TMFB WEEK 5

Vol 8. No. 4

Home.

Merriam Webster defines home as the place (such as a house or apartment) where a person lives,  a family living together in one building, house, etc. or a place where something normally or naturally lives or is located. My sweet Merriam….you don’t know shit! I do not consider home to be my palatial 4 X 4 broom closet just a few feet away from Kebron’s master suite. 

No sir. Since the beginning of the season, I’ve found my true home at the mouth of the Miami River. Five of six Saturday’s I’ve pulled up via Uber, chauffeur, or Metromover to Batch Gastropub knowing exactly what to expect. Forever five minutes late, I enter and hand my coat to Gator Club of Miami VP Joaquin Insoportable. Silly Joaquin, don’t you know you a footnote to the three? I’ll catch you on my way out at half Joaq. My fedora I hang at the key rack. It’s good to be back. As I nestle my way to the forever neglected back bar, which is always one weekend away from Jon Taffer showing up post stakeout to find a footlong Darryl induced mojon in a toasted hoagie bun hidden behind it thus explaining the lack of sales and foot traffic, I’m always stopped. You see, the three has a lot of friends at Batch, while having no friends. A revolving door of D-List Miami Gator celebs kept only in our good graces by the orange and blue and Richie’s incessant networking. The Gator game is window dressing. We are just trying to make it to half time.

A short walk leads to once again, home. 

 They say the Appalachian Trail is a must do for the outdoor enthusiast. They say el Camino de Santiago de Compostela will change your life. They say to walk the great Wall of China, your chii will be forever raised. They don’t know shit. This is the walk the three was meant to be and if you don’t know….well….you are TRULY despelusao like an old man’s ball sack that got trapped in a weed wacker. A walk back to Batch and nothing was the same. The place I once called home is under new ownership called Baetch. What a time to be alive. I slap Joaquin across his fat gut and say conio you look like an orange albondiga! Two hours later, the Gators have won. They always do at home. And I’m homeward bound again. In the distance I hear it, faintly, but it may as well be coming from a Marty McFly sized subwoofer…………..(MIAMI ME LO CONFIRMO!!!!!!!!!!!).....my pace quickens…..

Home. Tuca. One by one, we are introduced to the strange yet familiar faces. They want to get to know us…They want to know our name….and on and on we go and off we go, before hopping in an Uber to different places, none of which…are home.

 

ONTO THE GOODS

3 UP

The Den- To be the man, you’ve got to beat the man, so top billing goes to Javers for channeling his inner Sean Connery and treating me like Womack. That piece of shit Womack. Jav received tasty returns and scored some true last minute bullshit by Dalton and Forte to turn our stinker into a run away. Charles is toast so good luck with that, but alas, you always find respite at home, where the movie theater like screen will always be to keep the porno in 4K.

Don Pan- An easy number two as the league’s new number one. Infinite bonus points for putting your back into the plunger like kendall colonnade plumber (RIP) and uncorking the Machu turd known as Dfern right back at your fache at 90 mph. Finally, those bi-weekly fireside chats with Dfern are paying dividends. Devonta Freeman’s tear coupled with Brady’s revenge warpath has powered this team on. Now, it’s all about nibbling on those croquetas champ…at home.

Beard Papa – The only thing you could have done better this week is dressed like the new colonel sanders at #KPBrays. Oh my god #KPBrays. Knock me out with black dildo over a bowl of country gravy like homie the clown before I have to see this shitty southern hashtag one more time. There’s only three guys who can pull off the white jacket on the altar 1.) James Bond (Pierce Brosnan version) 2.) Pierce Brosnan  and 3.) Dfern (Pierce Brosnan Facebook avi version). Ah, you’re team. The Eli Odel double up ate and Eifert stopped his goose eggs to deliver a tasty 25 burger. Looking up at those Carolina skies….you are home. (Looks left to see Basanuevs and Prince fucking in a willow tree)…home…

3 DOWN

The Bank – It was going to take a modern miracle to unseat Dfern from this perch pre Medellin, and alas, for one week, it happened. Sunday afternoon’s embodiment of Under Armour sought to protect his house by publicly making Ruben’s ass redder than Andres’ hot dog head after an afternoon in the Tuscaloosa sun. Never has one man's fall season joy cooked another man's so richly. Trick Daddy's crock pots couldn't handle this hot a spanking as Rubz was reduced to rubble for having fun. Much like doppleganger Anthony Weiner, all it took was a single text message to start Smitty’s CYA fueled warpath.

Pictured: Raul holding Ruben's severed Ruben Jr. in a Pepperidge Farm bun

Gunned down in the mayhem for celebrating home and happiness? Yours truly. A bystander sharing his opinion of the celebration of life and warmth, commanded to GTFO and STFU unless I wanted a taste too. A lesson learned. Eat, feast, be merry…but run for the hills if those cell phone towers in the grove receive one SMS text mid-Ikea build. Long shall the words ring in the ears of the two, as the heater screeches to winter halt…

Sucka Free – This feels much better. With 10/23 around the corner, you are approaching the end of your time served in La Catedral South Beach. Still firmly rooted at the base of the Machu totem pole, brighter days lie ahead. May your time served through Medellin fester like the combined 17 points total you’ve seen out from your TE position through five weeks. Hory Mory. Find someone with a tight end greet them at the end of the McArthur Causeway in your WHAT ARE THOOOOOOSE raw toe inducing thong sandals with a gift basket to bury the hatchet and make a season saving TE trade!

Blooching – Oh this chaps my ass real naice. Not your forever 11^th place standings, but rather, your silent bob treatment. Do you even read the MMFB? Do you know the last text you sent me a week ago was to ask about the chemistry in the Marlins club house? Speak to me. Blink once if yes. Fart twice if no. Perhaps a Duke Johnson start this week will raise some chatter out of you. The Dinero I knew and loved would have already offered 500 words on Will Grier and Treon Harris.

THE VACATION DAZE ALL-STARS: For those who balled out and deserve that vacation, but are simply just tapped out on remaining time off thus putting them in a pinch for the next fast approaching Gator road trip.

I'm goin to College Park where it's dark
See if I can get me up some hard

Dougie Martin

Devonta Freeman

Blake Bortles

Justin Forsett

Josh McCown

CMON MON, UNDER THE METRO MOVER HOME VERSION

Hankerson – Haven’t seen a Hankie more debaratao on a Sunday than the hankie I used to blow my nose Sunday morning. 1.8 CMON MON!

Owen Daniels -- 00000000000000000000000000WEN! GOOSE EGG! CMON MON!

Percival Harvin – Have mercy. We got a full fledged NEGATIVO! CMON MON!

CJ Spiller – A PPR suckdown delight! 1.7 CMON MON!

Who I like on Monday night, and I mean, ah, perhaps my favorite Monday Morning Fullback segment, the Monday Night Chief picks.

Nothing to share, except a deep appreciation for home. Stay tuned next week as I share tales of my very Dirty New Orleans adventure, along with detailed correspondent reports from a quiet Saturday night in Weston for the Gators.

Till next week!

KC Chiefs