Ode to Fantasy Football
Why do I love fantasy football? This is a question that has come up in many contexts--discussions with colleagues, therapists, and tolerant but vaguely irritated spouses.
The simple answer is "escapism." In reality, I work about 50 hours per week behind a desk in a profession that can be fascinating, but that can be equally frustrating. But in my mind's eye, I can rush for 150 yards and three touchdowns every single week. And if members of my team are on television, I can watch myself score. As it were.
The more complex answer has to do with male sociology. We men love competition. We love to display our skills for the many women that we know desire us for our fierce victories. We do not object to an element of luck, because, statistically, we know that it will eventually turn our way. We like to interact by talking trash. All of these things add up to Fantasy Football.
My team this year is The Franchise, which is also what we have taken to calling my younger son. (At four months old, the G-Man is showing every sign of preparing for a career as an NFL linebacker. Of course, at four months, most girls are too, but that is neither here nor there.) The Franchise will be squashing competition around the globe, but most especially in Kansas and Missouri, where my esteemed elder brother and father live.
For the next six months, we will talk trash and plot trades. We will track scores and curse the football gods. We may be vanquished on occasion, but we shall remember only the victories. This is Fantasy Football season, and we are men.
The simple answer is "escapism." In reality, I work about 50 hours per week behind a desk in a profession that can be fascinating, but that can be equally frustrating. But in my mind's eye, I can rush for 150 yards and three touchdowns every single week. And if members of my team are on television, I can watch myself score. As it were.
The more complex answer has to do with male sociology. We men love competition. We love to display our skills for the many women that we know desire us for our fierce victories. We do not object to an element of luck, because, statistically, we know that it will eventually turn our way. We like to interact by talking trash. All of these things add up to Fantasy Football.
My team this year is The Franchise, which is also what we have taken to calling my younger son. (At four months old, the G-Man is showing every sign of preparing for a career as an NFL linebacker. Of course, at four months, most girls are too, but that is neither here nor there.) The Franchise will be squashing competition around the globe, but most especially in Kansas and Missouri, where my esteemed elder brother and father live.
For the next six months, we will talk trash and plot trades. We will track scores and curse the football gods. We may be vanquished on occasion, but we shall remember only the victories. This is Fantasy Football season, and we are men.
posted by Derek the Great at 8:44 AM
1 Comments:
Oh my god! Is it really six months that this is going to last? I guess I had blocked most of it out and come down to a much briefer period of time.... sigh... I suppose I'll make it... again.
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