Coach didn’t win this week.
He escaped, like a rat squeezing through a hole in the drywall while the exterminator is walking up the stairs.

Less than two basis points over the average?
That’s not a victory.
That’s a typo that somehow got approved by the fantasy gods while they were taking a smoke break.

If Coach were a Confederate General, he wouldn’t just slow Grant at Atlanta —
he’d have stopped him cold, not because he was brilliant, but because Grant would have slipped on a banana peel and accidentally surrendered.

Coach is the kind of guy who’d drop his phone in the toilet, pull it out, and it somehow works better.
The kind of guy who could spill beer on his laptop and it would fix the battery.
The kind of guy who drafts like a drunk toddler and still wakes up 7–4.

The universe should be ashamed of itself.

Doll Face: The League’s Inflated Birthday Balloon of Hype

Let’s get something straight:
Doll Face putting up a couple high scores and suddenly the league acts like she’s the second coming of Lombardi is absolutely pathetic.

Are you people serious?
Are your standards THAT low?

She strings together a few good weeks — probably by accident — and suddenly she’s the league darling, the media sweetheart, the one everyone wants to praise, pamper, and place on a throne.

Oh, she scored 130. Oh, she looks competitive. Oh, what an owner.

Shut the fuck up.

This league has seen more false prophets than a Facebook investment group.
Doll Face is just the next fad — all flash, no substance, a sparkler trying to pass itself off as a nuclear bomb.

And then The Boss waddles in, talking about putting her in the Hall of Fame.
The Hall.
Of.
Fame.

For doing what?
For existing?
For showing up?
For managing not to fall face-first onto the waiver wire?

She hasn’t done a damn thing.
Not one trophy.
Not one legendary championship run.
Not one season that deserves anything more than a polite “good try.”

Who the fuck does she think she is — Dan Marino?
A career of warm-up runs and friendly pats on the back?

Put your name on the trophy.
Twice.
Three times.
Hell, once would be a start.

Until then, she’s league noise.
Static.
Background filler.

If the league insists on kneeling in front of someone’s crotch — and clearly it loves kneeling — at least kneel for someone who earned it.

Gerry: The Only Owner Worth Worshipping

If you want to praise someone, praise Gerry.
If you want to get on your figurative knees and start a devotional ceremony, at least pick the guy who actually deserves it.

Six championships.
Ten straight years in the playoffs.

If the VHFFL had a Mount Rushmore, Gerry’s face would be on it four times — one for each era of dominance.
And the rest of you would be scraping moss off the mountain just hoping someone noticed you were there.

This year?
His auction QB goes down.
His auction WR goes down.
Any other owner? Season over. Funeral arrangements made.

But Gerry?
Gerry reloads like he keeps spare Pro Bowlers in his basement freezer.

He doesn’t whine.
He doesn’t panic.
He doesn’t start blaming global warming, solar flares, or retrograde Mercury.

He adapts.
He rebuilds.
He comes back stronger.

Meanwhile Doll Face is over here praying for favorable matchups like a kid shaking a Magic 8 Ball.

Gerry will make the playoffs because that’s what Gerry does.
Doll Face will need the fantasy equivalent of the jaws of life to even sniff a wildcard slot.

If the league wants to suck anyone off — and clearly, half of you act like that’s your offseason conditioning program — then start with Gerry, because he’s the only one earning anything around here.

Kevin: The GM of the Year You All Pretend Doesn’t Exist

Now let’s talk about Kevin.
The man who has the inside track to GM of the Year, not because you like him, but because he actually knows what he’s doing — which already separates him from 90% of this clown parade.

Kevin has built a monster this season.
But does the league give him credit?
Of course not.

Kevin is about as welcomed as Hanukkah in Mecca, but while the rest of you draft like blind raccoons rummaging through a dumpster, Kevin actually makes calculated decisions.

He out-drafts you.
He out-manages you.
He out-thinks you.

And yet the league treats him like he wandered into the wrong meeting and no one wants to be the one to tell him.

Doll Face gets applause for cracking 120?
Kevin gets silence for building a team that could annex a small country?

Pathetic.

That’s what happens when you let liberal transgender non-binary douche bags in the league. 

The Boss and the Hall-of-Fame Nonsense

Let’s go back to The Boss for a moment — the man whose judgment swings wider than a subway rat dragging a slice of pizza.

This is the same guy who wants to put Doll Face in the Hall of Fame.
THE HALL. OF. FAME.

What’s next?
Naming a stadium after her?
Retiring her number?
Pouring champagne on her feet like she’s some kind of fantasy-football Cleopatra?

The Boss must be watching a different league than the rest of us.
Because in this league?
Doll Face is barely holding onto relevance like a meet and greet with Alicia Silverstone at the local Y.

Meanwhile, Coach is Still Getting Away with Murder

While the rest of you bicker about Doll Face’s imaginary greatness, Coach is out here committing grand larceny on the scoreboard.

Less than two basis points.
You can’t even measure that margin without a microscope and a lab technician.

This is a man who wins games like he pays referees under the table.
He doesn’t pull out wins — the league just forgets to close the door.

If this season keeps going like this, Coach is going to wander into the playoffs like a drunk stumbling into the wrong wedding reception.

And because this league is cursed, he’ll probably win the whole thing.

The VHFFL: A Beautiful, Broken Dumpster Fire

This league is an annual case study in dysfunction, and this week was no different.

Coach wins by a margin so small it might not legally exist.
Doll Face gets hailed as royalty for doing absolutely nothing of consequence.
The Boss tries to put her in the Hall of Fame for participation.
Gerry continues being a cyborg built for fantasy dominance.
Kevin quietly dominates while being treated like a misplaced Amazon package.

It’s chaos.
It’s nonsense.
It’s stupidity wrapped in arrogance dipped in incompetence.

And that’s why it’s perfect.

Final Message to the League

You want praise?
Earn it.
You want recognition?
Win something.
You want respect?
Stop embarrassing yourselves on a weekly basis.

Because right now?
This league is full of:

• pretenders,
• hype machines,
• accidental winners,
• and owners who couldn’t coach their way out of a paper bag soaked in rainwater.

Until Next Week…

Where your opinion is welcomed but not always listened to…

 

ECG