We are who we thought we were....

I saw a lot of symbolism in a couple of those 4th down calls last night.

We are in the midst of building a program here. We're on the rise.



(Butch explains to EJ why we are always "just thiiiiiiiiis far away")

And last night, we jumped out to that lead, were hammering them, and they responded. On the most impressive drive of the day we take the ball from our 8 to theirs, on virtually nothing but running plays. We are destroying their D and owning the LOS. Why, why, why do you kick a FG w/ a 1 pt lead in that scenario. I get it re: the pts - 4 pt lead vs 1 pt lead, FG beats us, etc...


But in that scenario, in those circumstances; the nation watching, our defense reeling, the fanbase on edge... it was a perfect time for UNC to go for the jugular. What are we playing for if not to WIN. And a TD there is a WIN. A FG is a prolonging of tension, a tourniquet, a bandaid.

And, as it turned out, a LOSS. Now, there is nothing wrong with playing it safe...when you are undefeated, or in the hunt for a conference championship, etc.. But that's not a realistic assessment of where we are as a team or program. Nor of FSU. That was a dogfight. FSU would have gone for it. No question. They are a program that has known success and understands what it takes to win. You have to strike when the time is right.

But in the 2 scenarios when it was time to bare fangs and go for the kill, we trotted out a kicker and a punter.

On national TV. In front of a packed house. With a ton on the line.

We played scared.

I hated that, but it's UNC football.

Palindrome time...

Rats live on no evil star

Sit on a potato pan, otis

A man, a plan, a canal panama

racecar

wow mom, wow

dammit, i'm mad

Do geese see God?

Never odd or even

Red Rum, sir, is murder

So many dynamos!

Ma is as selfless as I am

UNC Football....an analogy

I came up with a real life analogy last night.

Over the past 20 years, UNC football has been a lot like tracking a middle-aged man's romantic life. It's not exciting, at times its depressing, with a couple highs and too many lows to count.






We had a sexy young thing walk out on us 12 years ago and we didn't really see it coming. We were devastated, but tried to justify it like maybe we could do better. We convinced ourselves it wasn't that tragic of a loss. It was.







(Our sexy young thing...with his NCAA champ trophy)







Not long after she left, we realized just how unattractive we were to hot young talent. We got some suitors, but we followed our big head instead of our little one and dated our ex's best friend. It was a disaster. We stuck with it too long, got fat and out of shape, and eventually grew the stones to break if off.


(the rebound...ugh)















Sadly, we found ourselves single, aging, out of shape...still able to bring something to the table but not a great catch, if you will. So we started dating a girl from high school.




(ladies and gentlemen, the worst move ever... John Bunting)


At first, everyone was so happy for us - it made so much sense! We had history together! Big promises were made. Hope sprung eternal. But, it turns out, it was a match made in hell. We had grown in our own mind and wanted more than the homely girl from the small town had to offer. Plus she was somewhat "challenged" and we began to shy from taking her in public. We waited far too long, but we eventually told her to hit the bricks.

It was a fresh breath of freedom.

So we joined a gym, got in shape, bought a new suit and went to the big boy club. We talked with our happy and successful friends about how they went about managing their life. And then....We landed a cougar. A cougar with money. And a crew of hot cougar friends.


(mmmmmmm, Cougar!)


And here we are, 12 years after being jilted, 9 years after being embarassed, 5 years after nearly throwing in the towel...

And we're bitching about our hot, rich, fun loving cougar's crow's feet.


(Butch Davis, UNC's cougar)

Let's get it together, Tar Heel fans. It's been a bad two weeks. But its been a shitty 12 years! It's a weird situation we're in now with the Offensive (literally) Line and its affecting the entire offense. That's not all that surprising. We're in a better place as a program than we have been since 1997 when Mack walked out.

Walk the line.

Well, well - only 1 left to go...

2 straight drafts on consecutive nights, both from the 9 slot (9/12 and 9/10).

