I was driving to Cheesecake Factory with my girlfriend about a year ago on a late Sunday afternoon. I had just witnessed my fantasy football team, The Dirty Sanchezes, lose a healthy lead in a span of three minutes as Priest Holmes ferociously pounded the Jets defense with his enormous black thighs. And this is what I said to her:
"You know, the thing I've noticed about fantasy football is that when I win, I slightly raise my eyebrows and the corners of my lips. And then maybe I nod twice and say, 'Cool.' That's it."
"But when I lose, I feel like shit for a good eighty minutes. If it's a close loss like today, then it's like the fucker stabbed my soul with a fork and chewed a small, meaty portion of it right in front of my face with the juices running down his chin."
"In other words, I hate losing much, much more than I enjoy winning; and that's a miserable pay-off. So after this season, no more fantasy football."
But instead of leaving my abusive spouse, my battered ass not only went back, but it got married two more times. That's right baby, I joined three fantasy football leagues this year.
Somehow I ended up with the 10th pick out of 12 for all three of my teams. So to help improve my chances of winning, I made sure not to pick the same guys in every league: I'm diversifying my millionaire jock portfolio.
Granted, this means there's three times more players I've got to keep track of, but I've told myself I'm not going to be as emotionally involved as I was the past three years. Seriously. I'm numb to it all now like a pornstar after a 500-man gangbang. Just doing it for the money.
Now bring on Priest Holmes.