Had fries with two meals and a breakfast of eggs, sausage and a PB and banana smoothie today (not to mention a few pints of Guinness during the game) and I’m getting three suits fitted tomorrow. They are going to cut a neck hole in a tent, throw it over my head, and kick me out the door.
I’ve basically given up on fantasy football this year – and I haven’t enjoyed actually watching football this much in years. I used to sit in my living room with my laptop open, checking stats for my three or four teams, rooting both for and against almost every player in the NFL, who I either owned or was playing against in any one of my leagues. I’d see lines scroll across the bottom of my TV screen like “WR John McScrub 4 catches, 94 yards, 1 TD” and I’d race to pick up a guy who, 30 minutes prior, I’d never even heard of. I’d pore over Twitter to see if my TE2, listed as doubtful but who fully practiced all week, was going to play or not.
This year, nothing. I have my teams, and I set my lineups, but that’s it. I don’t know how my players are scoring during the games and I frankly can’t even tell you who they are. No open laptop with stat tracker, no rushing to pick up various bums having big days, no fretting over existential questions like, “Well, I have MJD in my biggest money league, so I want him to do well, but I’m playing against him in another league, where he’s owned by a guy who I really want to beat.” I’m so out of fantasy football and its ilk this year that I was eliminated from a survivor pool in week two because I forgot to make a pick. In week two. That’s the second week of the season.
I just sit there, watch football, and enjoy it. And it is glorious.
And I encourage you to join me. Fantasy football jumped the shark about five years ago. Put away the Yahoo or the ESPN or whatever and just watch the goddamn games. I promise you’ll have your most enjoyable Sunday afternoon in years.
[PS – I still love fantasy baseball and fantasy basketball, as they have a less frenetic pace and, because they have significant samples sizes, they are not based almost entirely on luck. I’ve said many times that when it comes to fantasy, baseball and basketball are science, and for football, you might roll some dice after your draft to determine the winner. Anyone who attempts to divine statistical trends from a 16 game schedule wherein positions are so dependent on each other – e.g., a WR needs a QB who can get him the ball; if an offensive line loses its star LT, the whole offense is in trouble; a defense that gets blown out early alters the game plan such that an RB might not carry more than three times in the second half – is basically more or less a Gypsy trying to read your palm.]
[Sorry – rant over. Let’s go Birds tonight!]
Look at this effing Brooklyn hipster.
(My last two posts have gotten two notes and one note, respectively, so it was time to go with what works and post a baby pic. NOTES AND LIKES, HERE WE COME!)
34 years old, just bought my first brown suit. Slightly terrified of the sartorial possibilities that now lie before me.
(PS - this is a picture of me in the suit.)
(I’m just kidding! I’m not very good looking.)
To the gentleman who was blasting that dreadful “Ack-ack-ack-ack” Billy Joel song from his 1980’s beat-up sedan on the streets of Brooklyn at 8am as I walked to work this morning: Happy Friday to you too, sir. Happy Friday to us all.
I wrote this seven years ago about being in lower Manhattan on 9/11.