Displaced Aggression — Final League Report
A hush fell over the northwest suburbs on Sunday, as Dingobros and the Turduckens faced eachother in our Championship matchup. The ensuing action was less-than-pretty, but the outcome was not unexpected; It seems that, at least this time, the ESPN geeks got it right. The Dingos, after an oedipal elimination of their own father’s team in round 2, ended up posting their fourth-lowest score of the entire season – which was sad, but still enough to derail the hapless Turduckens, whose own dreams of glory were pinned on the unlikely prospect of Steven Jackson cranking out 34 points in Sunday night’s game. In the end he came up with 11, and the Dingobros held on to Our Beloved League’s virtual trophy for a second straight year. Anyone smell a dynasty?
Surprisingly, hot and heavy action continued outside of the Championship bracket, with six of our teams continuing to add and drop players through all three rounds of post-season consolation-play. N.O. Brass upped the number of Saints on its starting lineup to 6 in hopes of rekindling some mid-season mojo, but were nonetheless trounced by the Salukis in round 3. The Duestakers and HellFire Club appeared to have lapsed into auto-pilot, losing to Gonk’s Revenge and Dayment respectively, and Mental Garbage beat the tar out of the Pulled Hammies, who led the auto-pilot/zombie pack all season.
Token Female and the Lakeviewers continued the pointless slugfest that we all hope is not a reflection of their real-life marriage, and the 4-10 Blue Devils unexpectedly and ironically rode up the consolation ladder on a three-game winning streak, leaving the Wackers to finish the season the same way they started it; as our League’s Fredo Corleone.
We’ll have to leave it to historians to tease out whatever greater meaning might be found in our 2010 season. In the face of the Dingobros’ iron grip on the throat of victory, we band of merry losers are now left to lick our wounds and reflect on the sobering fact that a middle-schooler has now kicked our butts for two years in a row. For our part, we laughed, we cried, experienced fleeting triumph and burning humiliation, and no matter what else they say about us, they’ll have to admit that we all took hard shots and came back for more – like Brett Favre, but without the sexting.
Thanks to all of you for another bang-up season, and congratulations to Dingobros, two-time holder of our League’s pimp-goblet of a virtual trophy. Until next season – Ojo Del Tigre!