Tony Reali mutes loud-mouthed sportswriters daily on Around The Horn, 5 p.m., ESPN. He corrects loud-mouthed sportswriters nightly on Pardon the Interruption. He files tenderly typed tweets hourly at twitter.com/aroundthehorn.
Reali-ty of Fantasy
Ricky Williams - no brainer of the week. The one backup you know is ready for his close-up. Running on the Panthers is like running on a treadmill. Start Ricky like it's 2001.
Reali-ty of Fantasy
Something you might not know about me: I like stats.
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All right, I'll say it. The trailer for the movie Avatar looks like the biggest, stinking pile of celluloidal yak I've ever seen in my life. Blue people riding on the backs of dragons? Not unless I just inhaled a vat of Wite-Out. (And there goes my shot at appearing in Goodfellas II, if James Cameron is director.) There's only one blue man I want to see in a feature film and that's Tobias Fünke.
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Week 8 and the fantasy is half over. Was it half-good for you? Time for the one-time-only Reali-ty of Fantasy Midseason Awards. Just like all other midseason awards only with more Saved by the Bell references. Ready, Zack Attack? Good. I'm so excited. I'm so excited. I'm so scared.
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This is the true story of 12 tweets picked to appear in a column to find out what happens when 140 characters stop being polite and start getting real. Or something like that. The Reali-ty of Fantasy World. All were sent to twitter.com/aroundthehorn. And they're real, fantasy face.
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Tragedy plus time equals comedy. The Greeks had that one from jump street. And now, after 2,500 years, we can finally add to the equation. Tragedy plus dropped TD, divided by negative defense, times a reversed ruling on the goal line that takes points away from you and gift-wraps them to your opponent, equals Emmy for best new ROLL/LMAO/Ha to Ha.
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Welcome to Week 5. The official start of hunting season. Hunter? You. (And Jared Allen, evidently.) Hunted? The unsuspecting mooks in your league. Weapon of choice? The Trade. (But bring Contra Spray Gun for backup.) Urine to mask the scent? I'm thinking something from the Marion Butts collection.
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Three weeks is nothing. I waited six for my Chia Pet to grow. (It didn't. I forgot to add water.) But in this fakety-fake fantasy of ours - where time is set to ludicrous speed - three weeks is everything. We're in Week 4 now, and that's the quarter pole. Welcome to your mid-mid-phony-life crisis. You've got a potbelly, drive a Vespa, make funny noises when you get up from playing Killzone: Liberation, and you're 1-2.
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A lot's happened since last we spoke (including us not actually speaking): Sarah Silverman grew a mustache. Mad Men gave us the best TV scene ever involving a John Deere. And your fantasy team gagged out of the gate.
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Once great is not good enough
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You had your draft. You've named your team. Now Clubber Lang has the prediction: Pain.
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