Archive for the ‘Panic attack’ Category

Update (3:35 p.m. ET): Maybe there’s an explanation for all of this, as Foster left the game and went to the locker room due to an illness. Still, it’s quite clear that the Mayans have formed some kind of a pact with the fantasy gods.

As I’m writing these words there are Arian Foster owners who are drinking all of the scotch which had been laid out with care as part of delightful Christmas Eve spreads prior to festive gatherings tomorrow night.

That’s what 12 rushing yards on eight first-half carries will do to a man. Yes, that’s Foster’s first half total. No, it’s not a typo.

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Brandon Lloyd had a favorable matchup last night against the Texans and their regressing and injured secondary. And just like pretty much the entire Patriots’ roster, he took advantage of said matchup, finishing with 89 receiving yards on seven receptions, including a 37-yard catch.

This delighted you, of course, because it’s the fantasy playoffs, and because points lead to winning, and winning leads to money, and money buys goods and services. Then there’s also his fumble recovery in the end zone on a play that sent many a fantasy manager to toilet bowls. Somewhere out there is a lost, lonely soul whose fantasy season ended because Lloyd happened to be standing in the end zone when a ball pretty much landed on his shoelaces. Please accept our deepest condolences.

The rest of you may be getting giddy and feeling a blood-rushing sensation after Lloyd returned to relevancy for at least one night. But perspective is key here if you intend to continue using Lloyd going forward in the fantasy playoffs.

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Only a little worried. You know that feeling when you’re driving away from the grocery store and you’re not sure if you bought orange juice with pulp, no pulp, or lots of pulp? Yeah, that kind of worried. Also, pulp is the worst.

Paint me as a crazed overreacting crazy man if you want, although I’m very much trying to sidestep the ledge dwelling here. I consider myself to be a rational, sane-minded human, except as it relates to orange juice. But I still think that after there was an even split between Arian Foster and Justin Forsett in Houston’s backfield during their win over Tennessee yesterday, you — the Foster owners — need to acknowledge your fear.

Embrace it, and be one with it.

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Breaking up is never easy. Someone always ends up with a smashed window and a dead rat on their pillow. What? That’s not normal? Fair enough.

There’s a break up you have to deal with, though, and you have to do it fast. Sorry, Larry Fitzgerald, but it’s come to this. It’s not you, it’s us.

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Everyone has a favorite tight end. Personally, I like mine to be more compact, and to have a sort of form-fitting quality. But there are a variety of different tastes, and I have spoken to many men who enjoy larger tight ends, and they cannot lie.

Early this season one tight end has emerged, and he’s tighter than nearly all of the other ends. We call this end Dennis Pitta, and we were all particularly attracted to him. Pitta went largely undrafted, with an ADP of 149 in leagues back in August. That’s why he became a darling tight end that we wanted to grab again and again, over and over, until the night closes in.

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There’s a problem with Peyton Manning. It’s not tied to his arm, or his neck, or his physical condition after his first two competitive football games following a season of surgery and rehab. No, the problem is with the expectations for his 2012 season, and the buyer’s remorse they may already be creating.

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There were screams in the distance during the first Sunday of the NFL season. They came in many forms, but one was louder than all the others.

There was a distinct and defining intonation to these voices. They were not the product of fright, as the source hadn’t just been confronted by the world’s largest beardog, and a fear of the unknown after discovering a new, strange breed of monkey didn’t prompt instinctive primal screeches either. For some reason, though, those two events involving exotic creatures seem highly plausible on an NFL Sunday.

The screams were instead the result of bitter, crushing depression and anguish. The screams came from Chris Johnson owners who watched their running back get only four rushing yards on 11 carries.

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