What a difference a year makes. Twelve months ago, Kevin was a mid-tier punchline—his roster built on hope, bad luck, and a hit on a crack pipe that never got returned. Today, he’s sitting on the mountaintop like Kendrick Lamar with an 11-1 record and an army of points, gazing down at the rest of us peasants still fighting for wild-card scraps. Meanwhile, Brian has fallen so hard that FEMA should declare it a disaster zone. Hey Camel Toe, let me know if you want me to contact the Japanese porn shoot and get you a real job sponging off the cocking party.

It’s the mid-year mark, the point where delusion dies and reality sets in. Every team’s identity is clear now: we know who’s chasing glory, who’s clinging to playoff hope, and who’s just here for the memes.

Let’s take a brutally honest tour through the wreckage and riches that define the 2025 VFFL season so far.

The Jensen Division: Where Winners Pretend to Work Hard

Big Dawg (9-3 | 992.60 PF | 899.00 PA)

Rex, our reigning outdoorsman of the year and Field & Stream’s Sexiest Man Alive 2025, continues to flex both his traps and his trade muscles. At 9-3, Big Dawg isn’t just leading—he’s coasting. His secret weapon? Competence. A simple, foreign concept to most of this league.

Big Dawg’s team isn’t flashy; it’s efficient—like a Toyota Camry with a protein shake addiction. He wins games the same way Congress passes spending bills: late, ugly, and full of things that shouldn’t have worked. Yet here we are. Rex’s only real problem is that his confidence is peaking dangerously close to delusional—he’s one win away from releasing a motivational e-book called “How to Dominate Life and Hunt.”

If there’s one criticism, it’s that his point totals look suspiciously human compared to the league leaders. But 9-3 is 9-3, and until someone knocks him off his perch, he’ll be walking around the halls of Virtua like he just landed on Paradise Island and he’s the only dick around.

Keydets (8-4 | 967.40 PF | 942.08 PA)

Coach’s management style is pure Washington D.C.: no principles, no transparency, just results. Bob is are now 3-0 in division, meaning they’re essentially Congress during a government shutdown—useless for everyone else, but impossible to remove from power.

If there is one flaw with the Keydets it’s that he spends money like a crack whore at the end of the month.  Coach’s free agent selections are equivalent to changing your shirt after you shit your pants…worthless.  Take for instance his acquisition of Keon Coleman.  Acquired him in week 2, didn’t play him once then released him week 6.  Seriously Coach, you should come with a warning label.

The Revenant (7-5 | 955.56 PF | 925.52 PA)

Tom has been cooking lately. After he bent the Geeks over the desk earlier this year in what’s now known as The Great Trade Heist, he’s climbed to a confident 8-4. His record screams “professional grinder”—not spectacular, not lucky, just consistently good enough to ruin someone else’s week.

Don’t get me wrong, Tom is still menstrual cramps on a Monday morning, (just ask Johnny Mo) but his team is like Door Dash delivering win after win and for that I have to give him credit. 

One Man Wolf Pack (7-5 | 1010.32 PF | 911.22 PA)

Junior’s Wolf Pack has quietly put together a strong year. His 1,010 points for lead the division, but his division record? 0-3. That’s right—he’s like the Philadelphia 76ers of fantasy: dominates everyone except the people he actually needs to beat.

This is the team that looks terrifying on paper but somehow keeps finding banana peels on the field. If he ever figures out how to win divisional games, the Wolf Pack could make noise. Until then, he’s the NFL’s version of the Dallas Cowboys: loud, talented, and destined for emotional collapse.

The Manley Division: The Land of the Kingpin and His Victims

Joe Buck Yourself (11-1 | 1074.16 PF | 898.32 PA)

Let’s get this out of the way: Kevin’s 11-1 record is obscene. It’s Wall Street-bonus-check-during-a-recession obscene. He’s dominating every metric and now struts around like Elon Musk after firing someone on Twitter.

This year has been extremely surprising from the Rookie.  Kev only has two brain cells racing in that fucking Frankenstein skull of his and they are both fighting for third place but you can’t argue with results.  Kevin’s success feels inevitable but infuriating. He’s the guy who hits every green light on the way to work while the rest of us sit through construction traffic. The scary part? He’s not even done. There’s still time for him to 13-1 this thing, give a TED Talk, and sell “Fantasy Efficiency” seminars for $29.99 a month.

If karma exists, it’s going to need to work overtime.

