The Ills of Fantasy Football
We're currently three weeks into the new Premiership season, with Chelsea making the early running, but with Manchester United and Charlton - as well as the suprising Manchester City - making the early running, it's early days yet. No such closeness can be expected in our mates' fantasy football league however, as I'm currently almost 100 points behind 1st in 5th place.
Every year is the same though, each year we pick our team in earnest, and after the romance has died, we never go back to them. The league is over before it hardly began. There's no such thing as a truely brilliant fantasy football game (Yahoo comes close). There are some underlying problems with fantasy football games, and these are they.
- It changes the way you watch football: For some people (like myself, who appreciate more international game than club level), I have no problem saying "fucking hell, Claudio Reyna just scored a goal for Manchester City, that's points for me!, however people who are passionate will let their team lose if the player who scores is in their team. Mentioning no names, but one person I know who is doing very well in the Times league was ecstatic when Lampard scored twice against his beloved West Brom last week because he scored big. I just thought it was very shallow, as - the old sky advert said - "Be careful when you pick your team, as you are with them for life" (though, with that being said, West Brom did put out a purposefully weaker side against Chelsea). That's through thick, thin and fantasy football.
- Transfer Systems Fuck You Over: This is sour grapes for me, as a lot of my players didn't play this week. Last week, a lot of opponents in my league put in players that played twice (and I obviously didn't), therefore they got two games instead of one - and even zero in some cases. In part, this is my fault, but a better defined transfer system could be implemented somehow. In theory, you can have a team that doesn't play against stronger sides, and plays a lot against weaker sides. This isn't possible in real football, so why in fantasy football?
- It's All Over By Christmas: The fact is that the different in points between the top half and bottom half means that it's nigh on impossible for lower league teams to improve on their position. They just give up. The league continues with 2-3 teams, and the community spirit is lost.
In summary: although fantasy football begins in August in earnest, with people wanting to do well, it fizzles out quicker than the top of a 3 day old coke.
Secondary point: can't you tell I did shit this week in our league?
The Mutts Nuts
Yes, I'm aware of the hypocritcal nature of that last post. By slamming the low brow Sun and Star, whist posting a semi-naked picture, not only did I prevent Roland from viewing this site at work, but also came across as a hypocritical oaf.
The same can be said in work today, when I drew attention to myself by forsaking the Sun (as Rick had already completed the sudoku, bastard) for a copy of Nuts. Nuts is your typical mens magazine, and quite light reading. Of course, with kids running round, you can't read it in public, but staff room? Fair game. By posessing a set of testicles, I quite enjoy reading it. However, by posessing a brain, I don't like reading the Sun. Something that a few of my work colleagues can't seem to grasp. Is it odd to possess those two traits? Are bloke magazines and tabloids two of a kind? Let me know if you read a quality newspaper and a men's mag. Cheers.
In any rate, flicking through Nuts, I turned to what is arguably the shittest feature - "Real Girl Roadshow". This one shit oasis in a desert of quality is basically asking three ladies from a certain area to flash their boobs and answer three questions. These days, that gets you a GCSE, but no academic awards are awarded here, oh no. Instead you are immortallized on the page of a weekly mens mag.
Imagine my suprise then, when they had my old (and - for a week or so at least - current) stomping ground of Llandudno advertised! Yes, Llandudno was the destination of the Real Girls Roadshow, and they've written an article about everybody's favourite place on the North Wales coast. Of course, they've surrounded it with pictures of ladies with their tops off and sugar coated it a bit, and this is where I come in.
You see, a lot of it is blatant lies. Llandudno, whilst still one of the most gorgeous places in the world, is a shit night out. Okay, you don't get stabbed like if you went out in Rhyl or Colwyn Bay, but even so it's pretty boring, with the one club monopolizing the clubbing area. This didn't stop Nuts, so here is the article (trunchated a little bit), with my thoughts intejected, they are in brackets.
"Oh we do like to be beside the side, especially if the seaside happens to be Llandudno, scene of quite possibly the most mental Real Girls Roadshow yet (lie).
