If you ever feel like you might have too many friends, I have a
perfect solution for you.
Play fantasy football.
You’ll be hating your friends in no time, and don’t
worry, they’ll be hating you, too.
It’s quite astounding, really.
Fantasy football, for the cave-dwellers out there, is where you
essentially pick a pretend team of real NFL players and count their
real statistics for your pretend team. Your friends do the same
thing, and the teams compete against one another each week.
Your team gets points for good things that happen in real life,
such as touchdowns and receptions and rushing yards. Your team
loses points for bad things that happen in real life, such as
interceptions and fumbles and playing for the Arizona
Cardinals.
In a head-to-head league, your team plays against one of your
friend’s teams each week, and the team that accumulates the
most points is the winner.
When you win, you feel great about yourself and your opponent
generally hates you. When you lose, life typically sucks for a
couple of hours. Or days.
And that’s that.
As I read over my description of fantasy football, it sounds
like it’s one of the most absurd things this world has to
offer. And it probably is.
But it’s also incredibly addictive, and it’s
generally what I do with my Sundays (and sometimes Mondays ““
it just depends whether my matchup is decided).
It’s also begun to creep into Saturdays. Last Saturday at
the Rose Bowl, I found myself totaling how many points Marcus
Everett’s 49-yard touchdown reception would have been worth
in fantasy football (One point for the reception, two points for 40
yards and six for the touchdown. That’s a nine-point
play!).
Wow.
But I digress.
My purpose here is to talk about how fantasy football compels
individuals who would normally be friends to irrationally hate one
another ““ maybe not all the time, but on Sundays for
sure.
One guy in my league has 836 total points. If we used total
points to determine the standings, he would be eighth of 12. But
instead, through the grace of some higher power ““ or because
of favorable matchups, or through some crazy voodoo curse ““
he sits atop the league at 7-2-1. Consequently, no one really likes
him at all right now.
One of my friends has 895 points, but he’s 3-7. Not only
does he hate his friends, he hates the world.
And so it goes.
In another league, my roommate is merging his real, genuine
rooting interests with his fantasy football team. It’s
actually quite a laudable endeavor. Following a series of
blockbuster deals, he’s ready to trot out the entire starting
lineup of the New England Patriots this week. He’s going to
lose, but he’s going to have a great time doing it.
Of course, a number of people in the league aren’t happy
with him right now. You could, in theory, say they hate him. But
these people simply didn’t have any Patriots to offer as
trade bait, and it’s their loss.
In the end, it’s all so silly.
We care so much about something that we have so very little
control over.
But then again, that’s how sports are for the sports
fan.
I can tell myself that it’s irrational to care about what
happens in Tempe this weekend, especially when I’ll be
hundreds of miles away reading about accounting.
I can tell myself that what happens at the Coliseum on Saturday
shouldn’t change my life one iota.
I can tell myself that what happens in my matchup with
Raiders-of-Fantasy on Sunday is ridiculously insignificant.
I can tell myself that I shouldn’t hate my friends.
But I certainly do, it probably will, it does matter, and I
can’t help it. Especially when their pretend teams beat
mine.
Fantasy sports bonus: If you think you’re getting
along a little too well with your girlfriend, just wait until
Sunday. She’ll pretty much hate you. E-mail Regan at
dregan@media.ucla.edu.