I'm not a sports guy. Never have been, never will. My idea of a sport is sitting on the "husband chair" at the local department store and counting the mullets that go in and out (here in the midwest, the count is astronomical).
So, when my friends asked me to join them in this pointless excursion, I scoffed. I said, "You know, my idea of fantasy doesn't involve football players. My fantasies are more along the lines of being shipwrecked on an island with a secretly unknown tribe of exotic super-models." They guffawed at my logic. Guffawed. I mean, really, would YOU want to be shipwrecked on an island with a league of football players? Yeah, me neither. The smell alone would destroy any of my earlier conceived fantasies. (And I better stop here about my fantasies, because my wife reads my blog).
But I caved to peer pressure. Not knowing what I was doing, I decided on a strategy. I picked players with the names of cars. I had a "Mercedes" and a "Cadillac" on my team. Maybe even a "Mustang." Good enough for me. Needless to say, I'm not doing so well. And I don't care.
Fantasy Football is the dodgeball of armchair sports. Bullies, who know much more about the game than I do, pummel me with verbal assaults, stinging me with blistering tosses of their well-armed football knowledge. I attempt to laugh it off, while soothing my wounded male ego behind closed doors with mental salves and bandages.
Really, what's the point? Has the Fantasy Football league bettered mankind? Does the winner walk away to his fantasy shower stall, patting himself on the back, believing he played a good game?
It's a sickness. And it needs to stop. It's too late for the election this time. But, next election, I'm going to lobby for an amendment abolishing Fantasy Football on the grounds that it's...um, dumb. Please do the right thing and vote.