"Ah yes, the girls, Llandudno's three best tourist attractions (lie. one's from Deganwy, one's from Colwyn Bay, one's from Old Colwyn. The three best tourist attractions are the tramway, Great Orme and Pier)....skip a bit....and Katie, 18 (probably a lie, 17 year old + arse in + tits out = Broadway entry) from Colwyn Bay said "Being by the sea is great! You can get up to all sorts of naughty stuff on the beach." (probably a lie, through lack of experience)."
"They led us to the fantastic Broadway Boulevard (lie) and, like most of the girls there, procceeded to drink shots (probably true, as you get a free one on entry), snog each other (lie) and fall out of their tops (lie)."
That never happens in Llandudno. It's bloody freezing and you'll catch a chill for starters, and the chances of girl-on-girl action is slim as Wales (by fact) have the smallest percentage of non-hetrosexual women in the country. Llandudno is a rubbish night out (so much so that I'm trying to persuade my mate to visit me during the day, so I don't have to take him out), no two ways about it.
Yes, I still read Nuts, it's a brilliant mag, but that was sensationalism at it's best.
Now if that makes me a spineless hypocrite, so be it.
Du Yu Sudoku?
Sudokus. I love 'em, I hate 'em, they screw up my coffebreak, my relationship with my brother, and my chances of getting laid in the last few months. Sudoku's are the bane of my life, and the love of my life at the moment. Hell, I've even made a game of
Sudoku's when I should of been writing my Thesis.
It's not just me though, a few of my mates have been bitten with the Sudoku bug, and half the country have too: with books on the subject selling in numbers not seen since the release of the Gutenberg Bible. But - with all this talk of sudokus, and my experience - I've noticed something rather peculiar.
At home, I read the Daily Mail. The only reason is that it's the only paper (I can't be arsed buying one). I feel it's hatred propaganda bollocks haven't taken a hold on me. Anyway, I only read it for Peanuts and the Sudokus. Should I be on my travells, I usually buy a copy of The Guardian. They have a brilliant technology section seemingly lacking in most other papers. The sudoku in that is piss easy. In the paper I can complete the sudoku fairly easily. In work, there's the Sun or the Star. This kind of shows the kind of people I work with. I read it if I've got nothing better to do, and I do the Sudokus, or at least try. They are almost impossible.
This has lead me to the conclusion that the quality of the paper is inversely proportional to the difficulty of the sudoku.
Sorry, just thought I'd share that with the world. Have a picture of Lucy Pinder.
Oof...you would.
You know when you want something really bad so you close your eyes and wish for it? God is the guy who ignores you.
Apologies for the long title, but I felt it was the best quote from the film I went to see. Well, moreso than the morbid "I'm not ready to die" or the sleazy "Hey, you sticking your tongue down my throat is pretty good.". So, I stand by my decision.
Earlier on tonight, I went to see The Island with Goz and Sibley. I had been intreagued by it, as I'm a sucker for Sci-Fi films (though I find anything more Sci-Fi than Red Dwarf on the box boring - I hate both Star Trek and Dr. Who). Either way, I didn't know what to expect, but the paper had a screen in it with Scarlett Johannsen in a tight fitting suit, I was sold.
The plot of the film is relatively simple. Well, it is, before you know the twists. Basically, the year is 2019 or something like that. Men and women who survived Earth's "contamination" are placed into a utopic society where life is work, exercise and nutrition. The only escape from this couch potato's nightmare is winning a lifetime trip to "The Island" - the last uncontaminated place on Earth. The way to win? Either win the random lottery draws or by giving birth.
Of course, all is not what it's meant to be, and the film switches from the creepy - even gory (for a 12A, anyway) Sci-Fi flick in the utopic society to an all action flick on "The Island". It's kind of like the plot of Final Fantasy VII, where you are thrown into two different worlds: one in Midgar and the other one when you leave.
