Why Writers Shouldn’t Play Fantasy Football

It started out as a favor. My brother needed another person for his Fantasy Footall league. So—what the hell—I signed up.

That was last year. Now I’m in three of the damned things. Honestly, I love it. Turns out I’m not too bad at it. Turns out Fantasy Football isn’t so different from Dungeons & Dragons. Exchange Strength for Yards-per-carry. Switch Saving Throws for Receptions. Touchdowns are basically just critical hits.

Anyway, one of the leagues consists of a bunch of guys from my brother’s wife’s family—her brothers and uncles and whatnot, I think. The Simpsons, they’re called (like, for real). My something-in-laws. Good people.

During Week 3, in this league, I got totally creamed by a team called DYNASTY (final score: 65.78 – 105.30). Now, normally, when you cream a guy, etiquette dictates you let it be, shake hands, and move on—kind of like the QB taking a knee, instead of tossing one last easy touchdown to top off the blowout.

But this guy decided to gloat—on the public message board, no less! Nothing too fancy. “Good game. NOT!” Something like that. But, damn, dude—kick a guy while he’s down, why don’tcha.

Eventually, the football season drifted by, and Week 3 became Week 11. My rematch with DYNASTY had arrived.

And I won. Didn’t mop him up nearly as bad as he’d mopped me up (final score: 114.64 – 106.32); but, hey, a W’s a W.

So I took that W straight to the message board, typed, “Good game. Tell me how my ass tastes.”

All in good fun, of course. Or so you’d think. But one of the other coaches actually complained about my smack-talk being too gross, and too vulgar (oh the shock of this opinion being sent my way).

Wait a minute. Something must have been off, because it sure seemed like I was being told to curb my potty mouth while retaliating in a battle that I didn’t start.

Fuck that shit. Someone get me my mandolin.