As you may recall from last week’s column, my dance mom days are over, or at least on pause. My youngest decided to take a break from competitive dance and has left me without an expensive, all-consuming role to fill. I still have another daughter in color guard, but she can drive and so can her friends, reducing me to the occasional French braider or post-practice DQ financier.
Therefore, since work, four teenagers, a bald husband, a perpetually messy kitchen, the dog and the cat are clearly not enough to keep me busy, I am pledging my newly acquired free time to fantasy football domination. That’s right, men of Midnight Madness, you are officially on notice!
This will be my fourth season as the sole woman in an all-male league. My Game of Thrones shout-out team, “The Girl Has No Name,” has slowly but surely been rising in the ranks and is poised to break into the top four come playoffs. And now that I can completely devote my substantial and uniquely maternal skills to each weekly matchup, I’m confident I will reign supreme.
I am, after all, a veteran dance mom. I can easily pinpoint true competition amid a multitude of posers, discern between real injuries and carefully crafted drama, and recognize when the best course of action is simply to walk away from the emotional child in the dressing room. Translation? I know whom to start, whom to bench, and whom to trade (and when to use whom versus who!).
Rest assured, I will keep you posted. My fantasy football travails may not be dance theater, but they should prove entertaining.