[Business Day One] A Friend of Fate
Allow me to set the stage for you. I was 4-0 in my one and only Fantasy Football league, hoping to make it five straight against a team with Tom Brady at quarterback. We can start one quarterback, one running back, two wide receivers, one tight end, one flex player (RB, WR, or TE), one kicker and one defense. I’ve started more or less the same line-up in these spots for all of my games this year: Phil Rivers at QB, Joseph Addai at RB, T. J. Houshmandzadeh and Santonio Holmes at WR, Antonio “Third Round was not too soon to draft him” Gates at TE, Larry Maroney (I call him Larry) at Flex, Josh Brown at Kicker and Minnesota’s Defense as, of course, my defense. Great team, built around consistent points.
But not for Week Five. Maroney and Addai were both out. They were, it is important to note, my 
first two draft picks. Losing one of your first two selections is often the kiss of death. Losing both is what’s known in fantasy sports as the “Getting Shot in the Head, and then the Chest” of death. My RB back-up, Chester Taylor, was on a bye week, along with his team’s (Minnesota’s) defense. Santonio Holmes, I learned halfway through his game, was out with a sudden hamstring injury. Favored WR back-up Santana Moss was also out. Phil Rivers was still Phil Rivers, and was playing a Denver team that is exceedingly tough to pass against. Oh, and I’ll save you the suspense now – Josh Brown didn’t record a single point.
So, my starting line-up was as follows:
QB– Phil Rivers
RB– NONE
WR– T.J. Houzy Whatzit
WR– Donte’ “Oh right, that other guy” Stallworth
TE– Antonio Gates
Flex– Antwaan “Oh right, that other guy” Randel El (waiver wire acquisition)
K– Josh Brown… so, NONE
Defense– Cardinals (waiver wire acquisition)
To call this team “patchwork” would be an insult to the fine quilt craftswomen of America. Read More
eate a perfect storm of manly, chest-bumping, “great to be alive” camaraderie. Fans gather across the country in stadium parking lots, lucky bars and packed living rooms and celebrate the day that, for many, is the highlight of their week. And darn it, it should be. Sundays during football season are a party and must be treated like one. Actually throw a party! If you, the readers, have never thrown a Regular Season Football Watching Party, then you better get to it. Appease the Gods of Sport and impress your friends by inviting a bunch of them over for food and festivities. If you get six buddies at your house for Week 4, maybe one of them will volunteer his or her place for Week 5. It’s like 
television on a Sunday night five miles from Fenway, and I wasn’t watching it. In fact, I wasn’t even thinking about it. I was awake, and in my right mind, but had no interest in the outcome of the game at that moment. It was only this morning that I realized I don’t know how the game ended. I turned it off when Pedroia was batting, and so had to check the final score on my cell phone at 8:30 this morning. It was a stark realization on this windy day. The team I grew up rooting for was not my biggest sports priority.
special. It usually takes place sometime during the second helping of pulled pork, or in the middle of a hastily organized 7-on-5 (someone clearly miscounted) Ultimate Frisbee match. It is the moment that you remember that you’re there to see a football game. At good tailgates, you somehow forget that for a few minutes. You’re sitting in a foldable camp chair, eating more food in three hours than you have during the previous 48 and opining on how a team can take down the West Coast Offense and you just get so wrapped up in the experience that you somehow forget why you’re there. You never lose sight of the fact that you’re in a field, surrounded by friends of yours wearing the same colors and within earshot of the marching band tuning up. But the “I’m here to watch a game” thought kind of seeps out of your head for a bit, replaced with hasty plans to shotgun a beer and visit your friend Matty’s party. And then you remember the reason for the season, and are made glad. It’s like finding $20 in your pocket – it was always there, and it was always yours, but you didn’t remember you had it until just that moment.
describe anyone with an aggressive love of any hobby) have this nasty habit of flexing their nerd muscles publicly. They not only express their powerful and startlingly well-researched views, but they want to demolish yours. A conversation with a nerd becomes a power struggle. Any opinion you offer somehow jeopardizes the sanctity of their intellectual nerd fortress. Even if you agree that Wedge Antilles was the linchpin of the Rebel’s fighter strategy at Endor, if you don’t agree hard enough, a nerd will scoff and pelt you with Dippin’ Dots. Fantasy football managers, don’t be that guy. Don’t ever be that guy. Your team is together and you’re proud of it. And that’s awesome. But I do believe that sport is more about unity than division. Naive, maybe. But I’m trying to push my canon and you folks are reading, so hopefully I’ll get a couple of head nods out of you. I won’t hit you with highly processed ice cream if I don’t, though.
work under the assumption that everyone I know (including you the readers) is going to be drafting sometime between now and the start of the season. I also assume you’re already researching your late-round fliers and trying to figure out which non-LT, non-Steven Jackson running back is worth reaching for in the first round. As such, I’m not going to kick down your door and give you a sure-fire draft strategy that will win you a championship. You already have one, in theory. (Unless you plan on drafting wide receivers early. If that’s the case, I’m sorry. No one can help you.) No, what I’m here for today is to help you marry your fantasy football draft into the rest of your life. To let you know that it’s ok to be doing this, and to not do other things in order to do this. To put my hand on your shoulder and say “Hey, buddy. You can avoid a child’s soccer game to do a live draft at your old frat brother’s condo.” I’m like a modern day Miss Manners. If Miss Manners was a bald Italian that comes up with inspirational nicknames for all of his players.