People ’round these parts like to make fun of me. They see the ever-present khakis, the gluttony, the middle school band president in me.

So sure, I didn’t own a pair of jeans for seven years. OK, fine, I like to eat. A couple of drumsticks, some barbecue sauce, fries, pie, soda, slaw, clam chowdah, corn bread and a few side dishes, and I’ve got lunch. And yes, I did happen to play trombone once upon a time.

But what these forecasting freaks around me don’t know is that I’ve got a wild card up my sleeve better than the Angels and Giants ever dreamed of.

Right there under the graying hairs and receding hairline, this cagey vet has one final trick left in the ‘ol sack of doughnuts.

See, Badger & Donnelly, Benjamin and Rittenberg figure me for finished. But it ain’t true, much to their chagrin.

All my Kassesian existence, I’ve made it a habit of lulling people into a deep, peaceful sleep to kick things off. But then my laugh wakes them up. Ah, I digress. Point is, I started this little game of ours with a 6-6 stinker in Week 1, and ever since people counted me out.

Well, you’ll notice that I’ve moved into a solid second, and by the end of this season I plan on blasting Colin into the middle of the bunch. And by picking Kansas State against an angry group of Longhorns, the statesman is sure to get the hook sooner rather than later.

In a sad development, Benjamin has taken to whining louder than fellow Massachusetts native Nancy Kerrigan ever could. (“Why me? Don’t poke me! Don’t poke me!”) Well, Benj, if you think an overrated Golden Domer squad can travel to Fort Collins/Colorado Springs and go 7-0, I’m afraid to inform: The tears will be flowing freely Saturday night. At least the Deuce is open late.

And then we get to Rittenberg, a partner in crime for going on three years now. But after watching him glissade, pirouette and ballottՀ