My Football Fantasy

WARNING FOR WOMEN: Contains Graphic Sports Content

I’m checking the injury status of Randy Moss, the Oakland Raider’s wide receiver. Then I need to find a replacement for Priest Holmes, the Kansas City Chief’s primary running back who is out for the season. Later, I’ll check the scouting reports on Donavan McNabb, the Philadelphia Eagles quarterback. Could former SuperBowl MVP Tom Brady have a better game on Sunday?

I’m hooked on Fantasy Football. This is the first season I’ve played and all the players listed above are on my Yahoo fantasy football team, the Bloggets. The league was formed by my younger son Scott and includes my older son Greg and my nephew Mike. We all get points each weekend depending on how many yards our players gain, how many touchdowns they score, and how many field goals they kick, among other statistical markers.

So my team faces Scott’s this weekend. He has yet to beat the “old man”, though he has played in prior seasons while I’m a managerial rookie. I’ve spent many hours learning the ropes. It helps to be devious, I’ve found out. I told Mike last week that he didn’t have to adjust his starting line-up because it was a bye week for everybody. So when my team played his that weekend, his squad was without a quarterback and a wide receiver. I won our match-up.

Knowing how I hate to lose at anything, especially to the younguns’, my boys want badly to win. The first time my team played against Scott’s, I enjoyed a healthy lead going into the Monday Night football game. At about midnight that night, I was awakened by a phone call. “Hello,” I said half asleep.

“You watching Monday night football?” It was Scott calling from Michigan State. Of course, since we must rise at 6 a.m., Wendy and I are usually sawing logs by 10:30 so we can a healthy rest. Scott crowed that his fantasy football players had lit up the scoreboard, giving his fantasy team enough points to pass my team. “You lost, dad,” he said.

I told Scott that I thought I was ahead by more than what he thought. “No, I’ve done the math,” he replied. “Go back to sleep. You’ll find out in the morning. You lost.”

Early the next morning I checked the Yahoo fantasy football site. It showed my Bloggets had beaten his Springfield Isotopes (Scott’s a big Simpson’s fan) by nine points. Scott had forgotten to carry a one or something in his calculations. But he had already figured this out himself. When I arrived at work at 7:30 that morning, there was an e-mail waiting for me from Scott.

“Bad math. Shut up.” is all it said.