Thursday, September 11, 2008
Thursday's SUCK
Being Too Smart for Your Fantasy Draft
A few days ago, I earned the first pick in my NFL fantasy draft. I say earned because I assume that because of the daily--no, hourly--virtuous and kind deeds I perform for the rest of humanity I was quite deservedly granted the number one overall pick, so that I could dominate my "friends" and steal their money in a rout.
I debated for a day or two about whom I would take with the first pick. In our league, rushing touchdowns are worth six points; two more than passing touchdowns. Clearly this would push me toward picking a running back - after all, there are really numerous options at that position, and one fairly obvious choice: LT. LaDainian I Don't Even Need to See at Night to Run Your Face Off Tomlinson. The best fantasy running back, the best fantasy player, the overall baddest-ass motherfucking black visor wearing fast as shit stat monster who would would guide my team to victory.
Wait. Did you spot the factual error in the last statement? Exactly. LT wasn't the best fantasy player last year. Who was? The answer is obvious, and is probably seducing your girlfriend or mom at this very moment: one Thomas Edward Brady, Jr., quarterback and chief heart-throb of the New England Patriots, the team that decided it was too good to win the Super Bowl; so good, in fact, that they allowed any of their immediate relatives and close friends to play for them in that game. What else could explain their defensive line's inability to sack Peyton Manning's pathetic excuse for a brother...err, what? He actually IS a quarterback? I always thought the Giants just let some confused, whiny, armless guy play on their team for shits and giggles. And I'm not even a fan of the Patriots...
Tom Brady was THE only possible choice with the first pick. Had any of the other idiots in my league gotten the first pick, they would have wasted it on some chump like the aforementioned Ray Charles impersonator, or the player whose only career accomplishment in the NFL is setting the single game rushing record (given one entire year in the NFL, it would be reasonable to assume he could have at least tied the career rushing record). Luckily, I had the pick, and Tom Brady and his beautiful face would soon be nestled in my starting lineup for Week 1.
I have yet to mention that Tom Brady used to play for the University of Michigan. Being an Ohio State fan, I do have some deep-seeded animosity toward any player--current or graduated--from UM. Tom Brady, however, is so good that he completely removed any reservations I had toward having any Wolverine on my bench. In fact, his smug demeanor in interviews reminded me of how I would secretly enjoy the inherent irony in rooting for a player upon whom I should wish a painful and elaborate death.
Irony.
Let us briefly examine this word.
First, its definition:
The known: Week 1. Patriots vs. Chiefs. BLOWOUT. The Kansas City Chiefs are likely worse than a random assortment of Indian Chiefs who, upon discovering how to travel through time, found themselves lost and bewildered on a football field in Foxboro, Massachusetts on September 7, 2008.
The assumed: Tom Brady would surpass last season's record of 50 passing touchdowns in this game alone. I would amass at least 200 fantasy points, thoroughly crushing Kevin and setting the stage for a season's worth of disappoint and loss for the rest of my league.
The reality: A lack of irony. Yes, yes...I do mean a lack of irony. Well, at least in the Pictionary sense. I've never done this, but I would guess that if given the word irony in a game of Pictionary, I would draw the following:
(No, I would not draw an iron and a knee. That is absurd, would never work, and clearly is worse than the above example which I certainly did not choose for the purposes of this article and the comparison that shortly follows this.)
What I never knew and could never know, but what I do know now, is that Tom Brady does not have iron knees. Every scouting report I have ever read, every medical report I have ever seen, indicated that Tom Brady's entire body--excluding his heart--was ruthless, and more importantly, ferrous. Little did I know that Tom Brady's knees and knee ligaments were NOT MADE OF IRON, AND THUS WERE SUSCEPTIBLE TO DEFENSIVE PLAYERS DELIBERATELY RAMMING THEIR HELMETS INTO THEM. REPEATEDLY. ON PURPOSE. A LOT. MEANLY.
As it turns out, I am out a quarterback and now must play Jon Kitna in Tom Brady's place. This is the price I pay for being too smart for our league. I chose the smartest pick possible, and it along with Tom Brady's ACL and MCL blew up in my face. Sometimes, even the most intelligent members of society must bear the burden of knowing that they are, indeed, better and smarter than everyone else. Regarding myself, this inherent truth dogmatically applies to every aspect of life, including fantasty drafts. As a warning to future participants in any fantasy sport, do not make the smart pick. If drafting for the NBA, pick Michael Jordan over LeBron or Kobe, as he would be more likely to come back from retirement and average a quaddruple double than those players would be to get injured. If involved in a baseball draft, just pick Ted Williams, as the likelihood of his cryogenically frozen corpse being thawed and hitting for the cycle in 162 consecutive games compares favorably to the chance that Alex Rodriguez is downed by an errant pitch.
And lastly, if you're participating in an NFL fantasy draft, choose Michael Vick, who has never played a full season and isn't even in the NFL (drafts can allow write-ins). There will likely be a better chance of him getting out of jail and putting up monster numbers than a player like Tom Brady, whose lack of injuries was so absurd that he was SARCASTICALLY listed on the injury report for 53 consecutive weeks, suffering a season-ending injury in Week 1.
OH WAIT, THAT FUCKING HAPPENED,
FUCK ME.