Have to say that I'm much happier w/ the 9 of 12 draft. Which is remarkable given how few players I got that I truly wanted. It was a strange draft, RBs flew off the shelves immediately and at the end of the day every team in that league has bright spots and holes...parity in its truest form can be found in Coast 2 Coast this year. Which means it'll come down to deft roster management, gametime decisions, and player pickups throughout the year. As it should.


But the 9 of 10 draft? Horrendous. Given that its a free league, and there is no money to be won or lost, I rolled the dice and went w/ a QB first pick - the estimable Thomas Brady - which wasn't such a shock. But on the 12 pick I was looking at a WR or a RB - and there was only 1 RB that isn't sharing touches left available - so I took him. Ryan Grant. Granted, (lol - pun!) that is far too high for him, but I had to have an every down back, its a roster necessity. But I passed on Randy Moss to get him, which was a tragic mistake. This is the least sexy roster I've ever assembled: Tom Brady, Terrell Owens, Wes Welker, Hines Ward, Pierre Thomas, Ryan Grant, Larry Johnson, Shockey, and the Vikings. My bench is, as usual, full of players that could pay off big or be complete busts. I don't love a single player on my team. I'd trade any of them without hesitation, which is a sure sign of a crap draft.

(okay, maybe Gisele and my wife would disagree about "least sexy" - but that does me NO good)



To top it all off, my dirtbag friend Anar made a reach pick in the 11th for no other purpose than to fuck with me and took Hakeem Nicks off the board, eliminating any chance that I'd have an ounce of fun in this league. So, to get him back I took the Bears D. Which is the equivalent to TP'ing someone's house who ran over your dog.

All in all - a downer. I'll be competitive in my own league for a change, but I have no shot in my brother's league, which is the biggest trash talking league I'm in. Which means I'll be slammed mercilessly all season.

1 draft left. No clue on draft position. Stay tuned...

Another draft in the books, and again Fillmore Slim was able to capture Matt Forte in the first round - this time making a reach for him from the 2 slot. I held high hopes of landing Matt Ryan to complete my all-Matt backfield (first time that was even a possibility...) but alas, he was snatch from me at the turn in the 3rd round. That's right, 3rd round. This was a crazy draft, with QBs gone by Rd 3, Defenses selected in the 4th, and so on. In a draft like that, its hard to stick to a plan, as nobody is following standard procedure. To top it all off, the cpu took over an put me on auto pilot in the middle rounds and gave me Joey Flacco, Ced Benson and Jason Elam (a fucking kicker) all before round 8. I wasn't too happy. All in all, my team is pretty solid, but we'll need to make some adjustments in-season to shore up a weak spot or two.

Draft #4 tonight. My own league. Should be classic. I'm in the 9 spot.

Fantasy season returns...

It's back! Thank god, too. There is absolutely nothing worse than baseball season. Unless of course one is a fan of watching moderately athletic guys stand around, chew tobacco, spit sunflower seeds and adjust their crotches waiting every so patiently for that 3-4 seconds of meaningful action that occurs about two times in any given game. And if you are a fan of that, you should look into real sports. They are more fun.

But bashing baseball, while easy, fun, and endlessly doable is only preventing us from realizing that the fantasy football season is again upon us, and with it, the return of the NFL. For quite some time I had lost interest in the NFL. This was around 1995 or so. I had gotten over my childhood "favorite team" affiliation (Redskins), my young adult "favorite team" affiliation (gambling on the Aikman-led Cowboys) and was mired in a late 90's funk of mild interest in our nation's premier sports league. And then I discovered fantasy football. In a flash, my adult "favorite team" was established, solidified and shall not be turned away like so many other fads. No, Fillmore Slim is unquestionably where my heart and loyalties lie.

Within the annually changing confines of my roster, you will find my favorite players, those I think likely to break out, a rookie or two, a typical dearth of quality wideouts spurned on draft day in favor of mid-tier running backs headed for an inevitable time share or torn ACL, a QB that everyone but me realizes sucks (hello, Brady Quinn!!!), and a defensive unit that I selected 2-3 rounds too early.

