My strategy of drafting “the handsomest team” originally seemed like a good idea. My rather cursory knowledge of football stems solely from binge-watching all 5 seasons of Friday Night Lights over two weeks. Most of my energy during that period unfortunately wasn’t devoted to learning what a quarterback does, but instead to fervently wishing that Tami Taylor were real and interested in being my friend/therapist/hairstylist/second mom. I figured since, unlike Michael Vick, I didn’t really have a dog in this fight, I might as well seize this opportunity to research attractive men.
But then I learned that the winner of our fantasy football league would win not only a t-shirt, but also a party thrown in her honor. I reckoned if I proved victorious, everyone would have to fly to Houston and worship me in person. Being very much interested in that particular outcome, I set about eagerly and obsessively researching the best football players and fantasy strategies. I reached out to friends, relatives of friends, and various Internet communities; I tried to distinguish between a wide receiver and a running back (still a tad unclear on this front; I think wide receivers don’t take handoffs?); I mentioned fantasy football to everyone I came into contact with, in hopes that they’d be able to offer up some key piece of advice. I think for a solid week there, I was the most obnoxious friend anyone’s ever had.
Finally, Draft Day came. And, y’all, those hours of research were not for naught. Yahoo! rated my performance an “A-,” predicting that I should finish in second. Read it and weep, sweet leaguemates:
I was feeling pretty damn pleased with myself. Of course, pride goeth before the fall, and my inevitable heartbreak came a few days later during the season openers. My second draft pick, who conveniently happens to be handsome AND talented, suffered a severe case of butterfingers during his game, and in so doing, earned me negative points. Two of my other players were pulled from their respective games due to injuries. I texted a friend of mine in a panic, and he responded, “Fantasy football is all about maddening inconsistency.” Not particularly reassuring.
But then — hope resurfaced! At one point in the draft, I picked a player named Jordy Nelson as a tribute to my friend Jordie. I was teased about it to a small degree, but what goes around comes around, because Mr. Nelson exploded on the field in a big way last Sunday, wholly compensating for Wilson’s lackluster performance. Then my tight end somehow quadrupled his projected number of points. I still don’t know what a tight end is, but I will forever love Jared Cook for nigh-singlehandedly helping me eke out a win in my first fantasy match-up.
I’ve spent more time this past week than I care to admit consulting fantasy football messageboards to see how I should change my line-up for this weekend’s games. I’m feeling pretty confident with my decisions, and am looking forward to seeing everyone at both my victory party and my Hall of Fame induction ceremony in a few months.