They come out this time of year.
Men. Men older than 30. Men who should know better.
They tiptoe from their beds in the middle of night, head downstairs to the computer, hope no one hears as they gently click. Were they downloading Asian porn or analyzing stocks or looking for a good divorce lawyer, we’d understand. Were they scanning MTV.com for The Hills we’d understand. Were they downloading Mandy Moore’s latest CD, we’d understand. Were they joining the Lindsay Lohan Fan Club, we’d understand.
Alas, they are here to do the unforgivable.
The ludicrous.
The inane.
They are here to check on their fantasy football team.
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To start with, I think fantasy football is stupid. I know 90 percent of the people reading this blog have fantasy football teams, therefore making this post a sub-good idea. But, truthfully, I don’t care. In fact, I’m here to help. It’s a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining. The grass is green.
Go take your kids to the zoo! Go with the wife to a movie and dinner! Go play on the beach! Visit the local pool! Or pool hall! But please, dear God, stop checking Fred Taylor’s statistics.
For Christ’s sake, get a grip. You don’t even like Fred Taylor. Or the Patriots. But here you are, ignoring the world to check his stats and feed your growing obsession.
It’s so lame.
But not the lamest.
No, the lamest are those men (and women) who cover the NFL for a living, yet still maintain a fantasy football team.
Yes, you. You know who you are—sitting in the press box, pretending to be analyzing Chad Pennington’s three-step drop but really checking your computer to see whether Lee Evans broke loose against Denver. Damn you, man. Damn you. Not only is this sort of a conflict of interest, but it’s really, really, really pathetic. Does a doctor come home from work and play with his stethoscope? Does a lawyer use his free time to file briefs? Isn’t 50 hours per week of football enough … without delving into fantasy?
Ugh!
