This was the league whose website rated my draft a C-, and predicted I’d win two games all year. I actually won seven, good enough to finish fourth, but scoring markedly lower than the three teams ahead of me. Two of those teams beat me during the regular season, so I fully expected my playoff run to be a smile, a wave, and a thanks for playing.
I smoked my first round opponent by 50 points — I’d beaten them rather handily twice during the regular season — but that just meant I got to face the 10-win #1 seed. And I watched this past Sunday as three of my studs got me a total of 10 points between them. Time for my smile and wave, apparently. But then my kicker went off for 24 points in the late game, and my defense chipped in another 19, and I found myself ahead by 22 points going into Monday night. All that stood between me and the final was Reggie Bush. Who promptly rolled off 7 points in the first quarter. I was doomed. I knew it.
Bush didn’t have quite enough heroics in him though, and I ended up winning by 7 points. And even better, the #2 seed lost their game as well, removing my biggest obstacle to winning it all. My opponent now is a team that finished under .500 who, like me, got hot at the right time. Now, we’ve decided to be all Christmas-y and split the prize money 50-50, regardless of who wins. But I want those bragging rights. I want to go out on top. It’s almost enough to get me thinking about playing again next year.
Except I remember watching that Monday night game getting all worked up every time Bush touched the ball. And I don’t want to go through another 17 weeks of that next year. No, win or lose, this is the last hurrah. It’s just funny that this is when fate decides to grant me a run for glory. As if it’s saying all I needed to do was give up to finally be successful at this. There’s a valuable lesson for you.