It’s A Fantasy
I need to get a life. I am a member of a “Fantasy Football League”. That’s not the worst of it- the league is on the internet. I am in a fantasy football league on the internet. And I wonder why I don’t meet women.
For those of you unfamiliar with the concept- in a football fantasy league you “draft” a team of players consisting of actual NFL players. Let’s say you choose Brett Favre as your quarterback. Every time Brett throws a touchdown in the actual game, you gain points.
Leagues work differently but generally you have a quarterback, receivers, running backs, kickers and a defensive team. You get different points depending on which players score. After all the NFL games are over for the week (after Monday Night Football) you total the points you players have earned. You then deduct points for any arrests, indictments or convictions of your players that week.
If you want to try a fantasy league (there are leagues for many sports including baseball, basketball and alligator wrestling), the most important thing is your team name. Most of the names I’ve seen are not printable here. My suggestion is you avoid obvious lewd names and employ more creativity. I try to name my team on how I think I’ll do in the league: Not A Chance in Hells, The Cellar Sweepers, and The Loser Brackets.
You should try hard each week to win because the league champion usually wins a prize. This year our champion will receive a T-shirt with the league logo on it. This is the source of a lot of pride for the winner. Never mind that the league cost $50 to get in and the T-shirt is worth 37 cents.
The internet is not the only place to play fantasy leagues. Most of the leagues are non-internet. Football fans get together for an actual draft. Just a few years ago I was in a league that had the “draft” in the boardroom of a huge bank in downtown Columbus. I had never been in a fantasy league before and didn’t know what the hell I was doing. The other guys had draft reports and computer printouts. They smoked big cigars.
The league “commissioner” stood at the front of the huge boardroom table. He looked around at the room of 25 people and announced that we would first draft quarterbacks. Each team “owner” selected a quarterback. It came to me. The two quarterbacks I had picked were already chosen. I didn’t know I should have a list of all the quarterbacks to choose from. I didn’t know what to do. My time was running out. “You are going to have to make a choice,” the commissioner scolded.
I panicked. Looking down at my Street and Smith’s guide I saw a name I recognized.
“Jim Plunkett!” I bellowed.
The room convulsed in laughter. Jim Plunkett hadn’t played in the league for fifteen years! I must have seen his name on a list of former players.
“Ha ha! Jim Plunkett. Don’t the players have to be actively playing?”, someone said, doubled over, coughing and laughing.
“Hey, I’ll take Bart Starr!” another yelled.
“Hey, has anyone taken Joe Namath?” another jeered.
Slowly the ruckus subsided while I sheepishly passed my turn. Hey, it could have been worse. I could have drafted a dead guy. From the wrong sport. Is Babe Ruth available?
