A week ago last Monday, I plopped my butt onto my couch, relaxing from a long week of running around and covering local sports. It was the National Football League’s opening weekend, so I was thrilled to have football back on the tube.
My Indianapolis Colts were in crisis mode before the season even started, and a 46-9 massacre at the hands of the Los Angeles Rams Sunday afternoon only worsened the blow. Their head coach attacked me with expressions of righting the ship, chopping wood, staying the course and every other cliché a mediocre head coach throws around when his mediocrity leads to a butt kicking. Oh, and he called the Rams the 49ers.
Ai yi yi.
Have no fear, though. At least I have a couple of fantasy football teams to brighten my mood!
So here I sit late Sept. 10, and things aren’t much better. Team A hasn’t scored any points because its receivers catch like Rashid “Hot Hands” Hanon. Chalk that one up as a loss before either of the two Monday night games even start.
Team B, though, is cruising. It’s created a sizable lead on a team that pegged itself “The Dynasty,” despite having won just one championship in 14 years. I already had the trash talk drafted — changing my team name to “Nice TRYnasty” had me sending my resume to Saturday Night Live. Hilarious.
Not so fast.
I flipped on the Vikings-Saints Monday Night Football game and saw that Stefon Diggs was catching all the touchdowns. The Dynasty had Stefon Diggs. No worries, my lead was comfortable. I was irritated, but not worried.
As the clock ticked away and the Vikings cruised to an easy victory, I thought, “Hmm, maybe ‘BYEnasty’ sounds better.” But, Drew Brees, that lame Purdue grad who throws the ball so much even the Saints equipment manager scores fantasy points, decides to toss it to the only guy he can’t toss it to — Coby “Don’t Call Me Kobe” Fleener — and The Dynasty beats me by 2 points.
Why do we put ourselves through this torture? Year after year, we spend way too much time analyzing this stuff only to have it crap on our hearts.
I’ve written about my fantasy football league before. I’m now at the point where I’ve played fantasy football more years of my life than I haven’t. I’ve won a few, and my organization probably even has a better winning percentage than many.
But I’ve also lost a ton, and I just referred to my team as an organization like I’m some lame version of Robert Kraft.
It’s brutal, buying magazines and studying the league more intensely than I did for any test in college — explains a lot, by the way. Even when I opt to wing it, it’s a crapshoot. Oh, look, I got Odell Beckham Jr. I wanted him! So he’s not playing this week? Awesome!
I play fantasy football because it makes me feel like a real general manager. I get to draft players based on all my analysis; I make trades and lineup adjustments as I convince myself that a Titans-Browns matchup has more significance in scoring than a Panthers-Ravens contest.
I have no idea what I’m doing.
Maybe that’s what makes it fun. I can do whatever the heck I want. I’ll invest all my stock in Beckham Jr. and Antonio Brown and then rely on Deshone Kizer to throw footballs for the Browns. Then I’ll get pissed at Kizer for not doing that.
It’s his fault, not mine! Be better playing football against the best football players! This is my team; I’m the captain, now.
This weekend, I’ll be back on my couch watching my team play poorly, checking score updates every three seconds and yelling at guys through the television who have no idea I even exist. What a life we live.
Time to go offer up some lopsided trades. I’ve got championships to win!