Confessions of a Fantasy Football Addicted Woman: Part II

Confessions of a Fantasy Football Addicted Woman: Part II

Last year, I confessed to the world my addiction to fantasy football. I’ve done a lot of reflection since then, and I considered quitting and spending the autumn months doing something more productive with my time. 

I’m just kidding. I’m a complete degenerate and I’m still in it to fucking WIN IT.

This year I’m only participating in one $100 league. It's run by a good friend of mine and it’s ladies only. Last season was disastrous for me. My team was a dumpster fire of underperforming knuckleheads. I decided to study hard before the draft this year because I hate losing money and I especially despise when my friends beat me in meaningless competitions.

My confidence in my fantasy ability was temporarily restored after I DOMINATED my Bachelorette league. I knew in my gut Rachel was going to break our collective hearts and choose the douche-magoosh Brian (Editor's Note: Sob). Also, side note: I want Nick Viall to be The Bachelor again because there was nothing more enjoyable than hate-watching his season.

A couple of hours before the fantasy football draft I decided a little wine would help me get pumped up. A few glasses later, I stood up and realized I’d be drafting while drunk. Very drunk. Jesus Christ, I drank the entire bottle. This was my first mistake.

Most of the other women in the league live close enough to each other that they decided to have a draft party. While they claim this was just a fun excuse to get together and eat nachos, I believe it was a conspiracy to sabotage my season.

The draft began and immediately every player I wanted was chosen by another team. Yes, the nine month pregnant woman in our league was definitely conspiring against me. No one can convince me otherwise. They’re playing me for a fool. They’re out to get me, I whispered to myself like Gollum. Also, at this point in the evening my teeth were so wine-stained I looked like an extra in a vampire movie. I began sending incoherent texts to everyone I know, as per tradition when I’m three sheets to the wind.

I wasn’t thrilled with how the draft was progressing, but in the fourth round I noticed Julian Edelman was still available. If you are unfamiliar with Julian Edelman, he is a star wide receiver on the Patriots and literally one of the most handsome faces on the planet. In the past few years, his proximity to Tom Brady has transformed him from an awkward man-child, to a chiseled Adonis.

(Exhibit A: Julian Edelman)

(Exhibit A: Julian Edelman)

Finally, the draft momentum swung in my direction when I successfully chose Edelman for my team, The Gutter Pigeons. I could almost taste victory. Victory tastes a lot like Cabot cheese and Triscuits. If anything, I’m a classy wine drunk.

And then ten minutes later, my prize player Julian Edelman tore his ACL in a preseason game. I’m not kidding you. It couldn’t have been more than 10 or 15 minutes after I drafted him that his season was over. The football Gods are against me. Why is everything bad? Why does everything I do turn to shit? Why can’t I have anything nice? I then spill wine all over my new couch.

Several rounds later I picked up Cameron Meredith of the Chicago Bears. He’s a young player who, through my extensive research, showed tremendous promise. One day later, Cameron Meredith also tore his ACL in a preseason game. I quit. FML. I’ll just go ahead and actually eat the $100.

A couple of friends in the league texted me to check on my mental state. They attempted to lift my spirits, but I know they are secretly thrilled I’m already losing despite the fact the season hasn’t even started.

This is all one big mind game. I know my chances to win the cash prize and the high heel trophy are long, but I refuse to give up. This ladies league is vicious and unrelenting. Ten women in their late 20s and early 30s are abdicating their responsibilities as professionals, wives, mothers, and friends to focus on being the best fantasy football general manager they can be. These are American values.

Will my season continue to suck? Will I eventually throw a shoe through the TV? Or will I make an improbable comeback and take back the glory which I so deserve? You’ll have to stay tuned.

Visit Part 1 from last year. Or read all about Catie's NFL crush here.

Fenty Beauty Will Never Dump You Via Voicemail

Fenty Beauty Will Never Dump You Via Voicemail

I am a Female Writer, Therefore I am a Magnet for Hate

I am a Female Writer, Therefore I am a Magnet for Hate