The Gift of the Fantasy Football Magi
There is one event that has replaced all other forms as the male bonding event of our generation. The roadtrip is dead, and the camping trip seems antiquated. I have multiple friends who can't even leave cell reception because of work. Instead, it's become the fantasy football draft. It's the ultimate event for guys. You get all your best friends together (especially the ones you know suck at fantasy football) to talk about football, drink, order greasy food, and make fun of each other until one guy gets so pissed, he threatens to leave the league all together. Ladies, when your boyfriend or husband or domestic partner goes to one of these, it's not about looking at statistics and projecting the coming football season, it's about farting and waiting to see how long it takes until the guy next to you smells it. It's goddamn beautiful!
I have to tell the story of this year's draft, because even if you don't know any of these guys, you've got to appreciate how dorky we all get and how much we love it. And face it, we're all dorks at heart.
We show up at our buddy Gustaf's condo, beer and assorted goods in tow. More than half the guys have laptops and we go to Gustaf's because he's got wireless internet and we can access our "secret internet sites" that we all feel gives us a dominant position, but really we just went to google and went to the third page of our "fantasy football" search. This is because we all know how lazy the other people are and figure no one will think to do it. Of course, there are are some duplicates. Then there's always the guy who shows up with nothing, asking Gustaf if he can print off sheets from Yahoo! when he gets there. This is Shane. Shane is also the guy that picks a Seahawk in the first round, inevitably Matt Hasselbeck, just so he can root for the Hawks. There is always the guy that does this and sucks all year long because of it.
Everyone takes this very seriously, but then there's the guy who thinks he's Vince Lombardi. This is MJ. MJ has formulated a super secret formula, from which he ranks the players on his own. No one really knows how this works and everyone makes fun of him for it (Partly because he won't tell us what it is and part because it actually produces solid teams.) This year, MJ took it to a whole other level. He found a kid on craigslist who wanted to learn about fantasy football and offered to be MJ's draft day assistant. I'm not kidding. We took the Entourage approach and called him Lloyd all day. I told him if he didn't get me a beer, I'd choke him out with a strap-on.
There's also the guy that doesn't give a shit and just plays to hangout at the draft. This is Parker. As we were walking into Gustaf's condo this year, Parker grabs me and asks me if he should walk in naked, knowing that Lloyd, the kid no one knew was already there. Of course, I said yes. To top it off, Parker's got a ass built for braiding. Great start to the draft.
A total of ten guys show up, with two more from out of town on IM (Yes, we're those guys.) I get the first pick in the draft, which is kinda like getting the first pull off of the new Cuervo bottle. Yes, I get to start drinking, but why me? I take Shaun Alexander, which has already proved to be a colossal bust. The rest of the first round goes without incident.
Then comes the moment every fantasy draft waits for: The blown pick. This year, it's Blake. Blake is a tall, pale, redhead, who talks shit constantly, so this is perfect. Blake drafts Curtis Martin, who doesn't have a right knee, let alone going to play this season. This leads to a round of gut-punching cutdowns, including my favorite line "Hey, I got Martin's right leg in my trunk, do you want it?" Someone asks him if his next pick will be Steve Largent. Life is good. Everyone then sits around with that satisfied, just-after-sex look for the next two rounds.
Then it gets ugly. The late rounds is where everyone has filled their starting rosters and then starts picking other people's backups. It's not necessarily because they will be played, it's just to screw over your buddy. Parker takes 31 year old Tiki Barber and I make sure to write down Brandon Jacobs' name and take him. That elicits a "Fucker" from Parker which makes me laugh hard enough to spill my beer all over myself. It reaches a fever pitch to where people are asking "Who has Drew Bledsoe??" The guy asking this is Heistand, and Bledsoe is so terrible that Heistand has already blocked out that he drafted him three rounds earlier. My buddy Moeller laughs and says, "Some poor bastard!" Heistand realizes and sheepishly takes Bledsoe's backup Tony Romo (A great place for ribs) and sinks into his chair.
