Fantasy Football Done Right

I hear a lot about fantasy football, and I thought I would follow some FF blogs because if there is anything in the world in need of a dose of fantasy, it is football. Has anyone ever sat and just watched a game? I have at the gym on an exercise bike. It actually made time seem slower. For entertainment value, football ranks somewhere between drying paint and a lava lamp.

I applauded the idea of fantasy football until I discovered it was a lot like regular football if regular football teams were formed by guys who couldn’t pay the salary of the third string backup janitor’s shoeshine boy. Let me give you an example of how I think fantasy football should work.

The opposing team: helmed by some dude named Favre and a bunch of other no-necks I don’t recognize. Their uniforms are chartreuse and lavender. The coach is a wealthy white Republican old guy in a blue suit. Their cheerleaders wear burkas. Their fans are religious fundamentalists.

My team: Superman is the quarterback. The linebackers have been replaced with Giant Atomic Chickens™. The colors are black and highland green. The coach is me wearing a field marshal uniform replete with saber. Thousands of Asian lesbian schoolgirls cheer us on. The cheerleaders are also Asian (natch).

Our fantasy priest, Aleister Crowley, blesses my team with a quick benediction (“Rip their feckin’ spleens out in the name of Satan!”). Not knowing how they decide who goes first, I propose a drinking contest between the coaches. But as I’m pouring the arsenic, the opposing coach snags the ball and tosses it to Favre. The game is underway. Favre snaps the ball. He is obviously talented. But is he bulletproof?

*BLAM*

No, I thought not. Their coach cries foul, but I smugly remind the referee that there is no rule in football that specifically forbids a team from hiding snipers in the audience.

Ref: “I’ll allow it.”

Side note – Asian lesbian schoolgirl snipers. Mmm…hurty.

Anyway, first blood is mine. I will win because I am the master tactician. I tell Superman to ignore the pigskin and instead fry the defensive line with his heat ray vision.

Supes: “But that’s crazy!”
Me: “You’re off the team. Amscray, Clark.”
Supes: “Hey! How did you know…”
Me: “The glasses weren’t fooling anyone. We just kept quiet out of courtesy. Now, vamoose, wuss!”

I play my trump card and call forth my backup quarterback – KING KONG!

Me: “The defensive line is Purina monkey chow. Go convert them to gorilla poo.”

The opposing team might find it odd that my strategy involves ignoring the ball, but I’m employing the end-game gambit known as the Grant Maneuver (patent pending). While Kong munches on the opposing players and the GACs fry the opposing audience with their laser eyes, the Hulk and a team of Klingons will capture and torture the opposing coach until he concedes victory. What a wimp! He caved after only losing two fingers and a testicle. Victory is mine! The cheerleaders dog-pile on me to celebrate my victory.

And that's what football should be.