Week 3, Thursday night
In 1912 Robert Scott dragged his own sledges to the South Pole and most of the way back, his party starving and freezing a little more with every mile. In late March he and his last two men lay down in their tent and died, eleven miles from One Ton Depot, where the food and fuel they needed sat waiting in the snow. Carlos benched the fucking depot.
Jordan Love scored 23.48 on that bench, a depot Carlos could reach without standing up, and Carlos banked 0 and lay down in the snow anyway. Scott at least had a blizzard nailing the tent shut; Carlos had wifi.
Banked
Bijan Robinson did all the work for 35.3 while Alex just lay there, and Alex will still call it a team effort.
Justin named his team Shough and Fhough, a swear word in a fake mustache, then sat in the corner and watched Drake London do both for 28.4. Lucky fuck.
Jordan Love, a 6.01, sits on Carlos's bench like a bottle saved for a special occasion, and Thursday was the occasion.
Anish got 21 from Matthew Golden, the most useful Matthew in this league by a mile, and started MarShawn Lloyd beside him for 3.8 so the night would still feel like home. Nobody in the other Matthew's lineup played Thursday, which makes it the best lineup he has set all year.
Brandon named his team after a 7.03, the kind of devotion that usually gets a man blocked, and Devante put Pitt in his team name. Tucker Kraft went soft for 8.6 and Kyle Pitts for 2, and Brandon and Devante will both swear this never happens to them.
The commissioner started Kaleb Johnson, a running back projected for 4.52, on purpose. The same week Ethan lost 135 in FantasyCalc value on one trade, too small to matter and too stupid to forgive. The most dangerous manager on Ethan's schedule is still Ethan. Dumbass.