This idiot.
As the final weeks of regular season play bear down upon us, frothy and chomping, rabid with glee, we would like to take a brief and largely premature look back at some predictions that were made by the BNI staff some five or six months younger, as part of our effort to make demonstrations of professionalism that mean very little, except that the bar for accountability in sports journalism is so low we cannot even trip over it.
- Sir Brian Reinhart, W.B.E. foretold that the entirety of the AL Central would be killed through military assault. As of this writing, three members of the Cleveland Indians — different races and backgrounds, maybe one female — remain alive, holding out in a shell-battered bunker against the onslaught as the climax nears. We’ll update this as needed, but even if the season ends before the hammer falls, that’s a 97.6% accuracy rating, which is quite respectable.
- Christian La Fontaine suggested that Sir Percival would use the Grail to restore the leg (and possibly mangled johnson) of the Fisher King. Unfortunately, Chrétien de Troyes kicked off before concluding, so we’re going to call this a Maybe.
- Bradley Woodrum predicted that every ballplayer who participated in the 1890 season of the American Association would turn out to have died. He’s pretty good at this.
- Elliot Jenkins augured that the Washington Generals would lose Wimbledon. He was half correct.
- John Paschal predicted that I would not like the Johnny Fats’ Diner‘s chicken burrito. He was right.
- I was spot on about a couple of items, but I did not write them down; nor, more importantly, did I lay money on them, so what’s the point?
- A staff straw poll agreed that Carson Cistulli, Closer would be found bruised and wedgied, sobbing under a locker room shower head at its most frigid and disapproving, with all signs pointing to self-infliction. There’s still a month left!
- Contributing writer Nostradamus offered:
Between two seas stands a promontory,
Which will then die by the bite of a horse;
Neptune will fold his black veil,
By Gibraltar and the rest tiring near Rocheval.
He was way off.