If you’re reading this, congratulations. *high-five, chest bump, leg sweep* You are a Fantasy Football champion. Enjoy the bragging rights, the celebration, the confetti cannon and all the glory and glory holes that come with it. Here’s hoping you made a little green in your victory this season as well. New Years in Cancun! Or at least Tijuana. If you’re still reading this and have no clue what the hell FFB is, apologies. The Jammy/Crammy Awards have nothing to do with the AVN awards if that’s what you were googling, but probably could considering Trent Richardson’s off-field film making. As far as your humble-but-nonetheless-handsome Guru’s season goes, I went 1-1 in the RCL League Championships and 4-5 in all the other fake football Stupor Bowls I played in. Not bad. Five championships out of sixteen leagues. Yes, I am a fantasy junkie and with the season over the DT’s are setting in. Get these spiders offa me!! When does baseball start? Is there Fantasy Ping-Pong? If there is such a thing, make sure you draft Ma Long number one. He’s the king of epic shots. With all that said, let’s get right to the easiest fantasy column ever written: The year-end list. Here are your 2013 Jammy and Crammy Award winners.

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Welcome once again my festive fake footballers to the Razzball Lounge. Championship week has arrived. As the Fantasy Football season comes to it’s merciful end, it’s time for one more visit to the lounge where we fake football scribes have gathered for our annual Razzball Holiday Spooktacular. It’s that time of year where we don our Santa hats, show off our Christmas balls and toss back warm eggnog spiked with a combination of Canadian Club and rohypnol. The ladies love it! As championship weekend approaches, we find a humbug filled Sky slowly rocking back and forth muttering the words “muscle hamster” over and over. There’s JB settled under the Christmas tree like a drunken Linus, “Did Santa bring me a Luke Kuechly jersey?” At the jukebox we find J-FOH dropping quarters, playing “The Hanukkah Song” for the fifth time and singing, “drink your gin-and-tonic-ah, and smoke your mara-juanic-ah…” *bottle smashes above head* Meanwhile, the one and only Tehol Beddict asks this young lady, “Wanna see my Festivus pole??” And here at the pool table is your humble holiday sweater wearing Guru contemplating his final jammer/crammer list of fantasy ballers that’ll score you the Shiva, bragging rights and maybe enough cash to spend New Years in Vegas. *closes eye, takes aim, sinks eight ball off two rails, drops shot glass into pint, downs boilermaker, throws up on waitress* “God bless us, every one.”

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Was there a Fantasy team out there not affected by Snow-pocalypse 2013? No? I didn’t think so. The frozen tundra’s of Green Bay, Philadelphia, Washington, Baltimore and Pittsburgh may have decided whether your playoff dreams were realized or simply melted away like Frosty the Snowman in a greenhouse full of poinsettias. Damn you, Professor Hinkle! We well-informed, stat studying, borderline genius, Fantasy loving Razzballers left standing are headed for the playoffs. Some of us, however, are also carrying a roster that may look like a MASH unit. There was a blizzard of injuries Sunday that left Adrian Peterson, Rob Gronkowski and Reggie Bush owners cracking open the cheap scotch and drowning their sorrows before it was 5 o’clock anywhere. Now that you have pulled your sorry self up off the cool bathroom floor, let’s run down the players that may lead you to Fantasy Football glory and all the accolades that come with it. Namely rubbing it in your league-mates faces for the next 52 weeks. It’s time to jam it or cram it.

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With our fake football season winding down you are either in the playoffs, positioning yourself for the sprint to the Shiva or crying Knowshon Moreno tears because you drafted Aaron Rodgers and Arian Foster. Need a hug? If you are in, congratulations. All those hours spent researching, analyzing stats and ignoring the family paid off. Cheers, I raise my whiskey glass to you. If you are out, all those hours spent researching, analyzing stats and ignoring the family were for naught. And your wife just served the divorce papers. There’s nothing like spending Christmas with your best friend Johnny Walker at the Motel 6. For those playoff bound, it is no time to quit it with the chronic rosterbating. Don’t worry you won’t go blind, but you may need glasses. It is however, time to stop taking chances on the “upside” guys. But Guru, doesn’t Ace Anders have a lot of potential. Yeah, I know disembodied voice of Razzball Nation, but potential is one thing in Week 3, it is quite another as we head into the playoffs. Stick with your consistent ballers, that’s who got you here. I only need one defense, right Mr. Turban? Well, my fellow Razzballer, if you are one of those that doesn’t own the Seattle or Carolina defense, don’t stop streaming the D now. Find the best matchup for the week and look ahead to the next few weeks. If you have roster room, pick up the defenses that have the best matchups going forward, i.e., any team facing the Jags or the Jets. If you don’t have room for three defenses, drop the dead weight off your roster. Trent Richardson isn’t going to turn into AP anytime soon. Whattabout kicker’s? Grab three of those, too? Don’t get all crazy now, Taco. One kicker will do, just make sure he’s on a high scoring team, plays in dome or has a good weather matchup. But, o wise guru, there’s nothing good on the waiver wire. Not true, my playoff bound friend. Just choose wisely. That’s why I’m here. The fake footballin’ championship is within your grasp and all the glory, bragging rights, cash and prizes are there for the taking. It’s time to jam it or cram it.

