I did it all. Compiled all the “top 200” lists, bought countless magazines, scoured the internet for last minute insight, and I still shit the fucking bed last year. Was I too prepared? Was it just bad luck? Still to this day I am searching for answers as to why I went 5-8 last year in my fantasy league.
I was the commissioner. I assembled a solid crew of guys, comprised of some of my Oshkosh pals, as well as a few back-home buddies. As draft day approached I truly did feel as though I had my shit in order, which clearly was not the case. I made the mistake of announcing that I would be drafting Michael Floyd because it was a “contract year” for him. One .217 DUI later and I found myself in a world of regret. The boys in the league never let me live the “contract year” comment down. Regardless of the poor draft choice in Michael Floyd, I felt as though I had a pretty damn good team coming into week one. I had Gurley, Devonta, Andy Luck, Jarvis Landry, and Sterling Shepard, to name a few dudes. 10 man PPR league, hell I thought I had a decent squad. The team looked good on paper, and I was excited. Week after week, I soon came to realize my team was fucking terrible.
As the losses continued I noticed a few things in my life:
1.) My self confidence was slowly diminishing. I found myself checking my roster each night before I cried myself to sleep watching Family Guy re-runs just wondering where I went wrong. Was it the fact that I drafted Kevin White? Who gave me a solid 36 points last year. Was it the fact that I was too confident coming into week one? Was being the commish too much for me to handle?
2.) I became less active in the fantasy football group chat with my friends. I was afraid of the criticism and the barrage of constant “fuck you Nitti” comments.
3.) I started drinking more on Sundays. I drank every Sunday, as we all should, but this was different. I found myself strolling to Kelly’s at 11am in my Chicago Bears pajama pants with an unnecessary thirst for liquor. No amount of rail whiskey or Busch Light could instill even the slightest ounce of optimism in me. I was diminished. Less of a man, if you will.
All this being said, I’m bringing my A-game this year. No more contract year bullshit, no gimmicks, just grit. Gritty picks, gritty dudes and gritty waiver wire moves. To all the boys in the “Liquor & Cheeseburger Party” fantasy league, watch out because I’m fuckin coming for y’all.
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