I played in five fantasy football leagues this year; I didn’t make the playoffs in any of them. I bought the magazines and everything, did the research, had discussions about certain players with my friends. And now, All my minutes of waiver wire shopping and proposing shitty trades to Rob Iracane seem to have gone for naught, and so now I’m out $200 and wondering why I didn’t just roll those fantasy mags into a bonfire and throw myself on top of it.
Some people think fantasy sports are just glorified gambling, while others have said that such practices run on websites actually infringe on proprietary information of the NFL. Fuck those people, I say. They’re overlooking the greatest injustice of all: that fantasy football can make somebody like me, a guy who does nothing but watch football, feel like a total football idiot.
Football is, now more than ever, my life. I’ve watched more action in 2008 than I ever watched in the 80s, 90s, or aughts…combined. I write about it, I think about it, I study it. How the fuck could I be so bad at this? Why can’t this just be like sex, where I could just stay drunk the whole time and receive insincere compliments the next morning?
The prime issue might be that I just pour hours of prep into my draft board and then, once that process of picking my cadre of statistical fuckups is over, I take the rest of the fall off. In other words, I run my team exactly the way Mike Brown runs the Bengals. Maybe I should hire a general manager, too.
So now I have to watch everyone else in the leagues I FUCKING RUN AS COMMISSIONER chase that virtual championship, while I sit idly by with my dick in my hand and think of new rules that will fuck everybody over next year. Did you fucks even pay your league fees? I hate this shit.
Oh, but congrats to everyone that made the playoffs in their leagues. I hope you choke on each other’s cocks.