QB – Peyton Manning

RB – Marion Barber

RB – Edgerrin James

RB – Ricky Williams

WR – Marques Colston

WR – Laveraneus Coles

TE – Antonio Gates

D – Patriots

K – Shayne Graham

And on the bench…

WR – Santana Moss

WR – Patrick Crayton

RB – Chester Taylor

TE – Ben Watson

QB – JaMarcus Russell

Yeah, I’ve got some work to do on the waiver wire. Every player I counted on falling to me at 11 and 14 early on went early. Marion Barber as my top pick? Ouch. Put it this way, if I make the playoffs, I’ll eat my shirt. Seriously.

You bet.

Hypothetically speaking, as a matter of decency, if you’re going to tell someone you don’t want to see them anymore, you probably shouldn’t pick one of the most expensive restaurants in town to do so. Seems like a reasonable, common sense, decency thing, doesn’t it? Of course, we’re talking in hypotheticals here.

More specifically, you really shouldn’t insist on going to a fondue restaurant where the bill will come to $118.43 to have those conversations. Hypothetically speaking, of course. You shouldn’t talk for days between dates three and four about how much you love fondue and how you can’t wait for your date to try it. Again, hypothetically speaking. Because obviously no one would actually talk a guy into taking them to The Melting Pot, eat the bigger portion of a giant pot of melted cheese, drink several glasses of wine, and only after the check is paid — then and only then — tell the other person that you like them, but you feel it would be best if you both saw other people.

That would be the most incredibly rude, insincere, disgusting thing you’ve heard all week, wouldn’t it? Hell, maybe all month, I don’t know. Good thing we’re talking about a hypothetical scenario here and not a real story. Whew! That was close. I bet you almost hypothetically got really angry just by reading about it. But again, we’re talking about a hypothetical scenario, so don’t get all worked up in a lather.

Oh, wait.

Damn. That actually happened?

Unless I bought something else that cost $118.43 on Tuesday night, it must have. And according to my bank account, which shows a transaction for exactly that amount charged by exactly that establishment…well, unless I ate an entire pot of fondue and blacked out from excessive dairy consumption and the subsequent dairy coma caused me to dream up fantasy events to replace what actually happened…

Yeah, it happened. Not the excessive dairy blackout food coma thing. The events which will now be known as The Fondue Breakup. Wow.

Here’s the thing: that level of coldness is so hardcore, I find myself struggling for the energy to be furious. Its almost funny in a way. Black comedy is still comedy.

You bet.

Like I discovered with fishing a couple of weeks ago, golfing is more about drinking and not doing actual work than it is about, um, golfing. And if there’s one thing I can do as well as anyone, its drink and have a good time.

The Def Leppard Experience can be summed up through four people.

One: Random Binocular Guy. This guy, who was about 45 years old and wearing a ball cap, had a pair of binoculars hanging from his neck. I’ve been to a LOT of shows, and I’ve never seen someone bring a pair of binoculars. I mean, even at sporting events the use of binoculars has waned in recent years, but at a rock concert? How in the world can you call yourself adequately prepared to rock with a pair of binoculars around your neck? RBG had an attractive female half his age next to him, and we spent a good portion of the lame ballad section of the show trying to determine whether he actually knew her or just happened to be sitting next to her. My money was on her being his daughter, but who knows?

Two: Extra from a 1970′s Mob Movie. Sitting right behind us was a guy in a grey tailored suit, white shirt, and narrow red tie. Throw in a matching grey fedora and Secret Service sunglasses. Now imagine this guy singing along to every song. Every word, each one as stoically sung as the one proceeding it. This guy was actually a little frightening.

Three: The guy who took Joe Elliott’s invitation to “Be a member of the band” a little too literally. Sitting across the aisle from us, he had not one, not two but three lovelies with him. He danced wildly to all of the rock songs, and during “Armegeddon It” he unbuttoned his shirt revealing his bare chest to the ladies. Then during “Pour Some Sugar on Me” he took his shirt off and began twirling it over his head. It should be noted that this was the last moment I dared glance in that direction for the remainder of the show.

Four: Chick in Union Jack sleeveless shirt. A few rows in front of us were a group of ladies, several of which were dressed in Def Leppard attire. You know how I feel about wearing the shirt of the band you’re seeing to the show — I abhor it like the plague — but they were ladies and well, I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Until I came to my senses, of course. Ahem.