Every great society, every honorable league, every brotherhood of fantasy warriors has at its core an unspoken code — a sacred covenant built on fairness, respect, and the mutual understanding that we’re all here to compete, not con each other. For decades (or what feels like it), the Retard Rule stood as the invisible shield protecting this fragile ecosystem. It was never written, but it was felt — a pulse beneath the league’s beating heart. You didn’t fleece your friends. You didn’t exploit the clueless. And above all, you didn’t make a trade so lopsided it caused grown men to question their life choices.

That code died this week.

Its murderer? Paulie.
Its accomplice? Brian.
Its enabler? The Commissioner, now widely known as “Larry Krasner, Fantasy Edition.”

Yes, the very man tasked with upholding justice in our fantasy realm — the one sworn to protect the innocent from fantasy felonies — decided to take the week off. While the rest of us watched in horror, Paulie walked into the trade office like Bernie Madoff with a clipboard, sold Brian a handful of magic beans, and walked out with the keys to the kingdom.

The details of the trade itself remain so grotesque that several owners have refused to discuss them publicly, citing emotional trauma. But let’s just say that if fairness were a scale, this deal tipped so violently that the league’s moral equilibrium collapsed. It wasn’t a trade — it was a heist, and our commissioner waved it through like a TSA agent getting paid off with pussy and blow.

Outrage erupted across the league. A panel of concerned owners immediately convened an emergency inquest to determine two critical questions:

1. How did Paulie pull this off?
2. Was Brian intoxicated, hypnotized, or simply overcome by pheromones during negotiations?

Paulie, of course, played dumb. He shrugged, smiled, and claimed innocence. But then came ECG — our league’s resident detective, philosopher, and occasional mad scientist. With the calm precision of Sherlock Holmes and the blunt honesty of a man who’s seen too much, ECG offered his theory.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “Brian’s not drunk. He’s in love.”

You could hear the air leave the room.

According to ECG’s powerful deductive reasoning, Brian’s judgment wasn’t clouded by alcohol, but by desire. Week after week, day after day, Brian had been forced to endure the sight of Paulie strutting around in those tight Docker’s— the kind that leave little to the imagination and even less to logic. Somewhere between admiration and obsession, Brian lost his fantasy compass. He didn’t just give Paulie a trade; he gifted him his season — all for the unspoken promise that at the next manager’s meeting, Paulie would model his Jordache jeans from the 80’s.

It’s tragic. It’s poetic. It’s disgusting.
And it’s the death of the Retard Rule.

As the dust settles, we are left to pick up the pieces of a shattered moral order. The league once governed by balance and reason now lies in ruins — a lawless wasteland where greed, vanity, and denim reign supreme. The Commissioner’s silence speaks volumes; justice has left the building. What remains is a cautionary tale — one that will be whispered for years to come whenever a manager utters the cursed phrase: “It’s just a trade.”

May the Retard Rule rest in peace. You deserved better.

Week 8 Scoreboard Analysis

After the scandal, fantasy life went on — though the emotional damage lingered. Week 8 brought a mix of redemption, revenge, and regret across the VFFL landscape.

One Man Wolf Pack (78.40) def. Keydets (50.50)
Junior continues to roll.  I guess getting advice from an Ouija board is working for Mikey this year.  Coach’s team fell like tits on a chimp, maybe hungover from the moral collapse of the league. The Keydets posted a meager 50.5 — barely enough to be considered an effort — while Mikey quietly stacked another win, now 10-6 and climbing toward elite status.

The Revenant (79.38) def. Big Dawg (56.16)
The Big Dawg’s bark was more of a whimper this week, falling flat in a matchup that looked like a mercy killing. Tommy evened up at 8-8 (not bad from the world’s largest single cell organism), while Rex stumbled to 11-5 — a reminder that even the big dogs need to show up.

Evil Chess Geek (128.70) def. Joe Buck Yourself (97.82)
ECG didn’t just win — he obliterated. In what can only be described as a revenge game against logic itself, ECG threw up 128.7 points, torching Kevin’s 97.82. Putting belt to ass to the grand Poohbah himself was very satisfying.  The detective strikes again, proving that even amid scandal, his chessboard mind sees all.

Sugar Islanders (90.18) def. Show Me Your TDs (84.12)
Camel Toe made it respectable but couldn’t overcome the sweet efficiency of the Islanders. Now 10-6, Beth is starting to look like a silent contender, while Brian continues its quest to prove that participation still counts for something (it doesn’t).

HOF Commish (91.68) def. The Ballerinas (82.22)
In an ironic twist, the same Commissioner who allowed the trade apocalypse somehow managed to win this week — because of course he did. The Boss fell gracefully, 82.22 to 91.68, as Gerry danced away from accountability and into .500 territory.

Luck Be A Lady Hawk (94.18) def. 3M TA3 (77.98)
Finally, Doll Face took care of business against Paulie, moving to 8-8. Even with his lopsided trade M/A was too much to handle.  The Lady got lucky — or maybe just competent — while Paulie continued to circle the drain at 5-11.

The league may never be the same. Trust is broken. Rules are gone. But the games go on — as they always do in the VFFL, where glory, shame, and Jordache jeans are all part of the show.

Until Next Week…

Where your opinion is Welcomed but not always listened to…

ECG