Reflections on the phenomenon of fantasy football.
It’s that time of year again. A crisp breeze is in the air after even the balmiest of days. It’s almost football season, time for the people of America (but especially the men) to celebrate the act of brutal, strategic team ass-kicking.
I appreciate football, but I do not enjoy football. There are many reasons for this. Much of it has to do with the fact that, in my rootless youth, I never had a home team to cheer for and now I am a man without NFL loyalties. But the bottom line is I’m a man, I’m not afraid of the dark, I eat red meat, and I’m one of the most athletic people I know. While I have a multitude of ways I’d rather spend my time than watching other people being athletic, I certainly understand those who appreciate a good game, especially in such Olympic times as these.
What I do not understand are the men, many of them my friends, who devote countless hours to the crafting of imaginary teams. Real players. Fake teams. You’re the owner/coach. This is your opportunity to play God… and this is how you’re going to spend it? Really???