Down Goes...Everybody?

Let’s say you’re an event planner, and you’ve been tasked with hosting the social event of the season. Based on your past efforts, pretty much everyone expects a quality effort out of your camp. Now you know what it takes to put together a respectable soirée, and the vendors you choose to support you have a well-known history and you know whether or not you can count on them in the clutch. Sure, they are 7-9 other parties going on the same night, so vendor contracts are one-per-party, but hey, you’ve done your homework.

Fantasy football is not unlike the above scenario; proper planning and track record are the co-names of the game. You do your homework by picking a proper team in your draft and not signing damaged goods. Take a quarterback’s offensive line. If his team’s front office lets its two Pro Bowl tackles walk in the off-season, leaving last year’s backups and this year’s rookies, this QB will be running for his life all season long. You can see this coming a mile away, and you can plan around it.

Take the weather, for example. An event planner can get round-the-clock meteorological updates and know ahead of time that he just might need to keep that vendor with the outdoor tent supply on Line 2 in case of rain. You can see weather coming. You can see a paper-thin O-Line. These things are predictable. But in either scenario – whether it was the gridiron or the gala – one can’t plan for the unexpected.

This year, my team has been hit by the unexpected. If my fantasy squad were a social-to-do, it just got hit with the power failure that blacked out the city grid. Who saw this coming?

I know reading about somebody else’s fantasy football team isn’t exactly page-scrolling material, but this catastrophic maelstrom of woe that has befell my mighty squad is so remarkable that I beg you to continue. If you don’t, well then, you may have the same fate they did.

Coming into this year, I was the reigning champ in a league that has some Monrovians and some Bristolians, commish’ed by one Jon Rogers. I won last year largely due to an excellent draft, and a little luck (Mattias should have won, but his clinching receiver got a concussion in the 2nd quarter and finished fractions of a point behind.) Confident, I sat down at this year’s draft table to select the 10 players and 1 defense that would allow me to repeat and renew bragging rights for next off-season. (Yes, we drafted 12 rounds, but because Jon is a bench hater, I planned from Day 1 to use the last spot as a rotating waiver wire pick-up.) Let’s review, shall we?

1st Round: STEPHEN JACKSON, RB, Rams
Fate: After two slow weeks, Jackson finally looked like his Nike commercial in Week 3, posting 115 yards on the ground. He rushed 30 times, proving to be one too many. Jackson suffered a partial tear of his left groin, which I speak for all men by saying, “AUUUUUUOWWW.” We haven’t heard from Jackson since, missing the last 3 games.

2nd Round: MARVIN HARRISON, WR, Colts
Fate: In Harrison’s career prior to this season, he had missed 1 game. His durability is why I made him the highest-picked wideout in the draft. When I saw the Colts had pasted 38 points on Denver in Week 4, I was ecstatic – Marvin must have had 100 yards and at least a score, right? Stat line says! 1 catch for 8 yards? What the? “inactive with a bruised left knee?” Damn it.

4rh Round: JAMAL LEWIS, RB, Browns
Fate: I know this was a stretch, but I assure you it was a depth chart pick. However, the one way to negate depth is to develop a sort foot after getting one rush against New England last week. Lewis didn’t play this week, and was listed as “questionable” on the injury report. It appears my drafting strategy was questionable.

5th Round: ANDRE JOHNSON, WR, Texans
Fate: Hey, I remember that guy! He was awesome when he last played. IN WEEK FREAKIN’ 2. Stupid knee sprain.

6th Round: VERNON DAVIS, TE, 49ers
Fate: Last time I pick a stupid Terrapin. I had no idea Turtles were susceptible to Week 3 knee injuries. Turtles have knees?

7th Round: MATT LEINART, QB, Cardinals.
Fate: No one reminded me that you can’t spell “Leinart” without I and R. Broke his collarbone last week, done for the season.

9th Round: JAKE DELHOMME, QB, Panthers.
Fate: It would be nice to have a capable backup quarterback who can fill in when your starting quarterback breaks his collarbone. Preferably not one who needs SEASON-ENDING ELBOW surgery the same week. Cooked.

10th Round: DENVER BRONCOS, Defense
Fate: Yes, it’s impossible for 11 guys on the same unit of same team. This is true. However, when your best player, Champ Bailey, is one a first-name basis with the MRI lab, that’s not a good sign.

11th Round: JOSH SCOBEE, Kicker, Jaguars
Fate: How improbable is it for a kicker to get injured, what with the limited amount of activity required of him? That depends if I drafted him or not. Scobee must have the worst quad strain in NFL history – as he’s yet to kick anything this year.

If Edgerrin James or Laveranues Coles are reading this, you’ve been warned.

You’re next.

Revenge-Ma-Tazz

A few weeks back, I regaled you all with the tale of how I accidentally Punk’d my local tuxedo rental shop by walking out with my measurements but zero formal wear leases to speak of. All in all, things seemed to go smoothly. I was able to deliver my specific measurements to the local tuxederias in Chapel Hill and Princeton, my credit card was charged, and I never once had to return a worn formal garment bag to the mall near where I work. Of course, Ray at After Hours Tyson’s Corner is likely still awaiting my call with the Event ID for Dave’s North Carolinian affair, but he’ll get over it. I hope.

Apparently Tuxedo Karma is a bastard.

Now while each tux rental shop is out for their own profit margin and bottom line, I did not anticipate some underground guild structure that links them all arm-in-arm, in the name of snappy dressing. Apparently, punking one store, regardless of location, affiliation, or chain status, can get you in some seriously hot water with the whole family tree. So what if I ganked some free measurements under misleading pretense? It’s not like I’m ever going to be held responsible for my actions.

