Greetings, electronic habitués of the great League.
It seems so often the thrills and blows of our weekly drama rise to a higher plane than a meager journalistic effort can account. It’s easy to lose track of our digital personae. But as we head into the final two rounds of seasonal play, let’s assess where the chips may lay.
You wanted competitive parity? We gave you competitive parity. Not one team has clinched a playoff spot as of this last week of October. Our highly skilled analysts have determined that not only are six teams in the running for a playoff spot, but they are also all in the running for 1st place. Additionally, a five way tie for 1st place is a possibility.
Leading off at the top of the charts, the retooled Fall ’19 Pelicans demonstrate a consistently deadly line-up backed up by big arm pitching and the most excellent outfield defense; add to it the veteran management of old man Fitzgibbon and… no surprises here, folks. Nice guys, those Pelicans, I wish ’em well.
Tied for second place, with a two-game losing streak that has no promise of ending this coming Sunday, we must accept the burden of asking the troubling questions that now present themselves. Has the internalized mythology of a once brutal and undefeated regime bred the inevitable sense of complacency and sloth? Have we seen in Parleaux the first signs of interior decay that all great empires must one day endure? Has the green machine wandered out with full confidence into the heart of Darkness, only to discover the pit of emptiness that is their own corrupted existence? Mad men slithering back to the capital steps, demanding wrathful vengeance for their very own crimes? Stay tuned!
And the Rougarou are looking good as all hell this year. Despite their best blundering efforts, they still find themselves inches from the crown. Your commissioner may have declared privately that this is the team to beat in 2019.
What else can be said about the eternal clusterfuck of love-hate continually exchanged between the Fifth Ward Weebies and their bedeviled foes in yellow? Except for the acknowledgement of a dark horse franchise willing to cast both of them back into the shadows of postseason irrelevance. Will the late season return of one Gabriel Goldstein serve as the keystone wedge in the neglected, ancient masonry of the Crete Street Riot? Shall old blades be remade new, and the crownless once again be made king?
All love and respect due to our young baby Blues holding it down in the cellar. I’ve heard that’s where the beer is coldest.