I never played organized sports as a kid. Still don’t. Organized soccer? Only at recess. And only until I started wheezing of exhaustion.
But an organized sport I could play from my couch? One which implied overwhelming amounts of deep-fried food and watching TV all Sunday?
I was in.
My first adventure into fantasy football began this year, when I was drafted into a league, convinced by my roommates it would be fun.
I figured a $10 buy-in wouldn’t be that bad, and maybe I could win this thing. I’m not athletically gifted by any means, but I’m not all that dumb—plus I figured beginner’s luck was on my side.
I started with a crucial misjudgment. Draft day arrived, we all gathered into the living room with our laptops, slightly less than a dozen people squishing onto three loveseats in a generous but still student-sized living room.
I had done no research. I’d watched the Super Bowl every year, the one sporting event my mother and I take part in, but mostly for the chicken wings, half-time show, and—I’m sorry to say—tight pants.
So I picked my team based off the only strategy I had, the only thing I could fairly judge any of these players on: their attractiveness.
Thus, Peyton and the QTs (pron: cuties) was born.
As the name suggests, my first draft was Peyton Manning, the only name I knew off by heart, and I figured a solid bet for a quarterback. The rest of the team quickly filled out with names I would come to know and love: Tom Brady, Eric Decker, Giovani Bernard, Travis Kelce—seriously, look these guys up.
My theory was look good, feel good, play good.
So far, Peyton and the QTs have had a strong nine-week losing streak, with a couple of wins for good measure, and we are the only team definitely not making it into the playoffs in a few weeks.
Would I take it back? Hell no.
Fantasy sports are a lot harder than I thought they were. I had never truly appreciated the detailed research, statistics, and calculations that go into a winning fantasy team before. Not that I did any of those, but I watched everyone else in the league do their best.
The funny part is, though I was and still am a loser, I don’t feel like one. Every Sunday—homework allowing—we gather onto couches and watch football. I know the players better than ever before, and while I may not have a “team” of my own to root for, I can at least pronounce the names on the jerseys better.
And I did win a couple of games too, bringing bragging rights and serious shame to those who got their butts kicked by a bunch of QTs.
Against all odds, I found fantasy fun.
I would, however, like my $10 back.
