The last few days I’ve been harassing my good friend, Mike. Not just your typical jovial razzing, but like Jesus on a mule, I’ve really been riding his shit. I couldn’t explain why, but it was like everything that he said just made me want to belittle him.
Sitting on my couch this evening, I figured out why over these past few days I’ve been wanting to shake Mike’s monkey tree so badly.
Let me preface my reasoning with this: I’m a man. I’m 28. I’m a man. As a man, there’s one thing I hate on this planet more than anything. That thing is losing. As a man, I also love football. Combine my love of football with my hatred for losing, add a dash of fantasy sports, and you’ve concocted the most flammable substance known to modern science.
Now, onto why I’ve hated my friend Mike over these past few days.
Last season my fantasy football team was a little thin at running back. Sure, I had waiver wire phenom LeGarrette Blount and Eagles’ stud LeSean McCoy. But past those two I was running Joseph Addai, under-utilized rookie James Starks, and Ridgemont High graduate Ricky Williams out there in my flex every week.
Needless to say that I wasn’t scoring a lot of points from that position. It was thinner than my receding hairline.
Because of that lack of depth, I went dumpster diving on every roster, looking to move the premiere fantasy football wide receiver for a running back who gets the bulk of the carries for his club. I finally set my sights on Rashard Mendenhall; Mike’s running back.
Mike wasn’t packing much at receiver last year. Of course that wasn’t anything new. We’ve been hearing that from his wife for ages. He was going with Dez Bryant, Reggie Wayne, and Deion Branch. Perfect place to emergency drop the top receiver in fantasy football for a horse of a running back.
Or so I thought.
When I offered Mike Andre Johnson for Mendenhall, he disrespected me like a cheap trick. After spurning my advance, he claimed he could find a better deal elsewhere. Of course things didn’t stop there, however. Once he pulled the trigger on a trade, he finally dealt Zach Miller, Dez Bryant, and Rashard Mendenhall for DeAngelo Williams, Greg Jennings, and Reggie Bush. The fact that a healthy Greg Jennings went on to outperform Andre Johnson and his bum ankle down the stretch is completely irrelevant. Hindsight is always 20/20 and I thought it bullshit that Mike would trade for a receiver who wasn’t the best receiver in the league. I still think it’s bullshit.
Now, why my good friend almost had to file a restraining order on me before Week 1 of this football season.
The other day at our 2011 fantasy draft, we had a tantalizing nacho buffet, complemented with an ice cold case of Miller Lite. Not Coors Lite, because I hate their stupid ‘Cold/Ice Cold’ commercials. That promo really sucks. I digress. So our computers are set up all over the war room downstairs and we’re guarding secrets like Russia during the Cold War. You have to make sure that your computer’s fully charged, just in case the fuse your computer’s plugged into blows. Your auto-draft is set, just in case there’s a rabid groundhog digging up power lines and sending the entire neighborhood into a blackout. It’s pretty serious stuff.
While the draft was going on, Mike, who was seated next to me, spilled a beer. Not only did he spill a beer, which is criminal enough on its own merit. He spilled a beer all over the carpet by my power cord and a little bit on my screen. And that’s when it happened. Like the Incredible Hulk, I went into a rage. While I didn’t consciously think of it, subliminally my hatred was fueled by that rejection from last year. It turned me into a monster that wanted to shame Mike like an Old Order Amish. I haven’t forgiven the girl who turned me down to prom in high school. Certainly I’m not going to forgive that rebuff from 2010.
Well, it’s 2011. A year later. I’ve done a lot of soul searching tonight watching Tom Brady chop up the Dolphins secondary and feed them to Rob Gronkowski. I just want you to know, and I mean this with all of my heart, that when I’m screaming at you like a crazy, homeless Titusville meth addict the rest of this season, it won’t be because of that trade that you wouldn’t make with me last season. Mike, I just want to let you know that I’m sorry for being unreasonably difficult on you these last few days.
It will be because, and I sincerely mean this, I hate your fantasy team and want them to lose every game.