There are few things that I take too seriously in this world. I am a sarcastic, narcissistic prick at heart who hates when things get too confrontational or heated. That is, until a trophy is involved.
A trophy that stands 17 inches tall, and looks like it’s solid gold (that’s what counts, right?). It's an opportunity to finally get revenge on that kid to whom I lost ten bucks on the Alabama/Texas A&M game junior year of high school. Yes, please. Last, but definitely not least, it’s a chance to finally prove that I am the foremost football authority out of all my high school friends–my mouth is watering just thinking about it.
So how does this all work?
"Never hold back: bring up the team they have, what team they root for, what school they go to, eighth-grade report cards, past girlfriends, absolutely anything that can get into their heads—it’s the most important part of fantasy football."
It begins on draft day. This year, I was unavailable to draft because I was away from my computer, so I set my auto draft to pick the team I need for victory. Not a good start.
The next day, I see I got the highest predicted running back (and arguably my favorite human of all time) in Marshawn Lynch, the best defense of 2014 in the Seahawks, as well as the high-potential Andrew Luck. Not bad, computer, not bad.
The next step in the fantasy football process is to make trades and sign free agents. Who should I trade? Who do I need? Who is injured? How can I ultimately screw my friends over?
Next up is the most important step: let your rivals have it on the page. Never hold back: bring up the team they have, what team they root for, what school they go to, eighth grade report cards, past girlfriends, absolutely anything that can get into their heads—it’s the most important part of fantasy football.
After that’s all over, it’s time to wait for kick-off. Not much really goes on at this point, so we’ll skip to the first week.
That first Sunday of fantasy football is the craziest and most eventful day of the season. Team owners feverishly keep up on their phones, computers, TVs…any platform they can get their hands on. My living room turns into the New York Stock Exchange for a weekend.
The time after, however, is a lot less exciting (at least in my case). My two best players decided to have the most mediocre games of their careers, two other players barely scored one point, and one of my players didn’t even play. I lost in embarrassing fashion.
Now we're sitting at week five. Half of my team is battling some sort of injury (including Lynch and Luck, of course!), and the rest just flat out stink. The battle for last place is alive as it has ever been for me–and I'm a Buffalo sports fan.
No matter how bad this team is, though, and no matter how badly my team embarrasses me, I still have my eyes on that plastic trophy. I will be back and better (or at least louder) than ever for next season.
