The Virtual Dorm
24 hours in a day ... 24 beers in a case...coincidence?
-- Steven Wright
LMS 2006 Final ReportPosted: 2007-01-03
The Clean Smell of Winning Cages. They smell like .... VICTORY.
As the immortal Don Dunphey would say: It's over. It's all over.
The SUPER SIX of '06 close out their perfect season as the shadow of Saddam gently swings in the breeze, Dick Clark swings in yet another swinging new year, and the Cowboys (bastards) swing the axe on poor MONK, with Tony Romo getting chopped down on the 2 yard line. No taunting, please. Life in the cages can be so cruel.
CD 1, WAYNE M, JUMBO 1, DREAM TEAM, STUTTGARTSLIME, and the aptly named STANK ASS JOEY WAX, etch their names as champions into the annals of LMS history, as yet another year slips into the memories of the caged ones. Lest we forget, here is the year in review:
Despite cautionary warnings, a record 5,387 animals crowd into the cages in September, as Year 12 of the LMS kicks off in its usual simple-fashioned manner. The animals come with their nervous anticipation for cheap entertainment, degenerate gambling excitement, and their mostly certain hopes for money, power, glory, and the grandeur of LMS fame. They are the always optimistic horde of would be geniuses, for whom this pool gives meaning to their otherwise mundane existence. The ship of destiny sets sail with the ease of the Atlantis Space Shuttle launch, all animals yearning to display their talent for prophetic football talent eagerly aboard. Most, as we know, will fall short of their lofty goals. Fortunately, the ZOOKEEPER has plenty of Muscatel in stock for the season. It helps anesthetize early dealings with the less adept animals (remember the guy who wanted to take the Patriots, EVERY week? or SLUGGO who wanted a split in WEEK TWO? Hmmm .... Not a bad idea, in retrospect).
In all, 1,680 cages fall in September, victims of alternative interrogation techniques, or maybe they just got distracted by that political coup in Thailand, or maybe they just couldn't find the will to continue after Maurice Clarett and Willie Nelson got busted in the same week, or maybe they just made lousy picks that their still caged friends tried to warn them about. Just when things start rolling, the bizarre Northern Colorado punter attack closes the month of September, as the devil's sulfur smell hangs in the air. ONE AND DONE bemoans his tragic early fate, having misspent his time with a TIVO of Rosie O'Donnell's VIEW, rather than taking the time to check his pick prior to game time. How were we supposed to know that he didn't really want the Raiders? In a rare September moment, the ZOOKEEPER goes down in WEEK ONE with the Titans (bastards), who just needed a little more time to warm up this year. Who knew the J-E-T- S JETS JETS JETS would be a playoff team? So it goes. So it goes.
The second quarter opens on a monumental note as CAPTAIN AMERICA goes down to, who else, the powerful J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS. The CAPTAIN had gone 35 consecutive weeks before being taken from his cage, screaming and kicking and cursing, just like the rest. The terrorists must have been emboldened by this defeat, as October took out another 3,193 cages, most notably 2,343 of them in WEEK SEVEN. Suddenly silenced were the many animals who had been pleading with the ZOOKEEPER for complicated double elimination, cross conference, day/night, interchanging time zone formulas, because the "pool was too easy". A dirty bomb stadium threat, tainted spinach, and North Korean nukes pale in comparison to the force and might of surviving football genius.
Other October highlights saw FUI learning the true meaning of Lightning Bolts, JACKASS TWO attendance numbers rising in direct relationship to cage elimination reports, and the unprecedented lemming-like DQ exodus of 15 animals. Perhaps October's cage refugees were unnerved by those NSA taps into their cell phones, or perhaps they were Albert Haynesworth fans who had seen enough, or perhaps naughty visions from those Mark Foley e-mails distracted them from sound selections, or perhaps they just made lousy picks that their still caged genius friends tried to warn them about. As we all know, you go to November with what you've got, and in WEEK NINE, only 499 got to go.
499 animals come in like Lions. 437 animals go out like Lambs. November's Beaver Moon lights the way for some, but most fall as flat as a John Kerry joke, as the quickening darkness of winter spreads over the cages in November. JIM NOTO's remarkable consecutive POW wins and the TOMKAT wedding may have been highlights, but not even an evolved state of denial could ignore the reality of KRAMER's melt down, Michael Vick's dropped ball at the end of that Falcon game in WEEK TEN, the Jaggywires SECOND loss to the Texans, or Faith Hill diss'n Carrie like that. The animals now remaining realized why they were cautioned at the start of this journey. The animals, now mostly cageless, ate their Thanksgiving dinners sadder for their fate, but hopefully wiser for their expectations. The annual LMS charity list helps to soothe the pain of ravaged dreams.
Staying the course is no longer an option as Ortega and Pelosi are thrust to the forward to renew the political spirits. Gatorland's destruction in a devastating fire dampens the joy of seeing Kirstie Allie in a bathing suit once more, and November closes with Triskaidekaphobia haunting the now cageless 5,334.
53 brave animals enter the final frontier where few have dared to go, as the ZOOKEEPER preaches the mathematics of physics, and warns of the dangers of volatile pressure situations. It is to no avail. Believing their cages to be protected by football genius and superior prognostication skills, they continue forward in their quest of greatness and LMS immortality. Hamilton and Baker plead with them to find another way forward, but still they do not listen. Christmas greetings from cages around the word take all into the final week and ... well, the rest is history and oh so many empty Muscatel bottles.
And that is all animals. LMS 2006 is but a memory. The cages will continue on their now empty journey around the sun, holding the comforting 23.5 degree angle at the accustomed 67,000 mph pace. Mark your calendars for September 2007. Your date with destiny awaits, and I have a good feeling about you for next year.
As my good friend, Sergeant Preston of the Yukon Police would say, "King, this case is over."
Go Irish. Peace. Out.