I have a fantastic problem.
It began my freshman year in high school when a narrow escape from complicity in a busted numbers ring led me to seek sanctuary in the legal confines but still perversely ESPN-driven mold of fantasy football. In less than two seasons time I was quoting underclassmens 40-times and debating the merits of real turf for running backs yard-per-carry averages. I was negotiating three-team deals for the likes of Neal Anderson and Jim Everett while exaggerating the importance of place kickers in the hopes of making up for draft-day mistakes and increasing the trade value of Pete Stoyanovich. In the days before the internet, my fingers were perpetually smeared with black ink from the box scores of USA Todays and Nationals (how many people remember the shortly-lived but all too sorely-missed daily all-sports newspaper?) while my requisite hours of teenage telephone monopolization were spent arguing stats with guys rather than arranging dates with girls.
By the end of high school, however, interest waned, drivers licenses were secured, and a variety of other pursuits occupied our time. Through college and into my independent years, I reverted to a less active sports aficionado. Baseball always my first love, and ever-hesitant to dilute my spring fervor and love of the Giants by delving into a fantasy version of the major leagues where I might have to (god forbid) root against Barry Bonds, I found life with just one ESPN channel perfectly acceptable and admired the statistical engine of the world wide web from afar.
In August of last year my brother invited me to join his fantasy football league. Hosted by Yahoo, and mercifully free of charge, it was more of a why-not than a hell-yes. But as the date of the draft loomed ever nearer I began to feel twinges of forgotten obsession picking away at head. Not wanting to enter into this unprepared, I bought a draft guide and an NFL preview and Yahoos very own $9.95 fantasy football draft kit. Not wanting to let my money go to waste should my brothers league prove uncompetitive or dull, I joined another Yahoo league and then another and another. There are a maximum of four free football leagues allowed per Yahoo ID. I created a second ID.
I played Yahoo Survival Football and Yahoo Salary Cap football. I scrambled through the waiver wire like a recovered alcoholic rediscovering Jack and Coke. Make that Jack and Jolt. I spent less time updating my Suicide Girls journal (anybody notice?)
Before the NFL season had ended it was time to start thinking about basketball. Never much of an NBA fan, after three head-to-head leagues and two rotisserie teams, I can now tell you why a multi-positional Josh Childress is worth two Keith Van Horns any day. And if Tim Duncan doesnt make more of an effort to rehab his high ankle sprain in the next week, I could be eliminated from the playoffs. And drafting Amare Stoudemire with my second pick was the slickest move I made all year. Dirk Nowitzki is my hero.
Im in a fantasy golf league (look me up: Im the Fore! Skins and in second-to-last place), a fantasy NASCAR pick set, and I just took first in an NCAA Tournament league. I started a fantasy Italian soccer league on affiliate Mister Yahoo (but ran away with the lead because nobody else reads the language). And Im just getting warmed up.
Today is the Giants home opener. That promise to myself to never let my fantasy addiction get in the way of my love for baseball broken. Baseball is the screaming toddler in the opening scene of Trainspotting. Interleague play, designated hitter, Pete Rose, me. I even got my girlfriend to join. I drafted three Giants and already had an argument about a hot outfielder prospect and which one of us should sign him. Ive gone from being a user to being a dealer.
I am addicted to fantasy sports. And if I dont o.d. on the baseball season, Ill be in the clear for life. I dont need help.
I fucking love it.
It began my freshman year in high school when a narrow escape from complicity in a busted numbers ring led me to seek sanctuary in the legal confines but still perversely ESPN-driven mold of fantasy football. In less than two seasons time I was quoting underclassmens 40-times and debating the merits of real turf for running backs yard-per-carry averages. I was negotiating three-team deals for the likes of Neal Anderson and Jim Everett while exaggerating the importance of place kickers in the hopes of making up for draft-day mistakes and increasing the trade value of Pete Stoyanovich. In the days before the internet, my fingers were perpetually smeared with black ink from the box scores of USA Todays and Nationals (how many people remember the shortly-lived but all too sorely-missed daily all-sports newspaper?) while my requisite hours of teenage telephone monopolization were spent arguing stats with guys rather than arranging dates with girls.
By the end of high school, however, interest waned, drivers licenses were secured, and a variety of other pursuits occupied our time. Through college and into my independent years, I reverted to a less active sports aficionado. Baseball always my first love, and ever-hesitant to dilute my spring fervor and love of the Giants by delving into a fantasy version of the major leagues where I might have to (god forbid) root against Barry Bonds, I found life with just one ESPN channel perfectly acceptable and admired the statistical engine of the world wide web from afar.
In August of last year my brother invited me to join his fantasy football league. Hosted by Yahoo, and mercifully free of charge, it was more of a why-not than a hell-yes. But as the date of the draft loomed ever nearer I began to feel twinges of forgotten obsession picking away at head. Not wanting to enter into this unprepared, I bought a draft guide and an NFL preview and Yahoos very own $9.95 fantasy football draft kit. Not wanting to let my money go to waste should my brothers league prove uncompetitive or dull, I joined another Yahoo league and then another and another. There are a maximum of four free football leagues allowed per Yahoo ID. I created a second ID.
I played Yahoo Survival Football and Yahoo Salary Cap football. I scrambled through the waiver wire like a recovered alcoholic rediscovering Jack and Coke. Make that Jack and Jolt. I spent less time updating my Suicide Girls journal (anybody notice?)
Before the NFL season had ended it was time to start thinking about basketball. Never much of an NBA fan, after three head-to-head leagues and two rotisserie teams, I can now tell you why a multi-positional Josh Childress is worth two Keith Van Horns any day. And if Tim Duncan doesnt make more of an effort to rehab his high ankle sprain in the next week, I could be eliminated from the playoffs. And drafting Amare Stoudemire with my second pick was the slickest move I made all year. Dirk Nowitzki is my hero.
Im in a fantasy golf league (look me up: Im the Fore! Skins and in second-to-last place), a fantasy NASCAR pick set, and I just took first in an NCAA Tournament league. I started a fantasy Italian soccer league on affiliate Mister Yahoo (but ran away with the lead because nobody else reads the language). And Im just getting warmed up.
Today is the Giants home opener. That promise to myself to never let my fantasy addiction get in the way of my love for baseball broken. Baseball is the screaming toddler in the opening scene of Trainspotting. Interleague play, designated hitter, Pete Rose, me. I even got my girlfriend to join. I drafted three Giants and already had an argument about a hot outfielder prospect and which one of us should sign him. Ive gone from being a user to being a dealer.
I am addicted to fantasy sports. And if I dont o.d. on the baseball season, Ill be in the clear for life. I dont need help.
I fucking love it.
VIEW 20 of 20 COMMENTS
lilyk:
hello? you here ever? well, if i lived in the city in spring i woudl not be on here either 
parisambrosia:
The way you write makes me believe I am a dumbass.