Rule number one of fantasy football: Pay attention to football.
The season started on a Thursday, so I was supposed to set my line-up. I thought it started Sunday, because why would I pay attention to all the reminders around me? So my line-up was set where I drafted it, and nothing happened on Thursday; none of my players had games.
Rule number two of fantasy football: Hate whoever drafted Peyton Manning.
Seven touchdowns? Really?
Rule number three of fantasy football: Enjoy the taste of your foot.
I start out Sunday with a healthy “You’re going down” text to my opponent. We’re even. 0-0. Things are looking good. I’m ready to drink some beer, eat some snacks, and wait for Team Polly Shore to bask in its victory.
And the gap just keeps getting wider. I’m thinking my confidence is going to get me out of this one, but these sacks I’ve drafted aren’t pulling their weight. Calvin Johnson gets two TDs overturned. Of course. I don’t want to talk about the Packers defense.
To be fair, the blows don’t hit too hard because I’m a couple of beers deep and full of delicious foodstuffs that make me long for holidays. Hamburgers and pastas and chickens and dip and brownies enter my belly and everything feels pretty okay. There’s a game on Monday. Maybe my tight end will have the game of his life.
Of course not. I used my co-worker’s baby to shit talk him, and it didn’t even pay off. I’m at the absolute bottom of my league and my dignity’s dangling by a thread. But there are still the weeks ahead! I must redeem myself! I dropped a player and added someone new to my bench to start myself off. I have until Thursday to decide if I want to get a little crazy or tinker with my starting team at all. I have a lot of thinking to do. I gotta get up if I’m gonna take anyone down.