Every once in a while, The Pizza Project gets angry or happy or sad or excited. When this occurs, they need to write a letter to nobody in particular. Why? Becaue it feels good, that's why!
Dear My Fantasy Basketball Team,
Alright, no more games, motherf*ckers! This year, my first (and quite likely my last) season of fantasy basketball, started off so well. I received the second pick in the draft. I won my first four games, defeating people and mocking them horribly simply because it seemed fun. I ran up a record total of points one week, a stretch of seven days where it seemed that if I could have placed Drazen Petrovic's rotting corpse on my roster and he would have found a way to put up 25, 5, and 5, with a three-pointer of two.
Now look at me: 9-8, trying to scratch my way into the playoffs. It all started when I cut the captain and veritable namesake of my team, Yao Ming. I had promised to keep him on my roster all year, even if he was injured for the entire season. With Yao at the helm, I saw nothing but perfect health. Joakim Noah was rebounding and blocking shots. Jrue Holiday was coming into his own as a young playmaker. Andrea Bargnani was making chicken cacciatore for the team on off days. In short, it was bliss.
But then I got greedy. When it was discovered that Yao would miss another season in his storied yet pitfall-ridden career due to foot issues, I decided it was time to cut ties. I gave him the same treatment I gave Javale McGee, Tyrus Thomas, Tyson Chandler, and any number of other men, big and little, who took up a spot on my team and didn't perform up to my lofty expectations: I cut his ass and handed him a tissue in case he was the emotional type, like Chris Bosh or LeBron James.
Well, karma is a bitch. Joakim went down with an injury. Danilo Gallinari failed to blossom, coming down with approximately twelve dozen minor injuries throughout the year. And finally, the suddenly erratic Bitch Paul decided that he doesn't like to score and, incredibly, cost me a game this week by running into Ramon Sessions' shoulder while tip-toeing around the lane. The fool, who has played most of the year like he couldn't give a shizz, had to leave in the second quarter, and I ended up losing when scrub-ass former Thunder forward Jeff Green scored 15 lousy points for my friend Robin's team. That's right. I lost to a lady. Sickening. And this isn't the worst of it: The sad, pathetic fact of the matterr is that I now go into a must-win week with a roster that includes such scrubs as Beno Udrih, DeJuan Blair, Roy Hibbert, Greg Monr...wait...what...oh, that's my opponent's roster? Oh good! I guess things are looking up.
Anyway, sure my opponent's roster is wack! But that isn't the point: I am tired of the nail-biters. Starting tonight, we need to take our foot and place it straight on the esophagus of our adversary. This means you, Mr. Noah. Why the hell are you playing 28 minutes a game anyway? If you're back from your hand injury, you are back! You can't have it both ways! Or are you just missing the first 28 minutes shampooing your hair or something?
Gerald Wallace, I know it's not your fault that the idiotic Portland Trailblazers traded for you when they already have 15 swingmen, including Wesley Matthews (another player of mine who got torpedoed by that deal), Nicholas Batum, Rudy Fernandez, and Brandon "The Bionic Knee" Roy! But I need you to step it up in other facets of the game. Crash the boards! Block some shots! Take out the other team's best player! It's not all about scoring!
I'm talking to you too, Andrea Bargnani! I don't care if you have a girl's name. That's no excuse for standing out at the three-point line acting like catching a rebound is synonymous to contracting a deadly STD. Then again, it does seem like you have the flu every other week. I'm just saying. Check it out, dawg!
Jrue Holiday...wha' happen'? Earlier in the year, you were looking like a star on the rise. Breaking down defenses. Showing off an improved three-point stroke. Rebounding at a very decent clip for a point. But suddenly, you are disappering in the fourth quarter, Andre Iguodala is bringing up the ball half the time even though HE CAN'T DRIBBLE, and your ability to take it to the hole has seemed to go on...holiday (Get it????!!!!). I don't care if Ed Stefanski has put together a team with 18 people who want to play point guard. Iguodala. Lou Williams. Evan Turner. Heck, half the time you've got Spencer Hawes trying to get his Curly Neal on. You've got to get some of those guys out of the lineup. Tell Lou and 'Dre there's a two-for-one discount at the tattoo shop or something.
I know I'm getting desperate here, but Serge Ibaka. Come on, brah. I have already cut you from my team five times this year. I really thought you would bring it home down the stretch. Nenad Krstic is hanging out in the Yugoslavian section of Boston. Kendrick Perkins is on the shelf again. Apparently, he broke a mirror with his perpetual ice-grill and it sliced his forearm or something. It is your time to hold down the five spot in Oklahoma City. I need you to play like the dude that the oldhead from the future has seen in the commercial where he goes back to visit Kevin Durant. He says, and I quote, "You will play with some of the greatest young players in the world. Russell Westbrook. SERGE IBAKA..." Seriously, check the tape! In the future, you are one of the greatest young players in the world! (For reals, they must have some good mushrooms in the future! That is the only way that guy could peg you as one of the best young players in the league. Half the time, yo ass play like Ibaka Khan.)
A couple quick shout-outs: To the new crackers on my team, Chase Budinger and Tyler Hansbrough, I would like to say welcome and I hope you will be able to contribute to a successful conclusion of my year. I would also like to say that I can't believe I have two extreme sunburn sufferers like yourselves on my team. To think I could have had Kyle Lowry and Nick Young on my team if only I wasn't so impatient. As for Marcin Gortat and J.J. Hickson, I have no problem with you guys. Especially you, Hickson. You are the best thing to happen to Cleveland basketball since LeBron left yo...since Jordan clowned Ehl...OK, since that asshole Harold Katz traded you the number-one pick for a beanpole with Brandon Roy's knees.
Now I will address the man who has it in his power to save my season. Your supreme scoring ability has been my anchor all season. You still are willing to pass the ball every once in a while, especially when you don't have an open shot from within 31 feet. You crash the glass every once in a while, which is more than I can say for the owners of Gallinari and Bargnani's Eye-talian Pizzeria. Plus, your ability to hit the three and cut off the passing lanes has helped me immensely. In other words, Monta Ellis, you are a fantasy owner's dream. And, yes, I realize the fact that I wrote this practically guarantees that you will eviscerate your ACL just in time for the fantasy playoffs.
In closing, I better win this week. If not, to paraphrase Clint Eastwood in Unforgiven, I'll come back and cut every last one of you motherf*ckers!
Sincerely,
Saucy McGilliguddy
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