And you'll find those things as a result of my favorite thing in sports outside of watching my beloved Tar Heels whoop ass: the fantasy football draft. There is nothing like it. Grown men are reduced to a child-like state of anticipation (think a 7 year old on Christmas Eve) when faced with the opportunity to create their own war room and put together what they think is surely the team to beat this year. Some join to talk shit to their friends, some join for the love of competition, some see it as a money making venture... but me, I join it merely to crow about my untouchable, talented, deep and well balanced team. I will sing the song high and low. I will write a blog for the first time in weeks to tell the entire interweb how I am going to rule with an iron fist upon the masses of the lower level teams in my leagues.

And then I will over manage my team into missing the playoffs.

This is my fantasy reality. I am cursed. I will make inadvisable trades to attain players I don't need. I will bench players I don't like that are due for huge games. I'll overpay for a running back simply because he's over 225 lbs and I like big backs. I will convince myself that Tiki Barber is no competition for Ron Dayne despite all evidence to the contrary. And then, year after year after year of the same results....I'll do it all over again. And this is the glory of fantasy football. It's me being my own NFL GM. And I am Mike Brown.

This year, however, Fillmore Slim is off to some pretty decent starts. I won the draft lottery in a league where the entry fee is $50 and a fantastic bottle of wine. I went with the safe choice - Adrian Peterson - and built what I think is a team with relatively strong upside. The first pick, while vaunted, is not truly the best place to draft from in my opinion, and it was with some optimism that I entered my 2nd draft, with friends from the workplace, as the 6th slot out of 12. My bromance RB crush of the year, Matt Forte, fell to me at 6th after not having seen him go below 4 in a mock draft all year, and from there I did my best to build a RB-strong team with big names. I was able to, but have serious questions about my WR, which will come as no surprise to anyone that has ever been in a league with me. And lucky for me, Dennis Leary and LL Cool J have informed me that I no longer need cable and can watch any game I want, anywhere I want on my iPhone if I just order DirecTV. I am doing so. I suggest you do too.

And so I am 2 drafts in to the season. I have 4 drafts left. I draft 9th out of 10 in a keeper league, 9th out of 12 in the league I run (which of course holds the worst collection of finishes out of any league I participate in), and 2 unknown draft spots.

Look for an update late next week on 3 of the remaining 4 drafts.

Until then, prepare for the onslaught.

Free Mike Vick!!!

Okay, I realize that people are up in arms about Mike Vick's reinstatement to the NFL.

I just don't get why. Mike Vick fought dogs. Okay, got it. Not the best activity. Not really responsible. Apparently, illegal! However, like all things in life, there is a sliding scale to legality.

Dog fighting, as it stands, is pretty low on the list of things I get upset about.

I'm much more concerned with "murder" (see: Ray Lewis, Leonard Little - both longtime, protest-free NFL players), "girlfriend and baby killing" (see: Rae Carruth), "wife abuse" (see: too many citations to count or tally or reference here given my storage capacity limits from blogspot), etc... to get worked up about a guy who managed a dog fighting ring.

Know why? I've been to a dog fight. Its pretty intense, yes. But most of the owners I know truly love their dogs, and I haven't been to a ton of fights, but I have never seen a dog put down for losing. That's just hype. Fact of the matter is, dog fighting is actually fun to watch. Just like MMA. Or like that time we televised "Shock and Awe".

But that's just one component of the inanity of this latest craze. You know, we have guys here in the USA that breed human fighters. But they aren't labeled as criminals. They are our 5-star generals and our politicians who's policies can lead to the death of hundreds of thousands, even millions, of deaths. Why is this not a moral outrage. After all, we are expected to blindly "support our troops" despite evidence that would indicate we fight avoidable and often times useless wars, no? These are men who are celebrated and toasted nationwide.

But lets not expose the inherent lunatic hypocrisy in making daily headlines about how bad a guy Mike Vick really is by talking about things that matter, when we can merely trump it up like he's evil incarnate.

After all, some friends of his fought dogs in his yard at the house he didn't live in.

The horrors.