The Smack-Down Manifesto

Unfulfilled. That’s the sentiment of my state of mind as we enter this revamped campaign of the Court Street Cup, as, much like the ’86 Lakers failing to meet the Celtics in the NBA Finals, my arch-nemesis and unworthy adversary Corey Taylor has bowed out of the tournament. The French playwright Honore de Balzac once noted, “An unfulfilled vocation drains the color from a man's entire existence,” and though I usually diverge from any notion emitted from those croissant-eatin’, white-flag-wavin’ pansies (aside from Nicolas Batum’s coin-purse punch), on this concept, I must concur.

Yet don’t misconstrue this melancholy as submission, for the glory of Court Street Cup is a grail quest that fulfills the most insatiable of thirsts. And luckily, there’s a host of reputable villains that merit the intended scorn of Taylor:

- Nick, who seemed to be doing his best Tim Duncan Face impersonation on the running message board on draft night after the app incorrectly selected Megatron over Chris Johnson.

- Andy’s Mulcahey-ness is always entitled to our collective contempt.

- I’m assuming Barnes still sucks.

- Although I respect the hell out of him, I’m a firm advocate that the Mayan Prediction won’t be brought on by the Zombie Apocalypse but rather an army of angry Lilliputians, meaning Shane remains on my **** list.

As I mentioned at the commencement of the Cup, to gather a small multitude to engage in the Holy Trinity of Athens, fantasy sports, and competition is reason for joy alone, and for uniting in this venture, I give thanks. I’m also much obliged for everyone’s generous donations to the league championship disbursement, which will undoubtedly find its way into my philanthropic endeavor “Beall’s Meals,” a for-profit foundation that allocates 2.3 percent of all contributions to varying selfless organizations, with the remaining funds going to my on-going effort to upgrade my 2005 Golden Tee machine to a newer, flat-screen model.

In closing, though I would like to echo Theodore Roosevelt’s remarks that, "Far better it is to dare mighty things, than to take rank with those poor, timid spirits who know neither victory nor defeat,” you plebeians are not deserving of such grace. Instead, I harken (and amend) the words of 20th century philosopher Sir Charles Barkley:

“I don’t know much about the Court Street Cuppers, but I know they’re in trouble.”

Keeping it Athens since ’86,

Bad News