Monday, September 16, 2013

My Life in Fantasy Football -- Week 2

A few weeks ago, I finally got my shot to play in the boys' club at my school when they decided to let me into their Fantasy Football League.

I was glad about this because A) as the little sister to two older brothers, I've always felt I could hold my own with the boys and 2) the boys at my school make me laugh, and I thought it would be interesting to see what the crap is so interesting about Fantasy Football.

So A) it's not going so well.  By the end of tonight, I'll be 1-1 in the standings, but just barely.  My team started really strong on Thursday night, but by the end of the first half in the late game last night, I was just squeaking by.  And then... of course... the night ended in a tie according to points.  I don't know how often two fantasy teams end in a tie, but if it's semi-rare, this would explain how I managed to do it in only my second week.  And it was a painfully slow journey to a tie, too, and neither my score or my opponent's score was very close to anyone else's.  After a little research, I think I'll win on bench points -- by 1.  By one stinkin' point.  It's sort of embarrassing, but I'm glad not to be the absolute lowest score this week.  It's sort of like if a bear chases you -- you don't have to outrun the bear, you just have to outrun one of your friends.  It's a sad look at things, but it's all I've got.

And 2) I still don't really get it.  I can see how a total football nerd would get super-involved and study up every day, but, frankly, I do not have the energy for that.  Nor do I even care all that much about pro football; I'd do much better if it was a college football league, I think.  Maybe.  Probably not.

Confession: at one point last week, I got caught up in a "My Fair Wedding" marathon and just followed my FF points via an app on my phone.  I'm not ashamed; David Tutera is a MASTERFUL wedding planner.  He creates magic, people.  

Needless to say, my competitive drive took a big hit after last week's showing.  

This week, I rededicated myself, and I only fell asleep twice during Sunday's games.  I avoided all the girly stations on my television, and I tried to keep an eye on the game while still reading my newest book (Laughter, Tears and Braids -- beautiful and thoughtful, but it made it hard to watch the game through the watershed of tears).  I was involved, but not overly so, and therefore I didn't have to feel too awful if I had another lousy showing.  I am masterful at the "appear aloof so no one will expect much from you" strategy in life.

Things went pretty well until I found myself, at 11 PM, screaming at the television for Seattle's quarterback, Russell Wilson, to "STOP THROWING THE DAMN BALL TO EVERYONE BUT MY RECEIVER! WHY DO YOU HATE GOLDEN TATE?  HE'S YOUR TEAMMATE!  VALUE HIM SO I CAN SCORE SOME MOTHER FLIPPING POINTS!"

That's when I took a small step back and took a long, hard look at my sad little 82 points and pulled up an old episode of "Project Runway".  


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