Thursday, April 21, 2011

Holy Fuck!

The Fantasy season is over! No Fucking Way! Thanks for the update! You lost all your leagues? Should have listened to the bear and picked up Tyler Hansborough when he was still a fetus. Now What? What the fuck do you think? The bear grabs a big ass bottle of smooth tasting liquor and fucks off to a hole in the base of the biggest tree in Sherwood forest, robbing from the rich and dishing fantasy advice to the poor all winter. Aside from handing out shitty end of season fantasy awards, there is not a whole lot left to talk about as far as fantasy basketball is concerned. We are done updating until summer. We are also done getting paid in unmarked fish heads. Next year it's gotta be perch or higher. Tell your parents you need fish for school then send it care of:

Fantasy Basketbear
A Big Ass Cave
The Woods

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Fantasy Basketball: End Game

I tried to shout over the whir of the helicopter but to no avail. It was a damn shame that it had come to this but I'd smelled desperation on Shuttlesworth before and knew he was capable of anything in that state. Not just his mind but in Texas as well. I'd chased the bastard half way across the world trying to get Channing Frye back so he could finish off our weeks end match-up in style. Shuttlesworth thought if he could somehow prevent me from winning 3's, the rest would fall like dominoes. Thus a package was sent to Channing Fryes house, big enough to fit a man, a rag and a bottle of ether. Frye was suspicious but never knew what hit him. He told me later that he woke up in a basement with a large man telling him things could get nasty if he didn't call Alvin Gentry and say he was sick. He made the call and in a burst of heroism, managed to eek out a quick help before the butt of an M4 Carbine shut his lights off. I was asleep when Alvin called me:

"There's a problem".

"Not to worry", I told him, "I've got 4 categories on lock and two of your boys are planning on giving me their best efforts this evening. I spoke to them both personally".

"It's not Vince, it's Channing."

I sat bolt upright and could feel the hopes and dreams of every child in the country rolling off my forehead like sweat.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

I was up 6-3 on Saturday night in the greatest Head to Head fantasy basketball finals the world had seen since Nat "Sweetwater" Clifton double-doubled against the St. Louis Hawks on Sunday to win my Dad a victory over his friend The Duke in 56'. I drove in silence and thought about all the great parties me and Channing had thrown over the years. Stopped at a red light, I made a quick call to Blackwater worldwide.

"John? it's Fanarchy..... I know.......I know I said I would never do this but I need a favor....."

Content with my contact, I arrived at the US Airways Center to find Alvin drunk, sitting on the front steps, whipping beer bottles into traffic and yelling incoherently about the impending lockout. He rambled on about Kemba Walker and how Steve Nash was threatening retirement along with Jason Kidd. I slapped him across the face, hard.

"Get your shit together Gentry! You can't lose yer cool! Not at a time like this!"

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he told me about the phone call and the eventual ransom note that showed up in his office. It was pretty clear which direction this was headed in.

"Don't worry" I told him for the second time that morning, "I've got some help coming."

We could hear the chopper before we saw it. I didn't approve of the whole scandal in the middle east, but I didn't know who else to call. My season was on the line and I'd do anything to right the ship. As the flying demon landed, the turgical noon gun metal of the soldiers of fortune flashed in the sun. I wasn't much for firearms myself, but didn't shy away from the Ruger SR9 when the pilot thrust it into my hands. Alvin chose a slightly more aggressive looking MP5 and managed a few shots in the air before they realized he was drunk and more in need of good rest than a hostage negotiation. We flew him home and before he stepped off the bird he slapped me in the face, hard.

"Bring my boy home, Fanarchy. Bring 'em home safe."

Laughing, I promised him I would and we took off for Brazil, where I knew Shuttlesworth kept a small safe house. Somehow he'd been alerted to our arrival and had Channing bound and gagged in a wedding dress when we landed on his neighbors roof, no more than fifteen feet from where my opponent was holding a gun to Frye's back.

"GIVE IT UP YOU FOOL! YOU'VE ALREADY LOST, THERE'S NOTHING LEFT TO GAIN!" I tried to shout over the whir of the helicopter but to no avail.

"GET FUCKED! I'VE STILL GOT CALDERON AND WES MATTHEWS!" he screamed as he fired a shot into the night sky

He didn't realize that it was already over. Chauncey Billups had sealed my victory with a tidy line featuring efficiency and steals. Big Shot had also put 3's out of reach by going 3-7 from deep. I didn't know how to break it to him.

"MATTHEWS HAS BEEN FADING SINCE LATE FEBRUARY AND CALDERON IS AN INJURED CUNT" I said into the bullhorn. I tried to tell him a joke to let him down easy but an over eager sniper beat me to the punch line. The shot rang out over the jungle and Shuttlesworth crumpled to the ground.

Screaming "HOLD YOUR FIRE! HOLD YOUR FIRE GODDAMNIT!" I shot a grappling hook at the satellite dish across the alley and retracted myself across the rooftops to the bound Channing Frye and the corpse of my former foe.

"It didn't have to end like this old friend" I said as I took the orange ball gag out of Channing's mouth.

"FANARCHY! IT'S A TRAP!" Fry screamed as the roof came out from under us. We fell four stories into the earth and then blackness. I awoke several hours later to the glow of a cigarette in the darkness. It smelled like dope but it could have been my clothes.

"Well played, Well played" Shuttlesworth mocked, accompanied by the slowest clap I'd ever heard. He pulled long and deep on whatever he was smoking.

"What the fucking shit? You got shot! I saw that sniper shoot you in the fucking head! WHAT THE FUCK!?"

"A body double" he said "All the best bloggers have one. The government thinks I'm dead and blackwater took off as soon as they saw their paycheck drop though the rooftop"

"So now what?" I asked

"Easy" he said "We stay here until the heat dies down, then transfer the bear to a Swiss bank account. We take one of those bicycle powered submarines to Europe and live like kings while the US Government pays us to blog about fantasy basketball."

The lights flicked on and I could see he wasn't alone. Crash, Bird Dog and George Orwell were all right behind him, eagerly hoping I would agree. I got up, dusted my pants off and could only laugh as Crash handed me a beer. We got good and drunk that night. Also pick up Matt Bonner.