Word to the wise: The Tuxedors. They’re connected.

24 hours prior to the marriage that would rename Julie Viehweg on this blog to “The Prodigal Roommate’s Wife” had me, as well as the NC Duo of Dave and Nordberg, standing in the hallowed halls of the Market Fair Mall tux shop, known as “Chazz-Ma-Tazz.” A unique moniker, I know. But because there’s nothing more uncomfortably than an awkward silence while another man fiddles with the clothes you are currently wearing, I decided to make small talk as to discern where such a unique store name might come from.

“So, where did you get the name for your store?”
“Well, my name is Chazz, and then I just added some Ma-Tazz.”
“Oh.”

Ok, so it wasn’t something cool like the name of a tuxedo shop in a classic movie or a line from a long-forgotten Sinatra single, but at least we know the truth. But I made an effort to be friendly, so if there was some sort of formalwear retribution in the works, maybe he’d forget about it and be a nice Chazzman.

Prior to that, he called us into separate dressing rooms based on the name on the garment bag, and needless to say, we were mildly baffled as to whom he was speaking. The dressing room assignments follow, as spoken by Mr. Chazz.

“Room 1, I need a Dave REEF.”
“Room 2, is for a Chris NORBERG.”
"And Room 3, that would be for you, Chris GORDON.”

Call me Flash, people.

So as Flash and his superhero friends got their James Bond on, we took turns stepping out in front of the Hall of Mirrors to allow the expert to admire his tuxedo-selecting work. Nordberg may have needed some different pants, I don’t know. As for me, everything fit just right. And to put the finishing touches on, Mr. Chazz affixed the piece-de-resistance to my trousers.

Suspenders.

Call me crazy, but I think suspenders are awesome. I specifically bought a pair to wear to a formal dance awhile back, and they add some class to your everyday suit. Curiously, our suspenders were added underneath the vest, so no one could actually see them, and they had a tendency to pull the pants up a little higher that say, standard level of comfort. But hey, Spud picked them so who was I to complain?

As we shuffled off to the rehearsal, the following exchange took place.

“Hey, what do you think of the tuxes?”
“I think they’re sweet. Nice touches with the pocked square and suspenders, no?”
“What suspenders?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have any suspenders."
“Yeah, me neither.”
“Then WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE WITH SUSPENDERS?”

Tuxedor’s Revenge is served best cold with elastic.

Desperately Seeking Mutombo

I don’t care how Desperate you are; don’t disappoint Dikembe.

Dikembe Mutombo easily makes out Top Ten Personalities in Sports right now, and probably takes a back seat only to Gilbert Arenas in the NBA. We’ve featured him as a hypothetical employee here as a minor tribute, and we asked a computer his age-old question on his behalf. Long story short, he’s a 7-foot-2 man from the Congo with shot-blocking talent and a heart of gold. Hell, he even befriended the French.

In the NBA, the most prominent player from France is San Antonio Spurs guard Tony Parker. You wouldn’t know it from his appearance, since they don’t allow players to wear berets or cravats on the court and he has yet to head butt Andrea Bargnani in an NBA Finals game. Overall, Parker is a nice player and a nice guy. But his defense and jump shot are not why most people know Tony Parker. Most people know Tony Parker because he’s part of the current highest profile relationship in pro sports.

He’s engaged to Eva Longoria.

Eva, for better or worse, has forged a career by being cast on ABC’s flagship dramedy “Desperate Housewives” over the last three seasons. She’s turned this job into becoming a fixture on all those “Sexiest People on the Planet” lists as well as underdeveloped movie scripts. Now Parker is still alive in the playoffs (the Spurs are currently doing battle with the Utah Jazz for Western Conference supremacy), but once that’s over, the two of them will be getting married this summer.

Good for them. Bad for the children.

Parker is a national icon in France, and the French would gladly pay good money to see him play hoops live. Now Tony doesn’t need the cash – hell, anyone who registers at Tiffany’s doesn’t need the cash. So why not donate it to a good cause. As the great humanitarian Gheorghe Muresan once proclaimed, “Win One for the Kids!”

Enter Mutombo.

Mutombo has raised millions of dollars, as well as donated a large sum of his own earnings to better the lives of so many back in his native Republic of Congo. He’s been the chief benefactor behind countless hospitals and schools. And as an international face of the NBA, his plan to hold an exhibition game in Paris in July would benefit the children of the Congo. Of course, if he holds a game in Paris, he should probably include Tony Parker.

And so he did…

…Parker was totally excited to be playing in front of his countrymen, and signed up immediately. Turns out, he’s going to be a little busy. Now Katie was cool when I finished up a finance project for B-School on the flight down to our honeymoon. Eva Longoria, I’m guessing, not so much.

Parker’s out, since he’ll probably be at some exotic locale where he and his new wife rent a bungalow on the beach for eleventy billion Schrutebucks a night. Mutombo, being a kind, gentle soul, understands. Of course, this means the game has to be cancelled.

WAIT!

According to this article, Longoria plans to be back on the set of Desperate Housewives the day after the wedding. The honeymoon isn’t immediately following, as she’s going back to work as Eva Longoria Parker the very next day. But Eva, why aren’t you letting your husband come out and play?

Easy. Eva Longoria hates children.

Look, I understand that you need to keep up with those fast-lane ladies you roll with. They’re not nice people. Marcia Cross kicks puppies. Teri Hatcher once ran over a hobo and drove away. Felicity Huffman cuts out boxtops for education and promptly burns them in her fireplace. So it should be expected that Longoria is just maintaining street cred by depriving the children of the Congo of health, schooling, and happiness.

Tony, it’s not too late, man. Run away.