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Welcome once again my fantasy friends to the Razzball Lounge. Every year at this time your Razzballin’ scribes gather together in the lounge for Thanksgiving in an effort to avoid the family, complain about our teams, knock back a few and give our thanks to the Fantasy gods on another season well played. It’s just like what the Pilgrims did – without the small pox and post-meal genocide. On this festive day we find our fearless leader Sky in a gravy stained wife-beater hugging the waitress and crying over the loss of his season because he drafted Doug Martin No. 1, “I wanna be your muscle hamster.” *SLAP* Sitting alone in a dark corner JB Gilpin enjoys his pumpkin pie and mutters again and again, “Cam Newton is the MVP, Cam Newton is the MVP.” Over at the jukebox is the one and only J-Foh, dropping quarters and playing “Alice’s Restaurant” for the 10th straight time, “You can get anything you want at…” *bottle smashes above head* Locked in the ladies room the one and only Tehol Beddict asks this pretty lady if she wants to see his giblets, “Whatever happens in the Razzball Lounge stays in the Razzball Lounge, right guys??” And standing here at the pool table is your humble-but-nonetheless-handsome Guru. *closes eye, aims cue, sinks 8-ball off three rails, pulls wishbone from pocket* “Make a wish. It’s time to jam it or cram it.”

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The possibilities are nearly endless with the Bobby Rainey references. Who knew Bobby Rainey would go off for nearly 35 fantasy points and start trending on Twitter? Some of my faves include #ItsRaineyMen, #NovemberRainey, #ChocolateRainey and #SomewhereOverTheRaineyBow. Personally, I went the Milli Vanilli route because I see Bobby Rainey more fraud than Grammy winner. Now and then something comes along that is just too good to be true. Ask Sky about his investment in Planet Hollywood. One of those things was the “band” Milli Vanilli. Back in late 80′s, early 90′s, your-humble-but-nonetheless-handsome Guru was trapped in Top 40 radio Hell and forced to spin tunes by MC Hammer, Wilson Phillips and Roxette. I refer to those four years as my “lost weekend.” Personally, I believe we all need a few lost years or decades in our lives. It’s hard to respect someone that didn’t completely piss away their life for at least a year or two doing something crazy like follow the Grateful Dead, travel with the carnival or marry a Russian bride. Unfortunately, I wasted my time playing the lip-sync hits from Milli Vanilli. Blame it on the rain. And the free cocaine. It’s time to jam it or cram it.

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Amazing, isn’t it, my Razzballers? The Fantasy Football playoffs are on the immediate horizon. Seems like only yesterday we were doing mock drafts and arguing about whether to take Adrian Peterson or Doug Martin with the first pick. Hope you went AP. We were all so young, bright-eyed and hopeful then. Sing it: We are the world, we are the children. Three months later, we are a disgruntled bunch of misanthropes throwing back cheap scotch at 8 am, licking our nicotine patches and staring into the dark abyss of Week 11. If you drafted Arian Foster or Aaron Rodgers, it may be time to take up Fantasy Curling. It’s HUGE in Canada. Ask our touque wearing podcast host Nick. He bailed on his team three weeks ago to concentrate on Canada’s national pastime. For the rest of us more “serious” fantasy ballers, it’s time to start thinking a step ahead of the competition and improve our playoff seeds. There is no loyalty when it comes to this silly little game. It’s time to bail on players dragging you down. So long Trent Richardson, your dead to me. Bye, bye, Stevie Johnson, your mom’s here. Colin Kaepernick? Meet me down by the stream so I can tell you about the rabbits. We’re looking for men not mice. It’s time to make the playoff push. It’s time to jam it or cram it.

