Ah, Fantasy Football. The last vestige of any athleticism connection I have left resides now purely in sports knowledge. Thus, this sports related (actually a closet excuse to gamble) hobby, where men get together, pick down the line according to a magazine or ESPN’s website, pray for healthy players and lucky waiver spots, then talk shit if and when they win. Just like they are GM’s for a Super Bowl winning team.
What the game is, for those unaware, is a draft of NFL players. If they have good statisitics the week you start them, you get points. If your group of random players scores more than another team’s group of random players that week, you “win” even if in real life every one of your players loses the real NFL game. The NFL loves fantasy football, because it makes people like me go to BW3’s all day to watch Arizona vs. Seattle, a game I wouldn’t normally watch with a gun to my head. Why? Because I have the backup tight end for Seattle and my oppenent has the Cardinals’ kicker – I’m up by two and by God, please let the Cardinals get no field goals, or my $50 entry fee is gone. BW3’s loves it, because I generally hate strangers and will refuse to talk to anyone, meaning I get bored, leading to me drinking and eating more to get through the crushing stagnation of watching the NFC West in a 10-6 shootout.
What kind of person does this to themselves? Degenerate football fans with gambling problems. In case you are wondering, I’m in five leagues this year.