Sugar Islanders (8-4 | 965.80 PF | 936.26 PA)

Beth’s Sugar Islanders are hanging in at 8-4, but the residue of the Doll Face curse still lingers. Her wins have come ugly—missed starts, questionable flexes, and enough lineup panic to fill a reality show.  Sometimes it seems like she’s bringing a fart to a shit fight but she survived more close calls than a Secret Service agent, but the cracks are forming. Beth’s season feels like the political career of George Santos: looks fine on paper until you realize the details are all made up. Still, 8-4 is no joke. She’s cursed, chaotic, and somehow thriving.

Evil Chess Geek (7-5 | 964.40 PF | 938.10 PA)

Ah, the fallen intellect. The Geeks’ season started strong, built on logic, data, and calculated trades. Then came the “calculated” trade with Tom—the one that aged faster than a White House press secretary.

At 7-5, ECG is still alive, but the numbers scream “decline.” The points for and against are nearly identical, suggesting this team is as stable as the government of Venezuela. Every week feels like a coin toss, and lately, that coin’s been landing on “you idiot.”

If not for that fateful trade, ECG would likely be 8-4 and celebrating. Instead, they’re the cautionary tale whispered in every group chat: never trust Tom.

Show Me Your TDs (1-11 | 775.44 PF | 968.48 PA)

Let’s take a moment of silence for Brian.

This team’s collapse is biblical. One win. Eleven losses. 775 points scored, which is less “fantasy football” and more “fantasy famine.” Watching Show Me Your TDs play is like watching a Tesla self-drive into a lake—it’s painful, slow, and completely avoidable but not unexpected.

The league knew Brian would struggle, but nobody expected this. We all know Camel Toe couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel but he turned into the 2025 version of Rudy Giuliani’s legal team: all bluster, no results, and a faint smell of desperation. The only question left is whether he can avoid finishing with fewer wins than Beth has bench points.

The Swanson Division: The Island of Misfit Toys

3M TA3 (5-7 | 763.96 PF | 942.42 PA)

Paulie is having the kind of season that should come with an apology note. Their 763 total points are lower than some middle-school math scores. Every week is a new creative failure—missed starts, tragic injuries, and the kind of luck that makes you check for voodoo dolls.

Personally, I care less about Paulie than Stefon Diggs cares about Cardi B. I mean we’re asking him to set a roster but everyone knows he couldn’t organize a piss-party at a brewery.

At 5-7, Eat Me is technically alive but functionally comatose. Their division rivals are so weak, though, that they might sneak into the playoffs by default—like a D-student promoted just to get them out of the classroom.

HOF Commish (4-8 | 911.32 PF | 913.68 PA)

Gerry’s 4-8, which is somehow both bad and overachieving for him. He’s like the New York Jets—occasionally exciting, mostly frustrating, and one injury away from starting a punter at quarterback.

Still, the Commish deserves credit. After his miraculous win earlier this year, he’s kept fighting. The league thought he’d vanish after Week 2, but he’s still plugging away like an aging senator refusing to retire. Respectable? Sure. Playoff-bound? Not a chance.

ð' The Ballerinas (4-8 | 907.76 PF | 899.40 PA)

The Ballerinas have mastered the art of losing gracefully. Every defeat looks effortless. Their roster dances around mediocrity like it’s performance art.

To their credit, the numbers aren’t terrible—but like a virgin’s first time The Boss keeps missing the landing zone.  Think of them as the FTX of fantasy football: once promising, now just a cautionary tale for future investors.

Luck Be A Lady Hawk (4-8 | 880.84 PF | 995.10 PA)

Doll Face’s season has been defined by one thing: bad timing. Her 995 points against are the fantasy equivalent of being investigated by multiple agencies at once. Every week, her opponents explode for career highs, leaving her shaking her head like Hunter Biden during a subpoena.

At 4-8, it’s not that Doll Face is bad—it’s that everyone else saves their best game for her. If sympathy points counted, she’d be undefeated.

Mid-Year Summary: The Rich Get Richer, The Rest Get Roasted

We’ve reached the midpoint of the 2025 campaign, and the divide between the elite and the inept is Grand-Canyon-wide.

• Kevin (11-1) is on a power trip that would make Meta’s board blush.
• Rex (9-3) looks ready to model flannel on the cover of GQ Outdoors.
• Tom (8-4) is still counting the spoils from the Geek heist.
• Brian (1-11) is proof that fantasy football, like democracy, sometimes fails spectacularly.

Everyone else? You’re just living in their shadow, desperately trying to string together enough wins to pretend this is still competitive.

So raise your glasses, folks. Here’s to the halfway point of a league that’s more scandalous than Capitol Hill, more cursed than Beth’s phone, and somehow more entertaining than it has any right to be.

Until Next Week…

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ECG