My son participates in a fantasy football league.
Kyle, along with some college friends, held a draft and put together teams. They make trades and moves throughout the week, and then keep up with the National Football League games on Thursday, Sunday and Monday to see how their teams perform.
Teams win or lose based on how many points certain players or an entire defensive unit compile. My son, like his old man, isn’t a fan of math, but he can tell you at any given moment on a Sunday how many points Lamar Jackson or the Chicago defense need to give him to put him in the lead in his fantasy league.
I haven’t been asked to join Kyle’s league, and I understand why.
We watch the games together, but my son and I come from two different generations of football fans.
He loves the celebrations, the different uniform schemes and the fact a team can score 55 points in a game and still lose. I loathe all of that.
I think players should make a play they are paid gobs of money to make, hand the ball to the referee, get back to the huddle and get ready to make another play.
I don’t like it when I turn on my television to watch a game and can’t immediately tell who is playing because every team now has different uniforms for road games, home games, Thursday games, Monday games and games played on the birthday of the owner’s favorite cat.
I’m also fine with a 10-7 game, but I’m not OK when someone calls such a game a “defensive struggle.” The offensive squads for both teams might have stunk up the stadium, but sounds to me like the defenses played pretty well.
Since I can’t play in Kyle’s league, I decided to form my own fantasy league. Check out my rules and strategies and see if you want to join me.
I’m drafting a quarterback who is so ugly he’d scare a dog off a pile of hamburgers. That’ll take care of his social life and let him concentrate on football 24/7.
I want a running back so big and fast he can bench press a Buick AND outrun one.
I want five offensive linemen so large they have their own zip codes and so mean they make a scorpion on steroids look cuddly.
On defense, I want five guys up front who think it would be fun to see if a quarterback’s ear can actually be pulled out of the ear hole of his helmet.
I want linebackers so tough if they tear an anterior cruciate ligament in the first half, they’ll go into the stands at halftime, remove an ACL from a fan of the opposing team and be ready for the second half kickoff.
I want defensive backs who would rather lose an internal organ than get beat on a deep pass.
Games in my league will all be played in stadiums with real grass and no roofs.
I want ticket prices and food at every stadium to be cheap enough for a single mother of three to take her kids to at least one game each month and still be able to do something nice for herself occasionally.
All games will end at 3 p.m. so sportswriters can make their deadlines.
And, finally, Miranda Lambert will sing the National Anthem at all games, and then join me in my luxury suite to feed me Blue Bell ice cream until I take my halftime nap. My lovely wife will say she’s OK with that “as long as it’s only one day per week.”
Hey. I said it was a fantasy league.