With two distinct halves to the film, it came the first problem: it's too bloody long. 126 minutes is pretty hefty for a non-epic. Admittedly, it wasn't quite Captain Corelli's Mandolin, which dragged on. You were entertained, but it's kind of like the ending of The Return of the King: the last half hour dragged on a bit too much. The same was with this film, it just dragged on a little. It feigned endings two or three times also, which I don't like. I like my films linear, dammit!
The film is actually very very good though. I loved it. It's a less camp Logan's Run, and the bastard of a few other films: Equilibrium (Sean Bean is also in this one too, and - suprise suprise - he dies in it too), The Matrix, THX and Farenheit 451. It's the old story of opressive future society that simply utopic and getting over-run. It's probably on par with Equilibrium in that respect (a film which I love), the story's more believable and there's some nice twists, but it's too long and the action is a bit weak. Still, it's worth a watch!
118
Nothing much is happening in my life at the moment, so I've been trying to shift into a faster gear. Last night I went to the Rhos Fynach to participate in the pub quiz there. It was wierd, as we saw one of our old teachers there, and he was smoking! Okay, there's absolutely nothing wrong with it (and - to be honest - some of the people he had to teach would be unbearable), nevertheless, it was shocking. It's similar to seeing your local vicar pissing in the street following a night out on the ales, or.....Santa Claus porn.
Was good fun though, and we did pretty good! Much better than last week. We were one point off winning £10 behind the bar, a shit prize, I know, but still worthwhile.
Also organised is something else. I cannot talk much about it (as it's a suprise for one of my readers who knows me - oooh that'll get you all excited), but it's quite a speciality service (no rude comments). Either way, I needed help to find this service. If TV has taught me nothing else (and it hasn't), it's taught me to ring 118-118 for enquires.
From my experience, I say one thing: I want to work for these people! It's such a cushty job by the sound of it. Person has problem, person rings up another person, person finds solution, person leaves happy. Lord knows I was. I had an amicable conversation with the girl (who introduced me as Louisa, or Liza. I dunno), who I fell ever so slightly in love with, and I put down the phone a few minutes later a happy man.
And, I suppose you'll be on a fair bit. It cost me a pretty penny.
Edit: In creating this post, I used Google for research, as always. Type in 118-118 into Google, and see the first result. It caused me to say "Isn't that clever!". Can Google not achive anything?
You're A Real Loser...
Lance Armstrong recently
won his 7th straight Tour De France, even more remarkable - as he has only one testicle. It recently came to my attention that in order for him to complete stages of Le Tour, he eats upto 7000 calories
a day.
Yesterday, I imagine I came very close to that.
It was one of my mates' 21st Birthday, a day thing incorporating a barbecue, a quality buffet, the first day of the premiership and a pub crawl around Llandudno. I had been so so good recently, watching what I eat, regular exercise (including now - running. It's so much more fun than on a treadmill, though when I go back to Liverpool I don't fancy running down some streets). The results were beginning to show as well: down to under 14.5 stone, and the magic (and I do mean magic) 14 stone mark approaching, I thought that I could live life as a healthy looking bloke. I was expecting to go to Manchester with Sarah on Thursday and at best her not recognising the new, slimmer me.
Yesterday kind of put a stop to that. The barbecue was gorgeous and we were ushered back for seconds, the food was plentiful and was all nice, with the nicest onion badji's I've ever had.
Of course, no 21st would be complete without a copious supply of alcohol, and I had my fair share, the worst was hitting the wall following the Desperados: shot of tequila in a bottle of lager. After that, the night gets a bit hazy. Certain things stick out in my mind from the night, and I remember having a good time. Broadway was rammed as ever, and I remember experiencing the old human pinball effect. Either way, although it was a fairly cheap night out, my waistline is paying for it, as I feel very, very bloated.
The diet starts again tomorrow.
I Will NOT Diminish My Character!
Evening all. You'll no doubt will be pleased to hear that I'm feeling a lot happier today. Thank you all so, so much for all your kind comments, via e-mail, the comment box and even the odd text. My faith in humanity has been well and truly restored.
