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Week 17 NFL Picks Singing Karaoke Into The Sunset

January 02, 2016 By: BT Category: 2015 season

“Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention” – Frank Sinatra

These week 17 NFL picks, on the advice of a singing psychic composed entirely of vodka and makeup, will now take my final curtain.

I am checking in from the Trump & Gun Bowling Lanes, where I always perform karaoke Frank Sinatra.

SinatraRegrets, I’ve had a few. I picked the Browns to win every game. But now the end is near, and instead the Browns have looked quite lame.

So uh yeah, I did it my way.

Stupid. My way.

With that, I would like to say goodbye to this sad referee-tainted, Donald Trump-infested, Mike Pettine-coached season.

America is already great. Get over it. The Cleveland Browns are not great. I am not over it.

So there will be no playoff or Super Bowl picks by me this year. Well okay… I still pick the Cleveland Browns to win the Super Bowl. But as for the rest of the playoffs…

As my both of my loyal readers (Hi Mom & Dad) know, I have picked the Cleveland Browns to win every game since George Washington was President. Every week.

And almost every week since the beginning of this “new” franchise in 1999, the Cleveland Browns have lost. Just about every game.

And I just now realized that this is a one-way relationship.

I like my team. They do not like me. I am loyal to my team. They hate me. How did I not see this before?

I always pick them to win, even in weeks when no one else, not even their own players thought they could win. They could not win. They would not win. They can not win. They never win. Winning is against their nature. They do not like to be nice to me. They like to lose.

So they lose. The following week, I pick them to win again. And what do they do? They lose. Imagine my surprise.

Year after year this happens in a sort of rinse-and-repeat pattern. And I do this year after year.

Well no more. At the Trump & Gun Bowling Lanes karaoke, I met a wise Streisand-singing woman held together, like all the good ones, by vodka and makeup. And she told me that I have been the hostage of a horrible football team long enough.

What a dame. We bowled, we drank, we sang the Captain and Tenille karaoke. She convinced me that the NFL season really was over.

So we checked into a romantic rent-by-the-hour motel room on the wrong side of the tracks. The very last words I remember her saying was, Let them figure out whatzgonnahappen.

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