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​Fat Nixon Concession Speech

If, Tuesday night, he does collect the proper cut-arse he’s booked for himself, I’ve written this concession speech for Donald Trump, true to his style and character.

I WON THE election. Nobody has ever won more elections by more votes as I won the election tonight. I won so bigly, many people are saying I should win the 2024 and the 2028 elections tonight, too. And the election that comes after that, too, in 2028-30-6. Eight More Years! Twelve More Years! Some More Years After That! The White House is now Trump Towers West.
I’m not giving any interviews to Fox News anymore for being so easily fooled into thinking I’d lost by the Fake News Media and the election results. They shoulda just gone on pretending I won in Florida. I never was a fan of Sean Hannity. His girlfriend is ugly, but his wife is a fat pig, so I guess he’s doing better there, you know, the little tiny fish. You NEVER say you lost, ESPECIALLY when you lose. You smash your birthday cake if you’re ten or smash the Constitution if you’re 74.
So nobody else can get any!
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The Trump Transfer Mentality

After a game-week five haul of 115 points, my luck and my performance started seeking their own levels/reverting to type last week. Sill, my 61 points from GW6 for

BC FC, my Fantasy Premier League team, were my second-highest for the season, and almost twice my GW3 nadir of 29 — made much worse to bear because I’d played my wildcard!

Still, as I reminded myself, with a chunk of luck and the smallest particle of fantasy management skill, I should hold on to the number four spot in my family & friends mini-league and the number five position in the neighbourhood league. And, at least, at last, I was off the bottom rung of both ladders.

All I had to do this week was to pick my goalie to remind myself that I don’t have the smallest particle of fantasy management skills.

Two weeks ago, I sold Nick Pope and bought Emiliano Martinez. My luck held last week, in the sense that Pope returned only two points compared with Martinez’ big three — but even that luck slipped its hold, because Alex McCarthy sat on my bench with six points!

But it took picking this week’s team to show me that, by bringing in Martinez the week before, I now have two goalies who are playing one another this week! The stats and Martinez’ form tells me to play him — but how well can a man interpret stats and form when he can’t see two fixtures down the line to see he should have transferred in someone other than Martinez? Even holding on to Pope would have worked out better, because this Chelsea fan stubbornly refuses to pick fantasy players who are playing my team in reality.

Anyway, I’ve gone with the old Emiliano and consoled myself with the thought that, at least I don’t have Danny Ings, Che Adams or James Ward-Prowse in my squad.

It won’t be much consolation, though, if Kyle Walker-Peters, on my bench, keeps a clean sheet and Villa lose to a Walker-Peters hat trick.

With Lucas Digne collecting a most unlucky red card, and relying on my fantasy manager aptitude — which is like Peter Dinklage, Tyrion Lannister of Game of Thrones, saying, “Relying on my basketball aptitude” — I looked down the fixtures list, and after agonising over Leeds, decided I should choose an Aston Villa defender. After agonising over Tyrone Mings (30 points, 5.2m) and Matthew Cash (19 points, 5m), I settled on Ezri Konsa (29 points, 4.7m).

Of course, I’d have done better by agonising over the immediate upcoming fixtures, to which I paid, this week, the same amount of attention as I did when I brought in Martinez to play against my other keeper.

Truth is, or seems to be, that I have a Donald Trump or Boris Johnson mentality when it comes to fantasy football transfers: I can’t see past the next few minutes, far less two weeks down the fixture list.

So now my bench, with the Villa keeper and their star defender on it, has double the incentive to outpoint the players I’ve picked this week.

Still, as I say, the stats and the form of the players are on my side, on paper.

But, of course, football is played on grass.

Anyway, we’ll see, as Trump likes to say when asked if he can rule out shooting Joe Biden in Times Square.

With both Son & Kane firing on all cylinders, and Werner & Havertz looking good in Europe earlier this week, maybe things might be all right.

And it’s probably a better use of such luck as I have to cross my fingers, just for this week, for Joe Biden & Kamala Harris.

My next advice column/eulogy to BC FC will appear before the GW8 deadline.

​Pitch Lake, Oil Lake

IF YOU WANT a visual illustration of the Trinidadian term, “monkey pants”, meaning a really bad situation, drive up to Fort George and have a look at the Gulf of Paria, which may very soon become the Gulf of Petroleum.

You may not see your monkey pants clearly now, but you will feel its effects soon enough.
The biggest uncertainty relating to the FSO Nabarima, a rusty Venezuelan oil tanker moored within Venezuelan waters in the Gulf of Paria, is whether it will sink or simply break apart.
The most assured certainty is that, unless a very great deal is done to prevent it, the Nabarima will very shortly spill1.3 million barrels of thick crude oil – five times more than the Exxon Valdez, an environmental disaster we’ve still not fully recovered from 31 years after it happened – into the Gulf.
It’ll look like something out of a Hollywood post-Apocalypse blockbuster – but it will be us who gets our block busted first and most thoroughly, and our apos properly calypsed.
Go buy some oysters fast-fast-fast, because nobody alive today, or any of their grandchildren, will be eating Caroni Swamp oysters again.
Is real oys-tears.

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The Stress of Success


An advice column for the bottom seven million Fantasy Premier League managers

By BC Pires

Game-Week Six — The Stress of Success

The last time something like this happened was when Sir Don Bradman, still the most prolific scorer in cricket, was out for duck in his last innings, prompting the line, “Well, what do you say in those circumstances?”

BC FC, my Fantasy Premier League team, after returning scores of 45, 40, 29 and 52 in game-weeks one-to-four, turned in 115 points in GW5.

115! The highest score in all of FPL-dom was 136! The very best fantasy manager in the world managed 21 points more than me!

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​Hiroshima, Heroes He Mow

IT HAPPENS every time my neighbour’s riding lawnmower breaks down: the mini-savannah across the road, three empty, unfenced half-acre plots, which my neighbour normally keeps clean cut, bursts into a small jungle.

This week, the razor grass was taller than me and the crabgrass varied between knee- and neck-high.
And so in I went, on Wednesday, as I always do, to begin the taming of that jungle with my regular common or garden lawnmower.
You have to tilt the mower up on its back wheels, as if you’re popping a mower wheelie, for the first pass. A second pass of the mower, still on its own hind legs, gets the grass below the knee. Only the third pass feels remotely like mowing a lawn, rather than competing in a gruelling Survivor Samoa challenge.
Complete with eating live insects.
Grasshoppers fly out of the grass as you cut it, into your face, eyes, nose, mouth.
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