It’s Tuesday morning and all the points have finally been tallied for week 6. Your gamble to start DeMarco Murray against the porous run defense of the New York Football Giants, despite of his poor play in the young 2015 season, has payed off by delivering you a too tight for comfort win over your cousin Mike from Pittsfield in 1 of your 4 fantasy leagues. This puts you at 4-2 on the season, prime position to make a run at the playoffs. You walk into work feeling the exuberance of a winner, foaming at the bit to let everyone know the master fantasy football strategist has arrived. The water cooler shall be your pulpit, those who gather there your audience. You will quench their thirst with tales of scouring the waiver wire, the weight of which wide receiver to start and the dilemma of game times and injury reports.
There is only one problem. You are not a winner, you are a fucking loser. You are the equivalent of that crazy lady who is two desks down and insists on telling you that “crazy” dream she had. “Oh really Diane? Please tell me more about your dream where you were at a place that looked just like your Aunt Christie’s house but the backyard was an amusement park full of chocolate pudding roller coasters and your entire second grade class was there and that boy who you had a crush on who had actually just Facebook friend requested you in real life, had leaned in to give you a kiss but then when his lips touched yours, you awoke and it was actually Prince Charlemagne, 1 of your 17 cats that you own, licking your face.” That is you, Fantasy Sports player. Nobody wants to hear about this bullshit.
Fantasy Sports leads you to believe you are some sort of master analyst, but you’re not. You spout off selfishly driven, skewed stats and drivel. No one wants to hear about your “bad beat” or “amazing victory” or how you needed Antonio Brown to score more points than Philip Rivers last Monday. Your $25 fantasy team? Get the fuck outta here. Be a real man and bet real adult money on real betting lines on real games. You know what I want to hear about? How you had to put an ad on Craigslist offering to blow dudes at a highway rest area for $50 a pop because you laid $1000 on Nebraska to beat Illinois by 3.5 points and if you don’t have the money to your bookie by the end of week, he is gonna cut off your left pinky with a camping hatchet. So the next time you are about to open your mouth about your fantasy sports team, take a look two desks down at your coworker Diane regaling the sales rep with another story about “this crazy dream she had.” That is you, pal and you need to change your ways. Because seriously, nobody gives a shit about your fantasy sports team.
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