Waving white flag: Draft e-mailers pummel narrator into submission

Sorry you don't like what I wrote. I'm quoting from my piece in Sports Illustrated now, under the heading of Drafting For Need, And What's Wrong With That? "To beat the Colts, you have to get at Peyton Manning. The first two picks went for edge rushers, Derrick Harvey and Quentin Groves, though trading up 18 spots to No. 8, for Harvey, was a bit of a reach." I wish to sincerely apologize, Preston, if this offended you. In the future, I will try to be more considerate of your feelings.

�€� OK, have you finished? No? You over there, lounging in the doorway, let's hear what you have to say for yourself. "How can you, staunch defender of men in the trenches that you are," writes David of Denver, "rip the Broncos for Ryan Clady? How can you not root for little 5-foot-9 Eddie Royal?" There's more. I'm going the "T.O.-attitude" route by praising the Iggles for DeSean Jackson, and...

Again, I'll indulge in a practice that's always bothered me, quoting myself, and I swear, this is the last time I'll do it. My capsule on Denver on our Web site: " Mike Shanahan feels that establishing the run (tackle Ryan Clady drafted first) is more important than stopping it, which the Broncos couldn't do last year, and far be it from me to second guess him..." My goodness, I don't blame you for being upset. What venom, what poison I made all you good folk read. For shame...shame!

Yo Dave! The Olympic flame is on its way to China, and what will they call the guy who has to transport it down the Yangtsee River? The Chinese Water Torcher. I made that one up myself.

"It reads like it," says the Flaming Redhead. Now I'm in a bad mood again.

�€� OK, bring on your worst, Dominic, I can take anything today. Oh oh, except for that pair I see heading this way. Fric and Frac. What'll it be, boys? "Dr. Z, I think you're just about the smartest guy there is writing about professional football," and the card he handed me had the four of hearts on one side, and his name, Win of Arlington, Va., on the other.

OK, so far so good. How about you, yeah you, with the porkpie hat and the toothpick between your teeth. Your name is what? Ryan of Chicago. OK, let's hear it.

"Why are you such an idiot?"

A fair question. You see, when my mother was eight months pregnant, there was this electrical storm, and...

"Oh, for God's sake, it's not a question to be answered," says the Flaming Redhead, rudely interrupting this elevating dialogue. "It's rhetorical, see, rhe-tor-i-cal."