A few days ago, I earned the first pick in my NFL fantasy draft. I say earned because I assume that because of the daily--no, hourly--virtuous and kind deeds I perform for the rest of humanity I was quite deservedly granted the number one overall pick, so that I could dominate my "friends" and steal their money in a rout.
I debated for a day or two about whom I would take with the first pick. In our league, rushing touchdowns are worth six points; two more than passing touchdowns. Clearly this would push me toward picking a running back - after all, there are really numerous options at that position, and one fairly obvious choice: LT. LaDainian I Don't Even Need to See at Night to Run Your Face Off Tomlinson. The best fantasy running back, the best fantasy player, the overall baddest-ass motherfucking black visor wearing fast as shit stat monster who would would guide my team to victory.
Wait. Did you spot the factual error in the last statement? Exactly. LT wasn't the best fantasy player last year. Who was? The answer is obvious, and is probably seducing your girlfriend or mom at this very moment: one Thomas Edward Brady, Jr., quarterback and chief heart-throb of the New England Patriots, the team that decided it was too good to win the Super Bowl; so good, in fact, that they allowed any of their immediate relatives and close friends to play for them in that game. What else could explain their defensive line's inability to sack Peyton Manning's pathetic excuse for a brother...err, what? He actually IS a quarterback? I always thought the Giants just let some confused, whiny, armless guy play on their team for shits and giggles. And I'm not even a fan of the Patriots...
Tom Brady was THE only possible choice with the first pick. Had any of the other idiots in my league gotten the first pick, they would have wasted it on some chump like the aforementioned Ray Charles impersonator, or the player whose only career accomplishment in the NFL is setting the single game rushing record (given one entire year in the NFL, it would be reasonable to assume he could have at least tied the career rushing record). Luckily, I had the pick, and Tom Brady and his beautiful face would soon be nestled in my starting lineup for Week 1.
I have yet to mention that Tom Brady used to play for the University of Michigan. Being an Ohio State fan, I do have some deep-seeded animosity toward any player--current or graduated--from UM. Tom Brady, however, is so good that he completely removed any reservations I had toward having any Wolverine on my bench. In fact, his smug demeanor in interviews reminded me of how I would secretly enjoy the inherent irony in rooting for a player upon whom I should wish a painful and elaborate death.
Irony.
Let us briefly examine this word.
First, its definition:
"an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected"This offers some substance. For what happened was exactly contrary to what I expected.
The known: Week 1. Patriots vs. Chiefs. BLOWOUT. The Kansas City Chiefs are likely worse than a random assortment of Indian Chiefs who, upon discovering how to travel through time, found themselves lost and bewildered on a football field in Foxboro, Massachusetts on September 7, 2008.
The assumed: Tom Brady would surpass last season's record of 50 passing touchdowns in this game alone. I would amass at least 200 fantasy points, thoroughly crushing Kevin and setting the stage for a season's worth of disappoint and loss for the rest of my league.
The reality: A lack of irony. Yes, yes...I do mean a lack of irony. Well, at least in the Pictionary sense. I've never done this, but I would guess that if given the word irony in a game of Pictionary, I would draw the following:
+
(No, I would not draw an iron and a knee. That is absurd, would never work, and clearly is worse than the above example which I certainly did not choose for the purposes of this article and the comparison that shortly follows this.)
What I never knew and could never know, but what I do know now, is that Tom Brady does not have iron knees. Every scouting report I have ever read, every medical report I have ever seen, indicated that Tom Brady's entire body--excluding his heart--was ruthless, and more importantly, ferrous. Little did I know that Tom Brady's knees and knee ligaments were NOT MADE OF IRON, AND THUS WERE SUSCEPTIBLE TO DEFENSIVE PLAYERS DELIBERATELY RAMMING THEIR HELMETS INTO THEM. REPEATEDLY. ON PURPOSE. A LOT. MEANLY.
As it turns out, I am out a quarterback and now must play Jon Kitna in Tom Brady's place. This is the price I pay for being too smart for our league. I chose the smartest pick possible, and it along with Tom Brady's ACL and MCL blew up in my face. Sometimes, even the most intelligent members of society must bear the burden of knowing that they are, indeed, better and smarter than everyone else. Regarding myself, this inherent truth dogmatically applies to every aspect of life, including fantasty drafts. As a warning to future participants in any fantasy sport, do not make the smart pick. If drafting for the NBA, pick Michael Jordan over LeBron or Kobe, as he would be more likely to come back from retirement and average a quaddruple double than those players would be to get injured. If involved in a baseball draft, just pick Ted Williams, as the likelihood of his cryogenically frozen corpse being thawed and hitting for the cycle in 162 consecutive games compares favorably to the chance that Alex Rodriguez is downed by an errant pitch.
And lastly, if you're participating in an NFL fantasy draft, choose Michael Vick, who has never played a full season and isn't even in the NFL (drafts can allow write-ins). There will likely be a better chance of him getting out of jail and putting up monster numbers than a player like Tom Brady, whose lack of injuries was so absurd that he was SARCASTICALLY listed on the injury report for 53 consecutive weeks, suffering a season-ending injury in Week 1.
OH WAIT, THAT FUCKING HAPPENED,
FUCK ME.
# posted by Joey : 2:14 AM
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