I never played fantasy football before. I know scores of people do, and it’s a hobby — in some cases a business — that continues to grow season after season. For many people, their passion for fantasy pigskin eclipses any loyalty they might have to an actual NFL team.
I could never get my head around all of that serious fantasy football business. I played the real game in the grass, mud and ice of midwestern autumns. I’ve got long scars across both of my rebuilt knees (ACL replacement, MCL scope, meniscus repair x 2) to serve as reminders of those heady days. I’ve got a labrum tear in my right shoulder where I went to tackle a guy and whiffed, burying it into the ground. There’s arthritis in my left shoulder. While playing, I broke all 10 of my fingers at one time or another — along with my right ankle. I suffered one dislocated jaw and at least four concussions.
Ah, those were the days.
A lineman at 6’3″, 250 lbs., I wasn’t big enough to play my positions at the top college level. At the Notre Dame / Alabama / USC / Michigan / etc. realm, guys my size were playing speed positions. I was left to wrap up my injuries playing days at the club and rec level. All of that doesn’t amount to much now beyond a love of the game as a spectator on the college and pro level.
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This fantasy football movement always struck me a pale interpretation of a passionate game. I didn’t avoid it because I thought it was beneath me — or that it was driven by nerds who couldn’t play the game and instead turn it into a math test. I avoided it for the same reason I never play flag or touch football. It all brings back memories of the violent thrills and camaraderie of the real thing without the juice to satisfy the old instincts.
Jump ahead to this week, and I found myself in a comfortable, catered room a stone’s throw from the visitor’s locker room at Mile High. After doing some basic prep and homework and leaving my belongings in my personal locker space provided by GMC, I was facing a 15 round, a pick every 90 seconds draft.
There are legitimate, dedicated Fantasy Football experts here at Crave Online. Be sure to check out the work of Evan Bleier, Dylan Sinn, B. Redd Reddoch and Josh Helmuth for some useful tips and leads. Don’t come to me for any of that. I came into my draft with only the most rudimentary strategy that running backs are the biggest fantasy point producers on average. I would load up there early.
I decided to go RB first, though my heart wanted me to grab Aaron Rodgers with my first pick. Still, drafting fourth, I stuck with my plan and focused on running backs. Unfortunately, so did two of the three guys in front of me. In less time than it takes Reggie Bush to take booster money in college, Adrian Peterson and Matt Forte were gone. I was left with a choice of Jamaal Charles and Eddy Lacy. Since Charles was nursing early injuries, I went with Lacy. And I immediately regretted not picking Rodgers. I can’t explain why. Perhaps it was just the sinking feeling that this fantasy stuff isn’t as easy and emotionless as I thought.
In the end, I came away with a draft heavy on RBs and tight ends that NFL.com described as a “B+”. More important than that, I learned that the real fantasy football junkies aren’t wannabe geeks who couldn’t take a hit and want to vicariously get close to football somehow. In truth, they love the game as much as I do, but see it more holistically. While I got my drama from the ethereal joy of sacking (and hopefully injuring) the opposing quarterback, the experts look to get their excitement from seeing if an eager owner can put tougher an all-star team that’ll beat the other’s guy squad solely because that eager owner reasoned it all out better than the other guy.
As men, we don’t compete enough in the world anymore. We’re all supposed to get along and make sure everyone gets a trophy. If fantasy football serves as a more tech-friendly, bloodless way for a man to enjoy kicking the hell out of another man’s ego, I’m proud to be a part of it.
I’ll see you in Phoenix.
