An Elegy for Fantasy Football
Oh, Fantasy Football, how sweet your glory days were to me. The excitement I felt looking up box scores in the USA Today deep in the haven of the middle school library. How I slumped over a borrowed paper spreadsheet and carefully hand-tallyed each touchdown and score. The joy I had in developing and communicating new rules to my fellow Freshmen team owners. The pride I took in photo-copying and distributing weekly updates. The mind blowing revelation that was online score keeping and management.
My cluster of friends would talk for hours about trades and players and strategies. We’d hang on every pass, every touchdown, every scoring permutation.
But, Fantasy Football, our time has come to an end. You don’t excite me the way you used to when my life had more empty spaces. The weekly task of researching lineups and looking over numbers is no longer a treat but a chore. My buddies and I used to have something special. But now you have whored yourself out to soft-drink companies and chicken wing restaurants. You are no longer about the joy of owning a favorite player, but the exacting calculus of value, value, value.
And so I say goodbye, with no small amount of melancholy. We had a good run you and I, but there are new loves in my life.