so harmless in the world history. And that was brought to you by democracy. So please vote today.  As for me, I am waiting on a Monday night gamble caused by a lack of offense.

Mr. Offense?

Watching the games this last week were like the foretelling of a winter yet to come. A total of seven teams scored 14 points or less with the New York Jets scoring zero. So all you Braylon Edwards, Santonio Holmes and LaDanian Tomlinson holders … no soup for you! I did not see this coming, but I have to rely upon taking a risk. Taking a gamble on a player that may or may not be ready to play. That is why we play the games.


The riskiest times in fantasy football sometimes occur when no risk is taken at all. With DeSean Jackson out and Matt Ryan on a bye week, I had to fill my roster up with the next level of players. Luckily I was able to pick up a recovering Anthony Gonzalez. And Peyton Manning found him. However, he found him not enough for a victory. So I am 4-4 and languishing. I am only as good as my team and they are not really performing on all cylinders like the first few games of the season. I need to get something back and quickly. My team has gone in the direction of the green leaves on the trees.

All The Leaves Are Brown

With all due respect to the Mamas & the Papas, all the leaves are brown and still up in the trees. But the sky is cold and I feel like we are one windswept evening away from dropping all the leaves onto the ground. Blowing the leaves is a New England ritual and this year is no different. I find that these days between Nov. 1 and Thanksgiving cause a flurry of outside activity. There are gutters to clean. There are leaves to blow. The grass did not get the memo so cutting grass just adds to the excitement. There is wood to stack. There are football games to watch. My diary entry goes back to a Friday night watching a guilty pleasure.

Dear Diary

During the summer, the show America’s Got Talent comes on. And geez it’s a show that is fine enough. Where else can you get three judges not born in America (Howie Mandel was born in Canada) claim the right to judge American talent? For some reason it works and then it gets to the final 10 which culminates in a final winner. This year it was the soulful musical styling’s of Michael Grimm. But it doesn’t end there.  

Wouldn’t you know that the final 10 acts go on the road and barnstorm their way across America playing casinos and basketball arenas culminating in a show in Las Vegas? I had the privilege of getting to one of the shows and it was actually fantabulous.

An opera diva named Prince Poppycock won the audience over with Bohemian Rhapsody and The Barber of Seville. These were familiar but longer renditions of performances during the season. Taylor Mathews showed that he had much more talent than the show displayed on the big screen.  And Anna and Patryk danced their way into the hearts and minds of the crowd.

For those who did not watch the show, the previous paragraphs meant nothing but it was enchanting nonetheless. A sold out crowd of young and old all took in the evening’s festivities with glee.

And I was part of it.

Master D.

Tim can now be reached at and welcomes your opinions on the “Diary of a Fantasy Virgin” articles.

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