Just want to clear up a few facts from yesterday.
The major reason for the outburst was mainly from a bad day in work. Work yesterday had a lot of new people, and I'm sure you all know what it's like when somebody new starts, feelers take a few days to come out. As work consisted of me, my brother, the boss and two new people, I felt I had nobody to talk to. Which would be fine, except for the fact that one of the other workers on site commented with the phrase "Christ Rhys! You're useless on the dishwasher, no wonder your fucking girlfriend dumped you!", which put me in a horrible mood. This guy is an arsehole, who has refused to do the dishwasher on a number of occasions, he's telling me what to do! Seriously, the fucker needs to be sent to the army just so he gets some sense beaten into him, either that or herpes.
The second point is the "Depression is weakness" point. The point can be best explained by using the Enalogy of recently evicted from Big Brother - Craig. When he first cried over Anthony, I'm sure the whole nation was like "awwwww....poor Criag, unrequited love is horrible". But then, he keeps going on and on and on. People (such as myself) got bored of it, and - what do you know - he was evicted.
I don't want to be like Craig, and be depressed all the fucking time. Well, I can be, but not talk about it. I suppose I'm very bad like this. I hate hearing about everybody's problems, so I don't tell people mine. Hence the "Depression is weakness" comment.
And now onto good news.
Tomorrow night is my first proper night out in ages, as I'll be heading to Broadway for the first time in about half a century. Although it's shit, overpriced and full of 18 year olds groping you, I can't wait to go. Largely due to the 18 year olds groping you. I would say I've hit the dirty perverted stage following people get following a breakup, but - truth be told - I've always been dirty and perverted.
It's going to be a bender - starting at 3pm - with a few beers in front of Sky Sports - with a barbecue, Llandudno Weatherspoons and ending up either going home or going to someone else's home at 3am. 12 hours of drunken mayhem not experienced for ages. I cannot wait.
You Had A Bad Day
I think I'm at my lowest ebb ever, I've never been this depressed.
Although I have off days (kind of like S), I'm feeling pretty miserable. I thought I would of gotten over S by now - but I haven't. The fact that she was my first, and I do miss her is one reason. But there's something more.
I haven't done anything noteworthy for the last 3 months.
This has made it doubly hard getting over S. My life - which was once socialising and going out, has come to almost a complete halt. Imagine the feeling you get when somebody you want to be with breaks up with you. Then imagine three months of it. Yep, that's my life. It's actually gotten harder, as I was up and down to Liverpool, doing this, that and the other with my mates, Vicky and whomever else, for about a month or so. However, since that people have moved away, are doing there own things, and worse - settling down - means that I'm pretty much left alone to my own devices.
My evening either consists of sitting in front of the TV, or sitting in front of the Internet, with 20 minutes to do a workout, so that maybe the next time I go out I get a chance to do something not so depressing in the evenings. For christ sakes I'm 21. Mum keeps telling me that I'm in far too much for a 21 year old.
I hide my true feelings alot, as I don't like being depressed. Depression I feel is a sign of weakness, and I don't like feeling it. I want to be perfect, and I always consider myself the emotional rock. Always a shoulder to cry on. Now, I'm scared. I'm miserable, and I've got nobody to talk to. My brother picked up on something, but I don't think he'd understand. Nobody I feel understands, or even knows too much about me. I'm kind of always in the background, always the wallflower when everybody else has pulled (trust me, I pull a lot less than you think), never really speaking up. When I do, it's usually about football, or an anecdote. I very rarely express my feelings, which I feel has been detrimental.
People have unwittingly hurt me over the last few months, and my confidence has taken a battering. I'm just feeling so down, so miserable at the moment, and I don't know what to do to get out of it.
For those of you who know me and are thinking about joking about this post when you next see me: fuck off. Occasionally I tell stories on this blog which may have been exaggerated. This is real. I'm literally so close to tears so many times, and I don't know why. So if you even consider one backhanded remark about this post, then you are some sad, sad people, who should really look in the mirror before taking the piss of somebody, because it will expose you for the transparrent, shallow, cruel individual that you really are.