17 rounds later, Gustaf's place has about 70 empty beer bottles, 3 cashed pizza boxes and smells like what you would imagine colonoscopy would feel like. Needless to say, we're all feeling great. That's what the draft should be; Some beer, some shit talking, some laughs... And the guy in med school leaving feeling like the dumbest guy in the room.
I have to tell the story of this year's draft, because even if you don't know any of these guys, you've got to appreciate how dorky we all get and how much we love it. And face it, we're all dorks at heart.
We show up at our buddy Gustaf's condo, beer and assorted goods in tow. More than half the guys have laptops and we go to Gustaf's because he's got wireless internet and we can access our "secret internet sites" that we all feel gives us a dominant position, but really we just went to google and went to the third page of our "fantasy football" search. This is because we all know how lazy the other people are and figure no one will think to do it. Of course, there are are some duplicates. Then there's always the guy who shows up with nothing, asking Gustaf if he can print off sheets from Yahoo! when he gets there. This is Shane. Shane is also the guy that picks a Seahawk in the first round, inevitably Matt Hasselbeck, just so he can root for the Hawks. There is always the guy that does this and sucks all year long because of it.
Everyone takes this very seriously, but then there's the guy who thinks he's Vince Lombardi. This is MJ. MJ has formulated a super secret formula, from which he ranks the players on his own. No one really knows how this works and everyone makes fun of him for it (Partly because he won't tell us what it is and part because it actually produces solid teams.) This year, MJ took it to a whole other level. He found a kid on craigslist who wanted to learn about fantasy football and offered to be MJ's draft day assistant. I'm not kidding. We took the Entourage approach and called him Lloyd all day. I told him if he didn't get me a beer, I'd choke him out with a strap-on.
There's also the guy that doesn't give a shit and just plays to hangout at the draft. This is Parker. As we were walking into Gustaf's condo this year, Parker grabs me and asks me if he should walk in naked, knowing that Lloyd, the kid no one knew was already there. Of course, I said yes. To top it off, Parker's got a ass built for braiding. Great start to the draft.
A total of ten guys show up, with two more from out of town on IM (Yes, we're those guys.) I get the first pick in the draft, which is kinda like getting the first pull off of the new Cuervo bottle. Yes, I get to start drinking, but why me? I take Shaun Alexander, which has already proved to be a colossal bust. The rest of the first round goes without incident.
Then comes the moment every fantasy draft waits for: The blown pick. This year, it's Blake. Blake is a tall, pale, redhead, who talks shit constantly, so this is perfect. Blake drafts Curtis Martin, who doesn't have a right knee, let alone going to play this season. This leads to a round of gut-punching cutdowns, including my favorite line "Hey, I got Martin's right leg in my trunk, do you want it?" Someone asks him if his next pick will be Steve Largent. Life is good. Everyone then sits around with that satisfied, just-after-sex look for the next two rounds.
Then it gets ugly. The late rounds is where everyone has filled their starting rosters and then starts picking other people's backups. It's not necessarily because they will be played, it's just to screw over your buddy. Parker takes 31 year old Tiki Barber and I make sure to write down Brandon Jacobs' name and take him. That elicits a "Fucker" from Parker which makes me laugh hard enough to spill my beer all over myself. It reaches a fever pitch to where people are asking "Who has Drew Bledsoe??" The guy asking this is Heistand, and Bledsoe is so terrible that Heistand has already blocked out that he drafted him three rounds earlier. My buddy Moeller laughs and says, "Some poor bastard!" Heistand realizes and sheepishly takes Bledsoe's backup Tony Romo (A great place for ribs) and sinks into his chair.
17 rounds later, Gustaf's place has about 70 empty beer bottles, 3 cashed pizza boxes and smells like what you would imagine colonoscopy would feel like. Needless to say, we're all feeling great. That's what the draft should be; Some beer, some shit talking, some laughs... And the guy in med school leaving feeling like the dumbest guy in the room.
posted by Justin Graden at 5:55 PM
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