That’s my fantasy football experience in a nutshell. Riding high, then down in the dumps. Looking like a genius, then feeling like the biggest idiot ever to walk the planet. Not being able to wait for the next season, and not being able to wait for the current one to end. Oh, I’m sure there’s a reasonable middle ground I could find, where I realize that much of fantasy football is a crap shoot, dependent on the whims of chance, and that all the preparation in the world can’t survive contact with reality. But where’s the fun in complaining about that?
That said, this is as close as I’ve ever been to just calling it quits. I have friends who have forsworn fantasy football because it made them too worked up over every single game. I used to argue that fantasy football allowed me to be interested in every game, but I’m starting to see my friends’ logic. Instead of appreciating the duel between Peyton Manning and Tony Romo, I was cursing the “experts” who told me starting Phillip Rivers over Romo was a good idea, and seething at every point scored by a Bronco on my opponent’s fantasy team. There’s investment, but almost too much. And really, do I want to feel about every game the way I usually do about a Bucs game? I’m not doing all this healthy stuff to give myself a heart attack over a fake football team.
Of course, I rattle off a few wins, and fantasy football is a fine pastime and worthy of my attention. I might be frustrated, but I’m also fickle.