Also, this point is directed to Sarah: please, please, please don't think this is a personal attack on you, and I blame you for everything. You are entirely blameless, and a loving and caring friend. Just like you can't talk to me about somethings, I can't talk to you about certain things as well. It just feels that the most immediate source of relief is this blog, and I need to get my thoughts out, otherwise I would explode. I probably would of poured my heart out to you online if you had been on, gotten an immediate response. However, you weren't, so I'm just writing this now, as I need to get my thoughts out in the open.
It's Back!
On Saturday, just as whoever wins
Big Brother (please,
please be
Eugene) will have a new life and a hundred grand in the kitty, there will be something that will tide you until next May, when the World Cup will begin.
Yes, it's the new Premiership Season.
Last year, Chelsea dominated the league from start to finish, bringing much joy to Guy, and everybody else much misery (discounting one side of Liverpool). Hopefully this year it will be closer.
Of course, it's also the start of the 2nd Annual The Gospel According To Rhys Fantasy Football league. Last year, there was a suprising performance by Jake, but the mysterious "La Resistance" dominated the league from start to finish. Hopefully this year will not be the case, and it'll be more open.
For the unaware, Fantasy Football works by picking 11 players who are currently with the Premiership. Depending on how they perform over the 38 games of the Premiership, they score points and the one with the most points at the end of it wins the league. Simple.
There are many systems to run a fantasy football league, though I've plumped with the Yahoo! League. It's run by Carling Opta stats, so you get points for tackles and passes and such like, as opposed to just the scoring, clean sheets and assists ran by many leagues. Best of all, it's free.
I've set up a private league for this website. Should you wish to sign up, sign into Yahoo! (most people have their own ID), and go to http://uk.premiership.fantasysports.yahoo.com/football, name your team, then join a private group. Here are the details for the group:
- Group ID: 12147
- Group Name: The Gospel League 05/06
- Group Password: rhys
And may the best man win!
Band On The Run
I was not in a good mood on Sunday morning. The weather was gorgeous - which meant the Zoo'd be busy. There was a shortage of staff, due to a few firings and a few people leaving, and the coffee machine was on the blink. And my day was to get...well....a little interesting.
"Rhys, the Zoo got broken into last night, and a box of crisps, a case of Bass Shandy, and a can of pop have been nicked,", the supervisor said, "and", he continued sarcastically, "everybody's a suspect.".
Me? suspected of committing a crime outside of Grand Theft Auto and that unfortunate case of Inciting Racial Hatred in 2001 (I'll explain later)? How terribly exciting. Now I know how Ms. Scarlet feels.
Despite my body wanting to take off, become a fugitive that will hunted down by the police like Harrison Ford in....errr.....The Fugitive, I waited. Waited and heard what exactly happened.
"Yeah, nothing's been nicked as such. Just what I've mentioned. Apparently the rubbish is all over the zoo at the moment, and it's been clearing up. Some of the shandy ended up in the Penguin enclosure."
Unfortunately, reports of the penguins getting pissed, fighting each other over some bird (quite literally), and stumbling home wanting a kebab are unfounded.
A few hours later, the people from Crime Scene Investigation arrived, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't think "oooh, CSI!". I'd also be lying if I said I was the only one who thought that.
A few informal questions were asked to me (as I locked the door last night they used to enter the zoo. Even though I had locked both latches, the bottom one was still locked while the top one was off it's hinge, wierd), and they got a few fingerprints, and they were off.
Either way, it was pretty exciting, and we had something to talk about for the rest of the day, which didn't go half as bad as I expected. More news on this story as it develops ;).
