Also see: Average Auction Values | Head-to-Head Points-Based Strategy

Indiana Jones feared them, and Samuel L. Jackson shouted expletives at them from 30,000 feet … If you also have an aversion to snakes, even in the context of a serpentine-method fantasy draft, try an equal opportunity draft: the auction – you can import your results into the Yahoo! game with the offline draft tool.

Similar to purchasing livestock, antique cars or dates with Corey Feldman, auctions are the ultimate utopian experiment where equality is the norm. All it takes is a numbered paddle, the fast-talking Micro Machines guy (sold separately), a little strategy and a large pair of stones. The best part: anyone is fair game.

How does it work?

Each owner is given a budget of $260 to field a 28-man roster. Based on a pre-determined serpentine order an owner queues a name and people bid for the services of that player, usually under a one-to-two minute time limit. The highest bid wins. It's that simple – believe me,

If you're willing to legally change your name to Peyton Manning when the home team loses, take pleasure in endless Terrell Owens media soap operas and/or believe a date with a scantily clad pigskin pom-pom pusher is possible, you're only 134 days away from the start of your fantasy season. Yep, it's a beer-line-at-halftime-long NFL offseason.

Come on, rip into a box of Cracker Jacks! What else are you going to do? Waste your summer listening to John Cougar Mellencamp's football anthem "Our Country" and reminisce about the season?

To quench your thirst for cutthroat fantasy, get off your can and signup for a points-based head-to-head baseball league. Similar to its pigskin cousin, head-to-head baseball takes owners on a daily, not weekly, thrill-ride where the season stretches over a whopping 26 trash-talking, action-packed weeks. The best part: You don't have to wait until Sunday to comb the box scores.

Before you type "Enlarged Peavy" as your team nickname, understand this: compared

"Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter. – Mark Twain

At 16, my driver's license wooed the ladies. At 18, I did my democratic duty and hit the polls. And at 21, I shotgunned an ice cold adult beverage for the first time legally.

Now inching my way toward the big three-0, each birthday passes with little fanfare and zero reward. On the bright side, I'm a short 32 years, 31 days and 16 hours away from a Rogaine discount at Walgreens and the senior citizen rate at the local links. Yippee skippee! If only Wrigley Field had an all-you-can-eat bratwurst section exclusively for thirty-somethings, then my 30th birthday wouldn't trigger a midlife crisis. Come on, Tribune Company! Generations of Evans have suffered for 99 painful years without a World Series title and all-inclusive ticket packages – plenty of brats included.

For fantasy baseball aficionados, age is more than just a number. It's a predictor of breakout success.

Conventional wisdom tells us

"Men are rated by their ability to finish not by what they attempt." – Unknown

It was a year an Oompah-Loompah become a giant. A Bolt produced heavenly numbers. And a gentle draft day Brees strengthened into a hellacious hurricane.

Marked by excessive tailback timeshares, quarterback quandaries and instant-impact rookies, in a nutshell, 2006 was about as predictable as guessing what Cincin-Attica delinquent would land in the pokey next. The demise of former studs Shaun Alexander, Edgerrin James and Randy Moss, and the unforeseen rise of contributors like Marques Colston, reminds us all that there are no guarantees in a parity-filled league where the specter of injury and the orange glow of Lucifer Mike Shanahan constantly looms.

As timeless as the Oscars, Grammies and the always entertaining Razzies, it's time to give out the hardware for the first annual Noisers. Ridiculous nicknames and man-crushes are strongly encouraged.

TOP NOISE MAKER (MVP)
LaDanian Tomlinson, SD, RB 2006 Stats:

I've got problems with you people and now you're going to hear about them." – Frank Costanza

Some households celebrate Christmas, many Hanukkah and others the African tradition Kwanzaa. However, under the Costanza roof of outward hostility and elevated voices, people gather around an aluminum pole and air their year-ending grievances during the greatest of all fake holidays, Festivus.

In the spirit of this nondenominational celebration, you are cordially invited to join me for a comfort meal of meatloaf and asparagus as I express my complaints of the 2006 fantasy football season. Feats of strength are optional.

Grievance No. 5: Carnell Williams
Problem: After an explosive start to his career, Cadillac owners had lofty expectations for 2006. Befallen by a barrage of offensive line injuries and unable to find adequate running space with Bruce Gradkowski incapable of hitting a fat man from 10 yards away, Cadillac has run with bald tires. With only one score, three games of 100-plus yards

Editor's Note: This week's column is coming out a day late because Mother Nature wreaked havoc on the editor of Brad Evans' column, causing a prolonged power outage that forced the delay. Evans wants all of you to know that he had Seattle's D.J. Hackett as a Flame candidate and, although he's salty about it, he's agreed to pull Hackett from consideration since his game has already been played.

If you ain't first, you're last." – Ricky Bobby

So you lost in the first round. Instead of throwing yourself onto the tracks of an oncoming train or drowning yourself in a five-gallon drum of wing sauce, live by the Chicago Cubs fan motto: "There's always next year."

Even though your season has come to a bitter end, it's never too early to plan ahead. In the dog-eat-dog fantasy football world, keeper-league owners who take chances now on potential hidden gems can improve their stock for next year before the calendar turns to 2007. Like the old adage says, "Those who get up early, throw helmets

Steele: Rudy, are you ready champ?
Rudy: I've been ready for this my whole life.
Steele: Then you take us out on the field.

You've clawed. You've scratched. And you've tried to sleep your way to the top of your fantasy league, albeit unsuccessfully. Now, its do or die time.

The opening round of the fantasy playoffs always reminds me of an underdog story that rivals "Rudy." And I played the role of Daniel Rudiger. At least I had hoped.

For most of my 2004 season, my team was repeatedly dealt seven-deuce. Even with Shaun Alexander on roster, each week, it seemed, my opponent's players ingested a cocktail of fantasy steroids, taking out their pimple-faced complexions and fits of rage on the Crunk Juiced Cowbells. Thankfully, with a 6-7 record, I squeaked my way into the playoffs, destined to be the whipping boy of the No. 1 seed.

In a bold, yet brilliant move, I decided to take a chance and started Titans gunslinger Billy Volek over then valued vet Aaron Brooks. Volek had always been one

"Some days are diamonds. Some days are stones." – John Denver

Elmo is the LaDanian Tomlinson of toys.

For over a decade the little furry Sesame Street monster has brainwashed children with babble talk and songs of proper toilet use. Naturally, his media presence has created an unrivaled merchandise explosion. And it drives all parents batty.

As if stores were selling shirtless George Clooney clones, millions of soccer moms across the country pulled hamstrings and threw stiff arms in a mad dash to acquire the highly sought after Tickle Me Extreme Elmo over the holiday weekend. Countless reports of frenzied shoppers made headlines, convincing me, as The Terminator taught us all, that the lovable dolls are really intelligent machines hell-bent on destroying humanity by thermonuclear war. For our sake, let's hope Grover is John Conner.

Like determined Elmo-minded moms, playoff bound fantasy owners are in a desperate search to reach for the shelf for hot commodities. Without the non-stop