The following article was written and submitted to us by one of our viewers.
The article was written as a response to a staff written article titled
“8 Simple Rules For Pleasing Your Man (On Sunday)” N. Ford (Feminist Specialist).

Stardate 1996: Despite the continual onslaught of Cardacian warships, I have retired to my captain’s quarters to ponder the eternal question: why are yardage leagues best left to the Borg? And then it hit me, like a shit handprint to the forehead:

“Yards are for houses, my dear boy.”

BUT WHY?

We here at MoSneaky have just recently received word from one of our prodigal sons. Our very own T. Francis has contacted us, many months after disappearing into the wild. What we first thought to be a report on his whereabouts turned quickly into a Tour de Force in weekly Fantasy Football starting lineup submission.
Begin transmission.

Remember when you were young? You shined like the sun. I do. As another fantasy season approaches, we are reminded of those great games that we played years ago. Games that keep us coming back for more. Games that alienate us from family friends and work. Games that fascinate and infuriate to the point where you contemplate the murder of not only your opponent, but also his and perhaps sometimes your own players. I am reminded of one such contest way back in the long, long ago.

Contrary to what some shit brains may believe Fantasy Football is a game of chance, not skill. And lo for many moons how I and my team the Big Shitty Bums have suffered the wrath of Lady Luck. For example, I once had consecutive seasons in which I was the second highest scoring team in the league, only to miss the playoffs both years. Injuries continually ravage my team like SARS in a Hong Kong airport. However, instead of being bitter about my certain doom in the upcoming football season, I shall turn the other cheek and warn you, the dear reader, about impending catastrophes to expect in the months to come.