Dirrrty
It's been an interesting few days to say the least, firstly I withdrew my notice from the
zoo until further...errr...notice. Reason being is that job hunting in Liverpool is not going too well, and it's bloody difficult to search anyway, when you're 60 miles from your interview destination, then there's no point going. I'd be a lot richer if I stay the summer, and also my social life picked up, as I've been to the pub twice in two days. Admittedly, it doesn't match the pub/lecture/pub/lecture/pub/tea/pub combination of March 8th this year, but it still was pretty good. We saw a minor local celebrity in ex Man U player and Money counterfitter Mickey Thomas (the picture to the right...though he's lost his mullett now) in the pub on Friday!
This beer has made a huge difference to the outlook on my life, but not on my waistline. I've now dropped down to under 14 and a half stone, the first time I have since about the age of 3, and a huge one and a half stone dropped since I finished university! Although at the moment I'm a bit see-sawy on the scales (some days I drop a few pounds, some days I put them on), generally I'm going in the right direction, and fast. Those who want a skinny, sexy Rhys (myself and the entire female population included) will be dissappointed that I'm still very podgy, but there's muscle underneath! I kind of look similar to Homer in that episode of the simpsons when he trains throughout the night to climb that mountain. He poses in front of the mirror and tenses, and he's muscly, but when he relaxes he returns fat. I'm like that at the moment, though not as obvious. Either way, I'm feeling physically a lot better now. Whilst I cannot run a marathon, I don't get out of breath so quickly, especially that walk home. Plus, I'm sure I'll probably be a bit more active in...certain situations (which I'm not experiencing at the moment). Normally I'd be usually lying back and thinking of Wales.
One thing to break my confidence is my 100% record is broken. Yes, I now feel so dirty. My ebay profile now has one non-positive vote:-
When I read this, I let out a "NAC YDW!", and then see what I done to piss off Mr. Neutral. I posted the item quickly, and it was fully working before postage. It turns out that "The battery cover was missing with the purchase". Hmmm.....let me check my auction.
So, I'm in the clear, it's the buyers fault. Not mine.
As well as on their days off when they visit the zoo, and at the petrol station*, the general public also become inexplicably stupid when they browse eBay.
* This refers to my dad, who - despite driving a diesel car all his life - still manages to fuck it up by filling up with petrol. Ninny.
Getting Out More
To answer
Ally's question in my comment box: yes. Yes I do need to get out more.
Although I've had two games of poker recently, my social life has come to an abrupt halt. It's been a week since I last saw the inside of a pub, over 3 weeks since the last time I was completely wasted (thank you very much Chris and Karen's wedding...oooh, I've got photos of that!), and a depressing three months since I last got laid.
If you ever visit my neck of the woods: Colwyn Heights, you will know that it's kind of a self contained community, and a bugger to get around if you don't drive. The one pub we have near us is over-priced real ale pub, with no real evening entertainment: no pool tables, no music, not even a quiz night. People just go in, eat, then leave. Sure, it's fine if you're the sort of people who can hold a conversation, but I can't. I don't mean that in an anti-social kind of way, but I generally run out of things to talk about.
My group of friends has - as one of my mates put it - "splintered". Although I don't agree with the terminology, I do agree to an extent. Whilst it is a good thing (as I'm now doing things that I enjoy immensely - such as going to the cinema and poker nights), it does mean I'm not doing as much overall. Which I don't mind, but you - my faithful readers - probably do.
There is one light at the end of the tunnel though, and that's two weeks today.
I'm going back to Liverpool, for good.
I handed in my notice to the Zoo on Saturday and, whilst they were sad to lose me, they do accept my decision. They also said that they would help me look for work in Liverpool (a few of them have friends in high places, which is nice, and well beyond their call of duty). However, the wheels of employment have already started turning in Liverpool, with me sending off applications to do with my degree. Few of them have nothing to do with my course, which is fine, as I'm slowly regaining the love for programming and computer related stuff (I've got a game going at the moment which could turn into the first game I publish, wish me luck on this one), and hopefully earn myself a little bit of money with that, and working full time.
Then, and only then, will my life get more interesting.
Until that point, I will keep talking about Big Brother, fantasy orgies, and poker.
Which, to be honest, isn't that bad, is it?
