Beginner's Luck?
The other day was my very firstest fantasy football draft. I was so wound up before it started that instead of doing some last minute prep, or straightening out a plan of attack, or possibly even custom ranking my players, I just stared at the timer as it ticked inexorably towards 00:00. Boy, I never knew how quickly sixteen minutes could pass - in total silence. As I sat there, looking like a particularly robust zombie, my thoughts became more and more frantic, and I thought my heart was going to beat its way straight out of my chest.
Of course, as usual, I had not prepared to the best of my abilities, despite the fact that my brother had kindly provided me with all the information I could ever need to have a successful draft. I had glanced over the kit he sent me, sure. But I didn't peruse it carefully, being busy with sitting on the couch watching Family Guy and all. It wasn't until a couple days before the draft that it occured to me that I was up shit creek without a paddle. Luckily for me, I read and absorb faster than the speed of light. I also ruthlessly misuse my time at work. Nothing like an eight extra hours a day to catch a girl up on her reading, eh?
When I got home it occured to me that some kind of system was in order, and I decided that higlighting the players I particularly wanted would be a good start. After I read over the player lists and rankings for about the billionth time, I had my optimal team, and many, many highlighted sheets of paper. By this time it was about half an hour until the draft, and I nervously took my position at the computer and laid out various positions laid out neatly around me; I was ready for my first pick (as soon as the meeeeezmeriiiiiiizing clock stoped going tick tick).
Unfortunately, I was picking in an unenviable position; second. That's great for the first round (though fucked if Adrian Peterson got me point one this weekend), but not so great nineteen picks later. Added to the stress of thinking on your feet, yikes, you only get a minute and a half to choose a player once it actually is your turn, and keep in mind that most of the time someone has snatched away the player that you had wanted one pick before yours and now you're completely panicking. That little situation is how I came to pick Carson Palmer as my quarterback, along with the largest shambling, scrambling collection of malcontents to ever be called a fantasy football team. Swear to god - it's like I drafted the friggin' Bad News Bears or somthing.
By the end of the extremely nerve wracking, exhilariating, enervating experience that was the "live draft," I felt like a wet noodle, and my kitchen looked like a paper hurricane had blown through. Formerly neatly arranged sheets were crumpled, stained, ripped, and scattered all over the place like a monument to despair. I was likewise rumpled and dissarranged, and in sore need of alcoholic libation.
I bet I don't win one match-up this season. It occured to me on Sunday that even though my *real* team had won, I still felt a lingering sense of shittiness about the whole experience. Fuck my city's team, what about *my* team?!? It's just one more thing to worry about all week long this fall, I guess. Though, i do have to say, even with all the angst and disappointments, there was an added savor to all the games this weekend that's left me jonesing for more. Sneaky, that; combine tragedy and comedy to bring me crawling back, bloodied, for more.
Viva fantasy football!!
