Fantasy Football

It is that time of the year again. When the football experts ride their computers to glory or doom, depending on the heros of the grass and artificial turf to take the bouncy ball across that chalky white stripe (with their cell phones handy to call Mom). Doesn't matter if the team, what team, wins, loses or goes belly up, just as long as the score is done by my guy.

I once won when my guy had been sitting on the bench in a blowout, suddenly was brought in to run the football six inches and get his third score of the day. I once lost when my stupid quaterback took a kneel for a one yard loss. Such is the adventure, and uncertainty. The challenge is done way before the game starts, reading volumes of stats, projections, opinions, gosip, and invoking personal gut decisions and ignoring personal predjudice. Payton Manning is a jerk, but if he is my jerk, he better score. But not too much, cause I'm playing against him in another league. If the hundreds of hours pay off, the winners gets to print the final results and store it with all of the other trash that needs recycling. And then wait six months for next year.

This is my 20th season of this madness. Hopefully, 20 years from now, when I'm gumming my food and my women, and Farve is throwing from a wheel chair, I'll still be able to key with my arthritic fingers and pick Payton Manning the third's pass to Randy Moss junior for the winning score.