In Which I Interview Myself After Week One

“The Ingenious  One” Incensed Over Scandal

The Fantasyship’s table, released over the ante meridian hours, revealed an overt favoritism, according to “the Ingenious One.”  Figli di Anarchia sits atop the table with three points and a three goal differential, while “The Ingenious One’s” FC Dorning find themselves in second place with three points and a four point goal differential. I caught up with “The Ingenious One” while golfing this morning at a local members-only course, a club for influential men of intrigue, to garner his perspective on this week’s table.  “I often find,” said Peters, tranquil in Zen, “that those persons recognized for the ingeniousness, are more often scorned by society.  This is a problem, no?  Should I be ostracized because I have swum the Great Barrier Reef?  Climbed the Leaning Tower of Pisa?  Repaired Lincoln’s face on Mount Rushmore?  No!  I am who I am: an ingenious man of genius.  Now,” Peters began practicing his swing, “I foresee a problem with this ‘Fantasyship.’  There is an unrecognized bias towards those at the bottom of the league.  Take the Right Shower O Bastards for example: by rights—taking into account points, goal differential, and alphabetical categorization—they should be at the bottom of the league.  Yet, where do they find themselves?  Sixth!  Sixth!  This is unacceptable.  And why is this happening?  Why?  I believe the Sletten’s are dictatorial commissioners.  They refuse to answer even the most basic questions.  Again, this is unacceptable.  Excuse me while I tee off.”  Peters approached the tee and slapped his ball. “I don’t mean to interrupt,” I said, “but you struck your ball in the wrong direction.” “Yes, yes I did.” “But—” “I am a trendsetter, dammit!  I forge where others balk.  I chose Fulham; I chose Dempsey; I sit atop this league.  And so, I tell the Sletten’s: stop carrying this juvenile grudge.  I beat you in the draft; I handled you in head-to-head competition; I am ‘the Ingenious One.’”  Peters stopped, replaced his driver, and strode towards the field house. “Excuse me,” I called after him, “Your ball…You didn’t even play a hole.” He didn’t answer.


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