The Agony and the … Well, More Agony
A lot of fantasy football players say the reason they enjoy it so much is that it gives them something to root for in virtually every game.
Me? It gives me so many more chances to scream in impotent rage at numbers on a computer screen.
First of all, there’s the mad mid-week dash to pick up that free agent who scored three touchdowns last Sunday so he can curl up and die in your starting lineup the following Sunday.
Then there’s agonizing over which players you’re going to start, and which are going to have the games of their lives while sitting on your bench.
Next is the complete second-guessing of all that work and research during the week as you swap out your entire lineup for your bench. Then the third-guessing where you swap them all back because four out of the six fantasy sites you trawl all week say the wind’s blowing in the wrong direction for your wide receiver to have a good game.
Of course, the wind is completely calm come kickoff.
Then there’s the nine hours of torture as you pray your guys get the ball more times than your opponent’s guys do; as you watch online score trackers slowly widen the space between your carefully crafted roster and the guy who just clicked on the “Recommend Lineup” button and who has a starting running back on a bye week; as you hope and pray your place kicker playing on Monday night can somehow kick eleven field goals so you can eke out a tie.
Take this past Monday night, for example. I need twelve points between two players to win my game. Randy Moss kindly obliged by scoring absolutely zero. But my running back, BenJarvus Green-Ellis, oh, he was an force to be reckoned with, a bruising tank of a runner who could not be stopped.
Save by his head coach deciding to start taking a knee when he was four yards away from winning the game for me.
Four yards. Twelve feet. The distance my blood would have shot out of my body had I opened a vein at that moment, so high was my blood pressure.
And so I lost. Oh, not gracefully. There were horrible things said about Bill Belichick, his fashion sense, the manufacturers of said fashion, the company who made the TV on which I watched all of this unfold, and the sick, sadistic bastard who came up with this stupid bloody game in the first place.
But there’s this running back on the waiver wire…