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I’m not one to talk the trash or put someone in a verbal vice-grip, but when it comes down to knocking off my fellow RCL writers I feel the urge to gloat. Just a little. Despite my Red Sox World Series hangover of 2004 proportions, your humble-but-nonetheless-bloviating Guru took down JB’s undefeated team that is cleverly named “JB Gilpin” last week and he spent most of Sunday crying to me on the phone about “bye weeks” and how his cat doesn’t “understand” him. Sorry JB, I don’t know how to help you with Mittens, but bad things happen when you assemble your roster after 14 wine coolers. The one and only “Tis Tehol” also fell to your turban clad friend last week. Of course Tehol was too busy checking the progress of his receding hairline to set his roster again, but I’ll take the win. Tehol, are you so mesmerized by your Drakkar drenched banana hammock that you can’t find a tight end to start? However, my first place 6-2 “Scotch Fueled Gurus” lost to an unknown 12-year-old “expert” somewhere in Pennsylvania Amish country whose trash smackin’ prose made Richie Incognito look like Maya Angelou. The kid told me my turban smells like my grandma’s…well, you know, then he beat me 20 points. I feel so bullied. *one lonely tear drops* However, the jammer crammers have been coming through for us this year. Last weeks jams of Terrelle Pryor and Tim Wright were solid plug ‘n’ plays. Let’s forget I suggested jamming on the New Orleans defense, okay? Overall, we have hit on about 70% of our jammer/crammers in any given week. I’m not ready to surrender my turban just yet, my Razzballer’s. And I certainly won’t hand it over to a prepubescent, Fall Out Boy loving kid that sleeps in his Ben Roethlisberger footie pajamas while his mommy rubs his heiny and tells him how special it is. By the way, kid, my dad can beat up your dad. It’s time to jam it or cram it.

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Welcome once again my fantasy friends to The Razzball Lounge. The Lounge is the place we fake football scribes gather to talk the trash, tease the Tehol and drown the sorrows in early morning Bloody Mary’s – hey bartender, make it spicy and put a pickle in that! JB, that’s not a pickle. This week in the lounge it’s our annual Razzballin’ Halloweeny Spooktacular. That means you drink anytime someone screams “Ghostbusters” and also explains why Sky is dressed as a pregnant nun and snorting crushed up Smarties off the bar. “Hey guys, anyone want a bump?” Sky loves his sugar high and just can’t kick the habit. See what I did there? *high fives no one* Dropping quarters at the jukebox Jay Wrong plays “The Monster Mash” for the 23rd time. “Check out my Jennifer Lawrence costume!” *bottle smashes above head* It should be noted that Jay’s “Jennifer Lawrence” costume consists only of a brown wig and yoga pants. One of these things he wears on a regular basis. Locked in the ladies room the one and only Tehol Beddict, clad in his 6th grade He-Man Masters of the Universe costume, is sharing his “fun-size Snickers” with this handsome lady. “I thought she was dressed as a member of the Village People? Really.” And standing here at the pool table in my Edward Scissorhands get-up is your humble-but-nonetheless-festive Guru. *closes eye, aims cue, fires ball through window, cuts face* “You try to shoot with scissors for hands!” Here be the Week 9 Fantasy Frankensteins. It’s time to jam it or cram it.

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Week 7 in the NFL was like the first five minutes of Saving Private Ryan – carnage. It was one rough week with big-name players left battered, broken, concussed and crying . Sing it, Bono: Sunday, bloody Sunday. The Bucs’ Doug Martin is out for the year with a torn labrum. So much for that number one pick. The Colts’ Reggie Wayne suffered a season-ending torn ACL. The Rams’ Sam Bradford is gone for the year with the same injury. In the Fantasy Football world, ACL stands for: All Championships Lost. Jay Cutler broke his groin and no amount of Kristin Cavallari massaging is going to fix it; he’s out 6 weeks. Philly’s new favorite son Nick Foles appears done and is sitting in a dark room with his drool cup after suffering the dreaded “C” word the NFL hates to hear – concussion. Packers tight end Jermichael Finley went down with his second serious head injury this season and spent the night in the ICU thinking he was at Disney World. Arian Foster was lost to a hammy, Brian Cushing broke his leg, Lance Briggs is out with a fractured shoulder, Champ Bailey hurt his foot and Peyton Manning’s forehead is still the color of a baboon’s ass. Oh, its always like that. Good news for Peyton owners. With so many roster shattering injuries and six teams on byes this week, it’s time to do some deep digging into the waiver wire medical bag. Get me a morphine drip and let’s jam it or cram it.

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