I'm done. Finally. After three days of highlighting, reviewing and surfing the web for meaningless details, I'm spent like the only sheep in a town of cowboys who haven't seen a chick in months.
Did I forget to mention I also read a 200-plus page magazine for this exercise? If I studied this hard in college I'd have my own castle along the Sicilian coast and a personal scrotum-washer to follow me around town. I'd be so intelligent that my brain could kick Will Hunting's bean on any given Sunday. I wonder how he'd like them apples?
And what will all this hard work get me in the long run? Come Thursday, it will help me decide in the 16th round of our fantasy football draft whether to select a kicker with an impossibly long Euro name or the sixth-string wide receiver for Cleveland Browns.
It's that time of year - fantasy football season. Every year, 10 of us dorks from the prison work camp get together at a restaurant, or this year the Compound, and pick names as if we're the GMs of these spoiled science experiments known as football players. We come in with colored sheets that would look more in place at a gay pride rally than in a living room full of football geeks. We talk like we know our shit - "Well, with Joe Pokebuddy's arrest for chicken fucking last week, the Seahawks will need someone to man the left side of the OLine otherwise Hasselbeck will be picking his nuts off the turf after each pass." - and as we wait for our turn to pick we hide our cheat sheets and work more secretively than NSA domestic spying squad.
Of course, the inevitable question is: Has any of this extensive studying helped you in this league? My answer: Aside from developing a hemerroid the size Qualcomm Stadium from sitting at my computer for six hours a night each August, I would have to say that's a big, fat, fly-drawin' NO.
Four years, two playoff appearances, in the money once. Never better than third. You do the math.
More times than not its $50 flushed into the football toilet. That's right, fifty bones - 30 to get into the league, and because SportsGeek (who's the league Fuhrer) is a greedy pipsqueak we charge for all player pick ups aside from the initial draft. Want another QB? Pony up $3 big spender. RB? WR? Instead of using that $2 on a Chinese hooker, hand it over to the commish. And since I'm the Daniel Snyder of fantasy football, I'm never happy with my squad so I throw money at the problem and pray that the fourth string RB which the Cowboys just picked up off an Oil derrick in Odessa will run for a few hundred yards and score a couple of touchdowns against Baltimore.
Every year, as I'm pouring through stats that look more Indian hieroglypic than English, I wonder, is it worth it? When I'm watching as my starting quarterback is dragging what's left of his left knee off the field behind him I think no, that 30 bucks would have been better off being bet on dog fights in Virginia. Then, there's days when my wide receivers are catching everything but gonorrhea on the gridiron and I thank the lord I am me.
Last year was doubly tough, not only did I finish the prison work camp football league in dead-ball last, but to boot I went to San Diego for the game that shall no longer be named. Football, after that, was dead to me. It took - I shit you not - until mid-July to get me mildly interested in football, specifically fantasy football. I still loved my Chargers, but it was bitter love like the kind you experience when you learn your better half wants you to dress up like a pink Easter bunny for sex because quote - I have really fond memories of Easter and bunnies - endquote.
A month later, and I'm panting in draft anticipation. My sheets are highlighted, the bye weeks are circled, I have my draft war area cordoned off on the family room floor and I'm fretting over whether Mike Hawk will be available in the eighth round.
And come mid-December, when I'm scratching my head at another last place finish, I'll start preparing for the 6 - SIX - fantasy baseball leagues I'll be in.
I guess you can say I live in a fantasy world.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to check out my fantasy NASCAR team.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
For the love that is all things fantasy lets hope that MM is alright so we can get this draft going.
Was it the hemmroid that popped or did you eat seven-month-old meat?
Hope you feel better so that we can kick your ass.
Post a Comment