I’m sad. For the last several years my husband and I have been in a fantasy football league together. My team never finished higher than third, but I learned a ton about football and enjoyed putting the hurt on Doo’s pathetic team.
Due to a lack of interest this year, however, we decided to disband the Wilson X League, may she rest in peace. I didn’t think it would bother me: I mean, seriously, I’ve got enough on my plate right now without worrying about getting my line-up set in time. But to my surprise, I actually miss the darn thing. I feel like a small, shoddy raft adrift on the vast NFL ocean come Sunday (and Monday night and Thursday night and the occasional Saturday). I no longer have interest in what my boy Brees is up to or whether my go-to running back is off the IR. It doesn’t really matter if the 49’ers are on a bye or if my defense is going up against the Colts. Who cares that my bench outscored my starters by forty points? Not me, because I don’t have a bench or an IR list or even a defense to lead to a Manning slaughter.
Doo and my football-crazed son, who interestingly enough hates to play football but suffers pigskin withdraw symptoms every February, participate in another league and so still chat stats 24/7. Point in fact: as I’m writing this column on a Sunday morning they are already discussing the possible repercussions of the Monday night game. I want to jump in, but I don’t really know whom they are talking about. Sigh.
So what to do? Sure, I’ll still follow the Colts, but they are but one team in a colorful and fascinating football nation of thirty-two. They don’t have an Ocho Cinco or a T.O. or even a player with a cool name like Jericho Crotchery. And it’s too late to start my own league this fall.
I have commandeered by husband’s attention somewhat by suggesting that we watch every movie on the 2007 American Film Institute’s Top 100 Films of All Times. So we’ve spent several evenings since Labor Day with Orson Wells “Citizen Kane”, Dustin Hoffman “The Graduate”, Peter O’Toole “Lawrence of Arabia”, and Humphrey Bogart “Casablanca”.
But honestly, with the exception of maybe Bogart and the very dreamy Paul Newman in “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” (by the way, it is not on the list) which I’d accidentally confused with “Some Like It Hot” (number 22 on the list), I’d rather be watching Mark Sanchez, Aaron Rodgers, and though it pains me to say this, gulp, Tom Brady. So it’s decided, next year I’m back. This Mom needs a fantasy! Peace out.