HEATER! I can understand it when a man is bitter in defeat.
I can overlook it when a man picks Campo as his number 7 pick to beat Napa.
And I can accept it when a man is besides himself as he stands by and watches up and comers, like UnknowntoMankind (169) and bulldogmgc (169) and PGownsWHITNEY (171) and farmfair3 (174) sneeking up on one's seemingly uncatchable lead (187).
But to torment a poor, simple dyslexic man like me, to ridicule a guy who is coma-prone, to make fun of a dude who has an enlarged prostate, to pick-on a fellow pickster whose wife forced him to live in Taos NM (the land of unenchanted hsfootball) for the past ten years until moving back to NorCal, to nasty-nail a veteran who was wounded while serving his country (you shoulda seen the other guy after I retaliated and hit him over the head with a metal beer stein during an Octoberfest in Heidelberg!), to belittle a fella who accidently typo'd GRANada Hllls instead of GRANite Bey, and to begrudge him his measely 7-points (thank Heaven for gamemasters like Streak One who is blessed with a sense of fairplay, hey, maybe you could convince Streaker that you mistakenly typo'd "Campo" which was the label on the bottle of cheap "Napa" wine you were chugging when you make that 7-point blunder) and, finally, for you to diss on a common joe who is 150 points behind you, and it would be, like, a 1,000,000-to-1 odds against him ever catching up to beat you, well, it seems you're being, uh, rather, um, insensitive.
Anyway, congratulations for still being on top of the heap (is it true, that the algorythmic hsfootball game super picking machine you found in that box of Crackjacks is a working miniature version of the Enigma Machine which cracked the German codes during WWII? Jee, my algorythmic picking machine looks more like an old Casio pocket calculator. Sigh. Mudsy
