The Real McCOYS – Sheldon Cielto strutted into GW7 with a smug‑grin and a pathetic 82 points, pushing his total to a laughable 470 and a world‑ranking that makes the Sahara look densely populated at 426 859. He’s still convinced his squad is “the next United” while the rest of us stare at his fantasy diary and wonder if he’s ever actually watched a live match. His “real” achievement is that he finally managed to stop finishing last in his own kitchen table league, which is about as impressive as a wilted lettuce in a salad. Sublime Tackle FC – Sheldon Wood’s 78‑point haul (508 total, rank 859 799) is the closest thing this week to a respectable performance, if you count “respectable” as “barely avoiding total embarrassment.” He bragged about his “sublime” tactics, yet his midfield looked like a flock of pigeons who had taken a wrong turn at the club shop. The only thing more sub‑par than his tackling is the fact that his opponents actually needed to pick up the ball. Grande United – Timothy Sooklal’s 75 points got him to 464 and a rank of 1 203 496, a number that will probably only be useful for a future government census. He hammers on about “grande ambitions,” but his bench was a graveyard of players who would have been better off as mannequins. Still, for a manager who treats a formation like a cryptic crossword, getting 75 points feels like an accidental miracle. IsakHunte – Brandon Bradshaw scraped together 70 points (474 total, rank 2 480 601) and somehow convinced himself he’s the next Klopp. The reality is his side looked like a group of over‑caffeinated interns who had never heard of a clean sheet. He may have avoided the bottom, but the only thing he’s truly nailed this week is the art of over‑promising. Creepers NWA – Derek Awai’s 68 points left him perched at 389 with a rank that reads like a postcode for the middle of nowhere (2 841 718). He called his squad “creepy” because they haunt you with missed chances and phantom saves. If you’re looking for a team that can creep into a win, look elsewhere – this lot can’t even creep past the first half without a panic attack. Atletico Topgun – Alastair Paton managed 67 points, a total of 463 and a rank of 3 146 712, which is just a polite way of saying he’s stuck in the lower echelons of the fantasy universe. He boasts about “top‑gun” flair, yet his forward line looked like a bunch of kids playing footie in a playground. Still, he didn’t finish dead last, so maybe he’s the world’s most competent underachiever. Keeper Utd – Keenon Roper racked up 65 points, lifted his total to 469 and slipped into rank 3 791 356, a position that would be impressive if it weren’t for the fact that it’s still in the middle of the abyss. His goalkeepers actually earned points, which is a small mercy in a sea of otherwise miserable selections. He may have saved a few, but the rest of his squad was about as useful as a chocolate teapot. 2 Dare is 2 De Zerbi – David Graham’s 63‑point effort (467 total, rank 4 663 573) is proof that even a broken clock is right twice a day. He claimed “Zerbi‑style brilliance,” yet his tactics were as predictable as a daytime soap opera. Still, he didn’t finish in the absolute pits, so at least his ego can stay inflated for another week. Porro Me A Drink – Nigel Singh’s 61 points got him to 427 and a rank of 5 346 273, which makes him the fantasy equivalent of a barfly who can’t find the exit. His bench was a drinking game where every sub was a missed opportunity, and his captaincy decision was as sound as a cheap vodka shot. If you enjoy watching a manager drown in his own bad choices, congratulations – you’ve found a champion. Shottas United FC – Kerry Singh also earned 61 points (381 total, rank 5 144 349), but his team looked more like a group of street‑rappers than footballers – all style, no substance. He shouted “shottas” while his players missed more shots than a malfunctioning sprinkler. The only thing he’s successfully “shotted” is his own reputation. Beijing F.C. – Ricardo Aquing gathered 60 points, lifted his tally to 478, and clung to rank 5 778 274 like a tourist holding onto a souvenir that’s already tarnished. He praised his “Asian precision,” yet his midfield was as clumsy as a tourist trying to cross a busy roundabout. Still, he didn’t hit rock bottom, which is a tiny silver lining in an otherwise overcast sky. Esoteric FC – Vikarno Hunte’s 60 points (413 total, rank 5 478 147) are as obscure as his team name, and his rank is practically an invitation to a secret society no one wants to join. He talked about “esoteric tactics,” which is code for “I have no idea what I’m doing.” At least his points didn’t evaporate completely, giving him a faint glimmer of hope he’ll probably squander next week. CA FC – Reed Harper scraped 54 points, nudged his total to 406, and sank to rank 7 490 741, a figure that makes you wonder if he’s playing FPL from the wrong planet. He called his squad “competitive,” but even a kindergarten class could have outscored him. The only thing he’s managed to keep is the dignity of being the epitome of mediocrity. Scousers FC – ANSON BENNETT, with a pitiful 30 points, total 411, and an astronomically low rank of 10 829 351, looks like he’s been playing fantasy with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back. He bragged about “Scouse grit,” yet his team performed with the enthusiasm of a stale fish and the skill of a broken toaster. If there were a trophy for pure, unadulterated failure, he’d finally have something to hang on his wall. **Gameweek Verdict:** GW7 turned into a carnival of shattered egos and fantasy carnage, where the high‑flyers pretended they were gods before being tripped by their own hubris, and the low‑flyers sank deeper into the mud of their own incompetence. The Real McCOYS tried to wear a crown made of paper, Sublime Tackle FC strutted like a peacock with a broken wing, and Scousers FC simply vanished into the ether, leaving only the echo of a manager’s sigh. In the end, the only thing that survived the week was the brutal truth: most of these managers are better at writing angry emails than assembling a functional eleven. The Hash BPL landscape is a war zone of delusions, and the next gameweek promises more blood, sweat, and the occasional accidental point. Hold onto your caps, because the madness is only just beginning.