I’m sad. For the last several years, my husband and I have been in a fantasy football league together. My team never finished higher than third, but I learned a ton about football and enjoyed putting the hurt on Doo’s pathetic team.
Due to a lack of interest this year, however, we decided to disband the Wilson X League, may she rest in peace. I didn’t think it would bother me; I mean, seriously, I’ve got enough on my plate right now without worrying about getting my line-up set in time. But to my surprise, I actually miss the darn thing. I feel like a small, shoddy raft adrift on the vast NFL ocean come Sunday (and Monday night and Thursday night and the occasional Saturday). I no longer have interest in what my boy Brees is up to or whether my go-to running back is off the IR. It doesn’t really matter if the 49’ers are on a bye or if my defense is going up against the Patriots. Who cares that my bench outscored my starters by 40 points? Not me, because I don’t have a bench or an IR list or even a defense to lead to a Brady slaughter.
So what to do? Sure, I’ll still follow the Colts, but they are but one team in a colorful and fascinating football nation of 32. They don’t have a Marshawn or a DeSean or even a player with a cool name like Jericho Crotchery.
I have commandeered by husband’s attention somewhat by suggesting that we continue our quest to watch every movie on the American Film Institute’s Top 100 Films of All Times. But honestly, with the exception of maybe Bogart and the very dreamy Paul Newman in “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” (not on the list) which I’d accidentally confused with “Some Like It Hot” (number 22 on the list), I’d rather be watching Peyton Manning, Aaron Rodgers, and though it pains me to say this, Tom Brady. So come hell or high water, next year I’m back. This mom needs a fantasy! Peace out.