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About Archives Featured GuestsThe wind kept knocking the ball off the tee while we were attempting to kick off, which meant I would be assigned to hold it. This always made me nervous, watching the kickers foot accelerate towards the ball and my outstretched finger. I never looked, I always closed my eyes, I only knew it happened when I felt the foot slam into my finger, breaking it off.
He hadn’t watched a game in its purest form for so very long. It was strange, sitting there on the couch, watching a contest the way it was meant to be seen: through the lens of winning and losing, of strategy and lucky bounces and competitiveness that sent grown men headlong into each other, breaking bones and bruising brains with no consideration for tomorrow. He did not root for the offense to stall at the thirty yard line so his kicker could collect four points, because this was reality.
- C.D. Carter
Carter is also a contributing writer for Sportsjerks.net, a fantasy football site, and frequently discusses the minutia of pretend pigskin on Twitter @CDCarter13
“I don’t draft grave dwellers,” Bennie said, with a fist pound on the wooden table to drive home the point. “They’re old, they’re disoriented, and even when you find one worth a damn, he loses a limb every third hit.” Bennie selected Jacobs instead — as a protest to his grave-born teammates — because Jacobs, like Bennie, had been made undead through a bite, the way God had intended.
- C.D. Carter
The steel was much colder than he thought it would be — almost bitingly frigid against the flesh of his neck. “Override the league settings and drop McFadden to waivers,” said Tina, the fantasy owner who had missed out on the Oakland runner by precisely one pick during the previous week’s draft. “Give me DMC, or give me…” he trailed off because he felt the pinch of the blade as it slid into his neck, severing veins that puked blood onto the laptop below, and he had not one regret.
- C.D. Carter
I’m not sure why some people are stuck in the dark ages, basing their decisions on gut feelings and emotions. We’re past all that, we’ve entered an age of enlightenment. Fantasy football is now a science and there’s no more need for all of this mumbo jumbo.
The basement on draft day was a powder keg of long-held resentments and well-placed barbs made painful and stale over time; hatred was everywhere, so thick you could slice it up and eat it straight out of the air. The battle royale started like the most vengeful game of dominoes you’ve ever played: Pat sprayed his bear mace into Evan’s eyes, screaming almost unintelligibly about last year’s Fred Jackson trade, and Evan — even blind — wrapped his chain around Pat’s neck, yanked him to the ground, and pounced atop his rival with all the rage of all the years.
- C.D. Carter
Find CDCarter’s other works on Amazon: C.D. Carter
Coach smiled as he and his team walked into the locker room, down 20-0 at halftime. While it was true they’d had their chances to score and failed to capitalize, the Coach was happy. He had the other team right where he wanted them…
#Seahawks LOL
“Imbroglio?” he asked Dirk as he iced the beers for the coming party of fantasy football drafters. “Indeed,” Dirk said, pocketing the razor sharp bottle opener, “an extremely confused and complicated situation — you know, a total and complete cluster eff.” Dirk walked to the silverware drawer, removed a steak knife and carefully placed it in his other pocket.
- C.D. Carter
Find CDCarter’s other works on Amazon: C.D. Carter
The steel was much colder than he thought it would be — almost bitingly frigid against the flesh of his neck. “Override the league settings and drop McFadden to waivers,” said Tina, the fantasy owner who had missed out on the Oakland runner by precisely one pick during the previous week’s draft. “Give me DMC, or give me…” he trailed off because he felt the pinch of the blade as it slid into his neck, severing veins that puked blood onto the laptop below, and he had not one regret.
- C.D. Carter
Find CDCarter’s other works on Amazon: C.D. Carter
The football’s laces spun, tight and true, a dozen revolutions per second, toward its target moving step for step with his defender, who grabbed and scratched clawed while the contest’s final seconds ticked away. Hands went up, the ball came down, fans stood up, the quarterback fell down, and a hundred thousand fantasy fiends left their bodies as they lost or won or tied when the ball finally stopped its spinning.
- C.D. Carter
Find CDCarter’s other works on Amazon: C.D. Carter
Weeks of asking, of pleading and negotiating, had finally paid off — Cecil was coming over to watch the four o’clock games. Randy buzzed with anticipation because he knew that by five minutes after four, he’d be watching the Skins’ game next to the still-warm corpse of one Cecil D. Hargrove, who had so rudely denied his fantasy trade three days earlier.
Find CDCarter’s other works on Amazon: C.D. Carter
God Made a Farmer
John got up every morning at 5 am, worked his fields, tended to his animals, studied his craft at night; every night he was exhausted. One day a politician came to town, extolling the virtues of farmers and farming, saying how important they were to the world - and ended it by saying, “God created farmers.” John left in a huff saying, “If God made farmers WHY DID HE MAKE IT SO GODDAMN DIFFICULT?!”
Inspired by the Paul Harvey reading and the Dodge Ram commercial shown above.
This was the moment they’d all been waiting for as the all female Half Time show came to a close, Emily fingered the red glowing trigger. Pressing the button the lights in the stadium flickered and cut out; women all around the dome and around the nation sprung into action. The drunken men in the Superdome and all over the nation were caught totally unprepared as the women struck with terrible violence, like modern versions of the Furies of Greece. To be continued……..
Inspired by a friend and the tweet below….
I beat @cdcarter13 & @planeis in the Super Bowl pool. Be afraid. #revolution #fantasyfootballwivesandbabies
— Melissa Ganginis (@M_Ganginis) February 4, 2013
?
The reporter stood at the back of the press room, listening to the outrageous questions that each credentialed member of the media ask, hoping to grab the headlines for the day. Just as he was about to wrap up his day, with recorder in hand and notebook tucked under his arm, he grabs everyone’s attention as he asks, “So…Ray…is it true that you are retiring to spend more time with your Samoan lover, Manti?”
- Steve
He commands the room with his desire to keep the press sitting on their chairs, like mushrooms, being kept in the dark. They all hate it but they wait on every word; every week, looking for that glimpse that maybe something will slip out that they can use in a story. Once again, they leave, after 30 agonizing minutes wondering why the master of exposing nothing, Bill Belichick, has sucked them in, once again.
- Steve
Follow this guest artist on Twitter at @Redsoxnation88
