Tight! Tight Tight Tight!

Commissioner Randy woke up this morning craving poutine. As soon as my eyes opened, I was salivating for glorious cheese curds (extra Quebec) and creamy-rich, over-salted gravy mixed with crisp and savory french fries. And, a little green onion garnish to finish it off.

But before Commissioner Randy goes out to get his morning fix, he attends to his desktop computer (old-fashioned, I know) and checks his inbox for any League-related matters that need immediate attention. Being Commissioner is not a standard 9-5 job; you gotta love what you do, and do what no one else will, which means dedicating every waking hour to making Fantasy Hockey the greatest thing in the world. It must be so great, that you will even delay a poutine fix if need be.

I checked my inbox and all is well; the stats machine is humming away, calibrating the next week's stats report already, while all select-GM's appear content with League matters etc. I browse to the standings to check up on the rankings, as I always do. My statistical eyes run up and down the standings and suddenly, all I can think is:

Tight! Tight Tight Tight!

Indeed, Tuco. Indeed.

This League is shaping up to be one of the tightest races we've ever seen. A few weeks ago, Dickery Burns was laughing, thwarting the competition with his Maximo Pacioretty, feeling ever so good about his Price-ing strategy. But then, Safari's roster decided to wake up. Sitch finally got some goaltending. Tree Bone took flight like a Blackhawk. And the Crosbone made love.

"GLORIOUS!" screamed Burgundy.

My friends, the Wring is full of tension; this tight rope being walked is only getting tighter and tighter. Who knew that the difference between first through fifth would be a mere 87.70 fantasy points?

"I LOVE 87!" screamed Burgundy.

After seeing this tightness, I hibernate my desktop and begin my quest to obtaining some fine poutine. I scrub off last night's sex crust ("EW!" said Tree Bone) and transform into the silver fox that I am. While I shave my face, I begin thinking about these select-GM's I manage. Dear god, I sincerely hope this tight race continues. I hope each select-GM takes their role seriously and does everything they can to win (or at least make things interesting). League-wide parity can be a bitch, but do you know what is worse? Teams who don't give a shit.

I thank thee, select-GM's, for your dedication so far. The tightness of the standings is proof in itself that everyone is gunning for the title. I ask that you continue to strive to win, as this benefits the League as a whole. I want fights. I want deals. I want all of you to fuck each other tirelessly until you're in need of a poutine recharge. There shall not be any MIA status this year, nor will there be excuses for checking out. Every select-GM is busy as fuck, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to forget about the Wring. It is forbidden. Do not forget the privilege that this select group encompasses; jobs will be worked, deadlines will be met, but a group of friends bitch-slapping one another for a shitty Dollarama title belt? That's the life, baby.

Come on bitches and Sitch's, fight to the bloody end and make this League the greatest thing since poutine.