Living in a Fantasy...

I need to stop blaming Heath Miller for my own personal issues. Fast.


So just recently, I got off the phone with my buddy Ian (I write buddy like Bill Simmons when he refers to his friends, although I’m sure all three people who are reading this know who Ian is, and that includes Ian). Not surprisingly, our conversation was dominated by fantasy football. We spoke at length about the upcoming playoff picture, Ian, being happy that he has all but secured a first round bye, I, still wallowing in the fact that the worst offensive game in recent memory closed the door on my chance of obtaining what I desperately need right now - one risk-free weekend off from fantasy football.

I tried to look for a silver lining in failing to clinch that bye-week, thinking to myself, hey, that’s one more week of fantasy football I get to play. Sadly, that is not the case. I wanted and needed that week off, and in a bad way. It’s one week where I can avoid watching my team underachieve and crush my championship hopes. Its one week where I can avoid watching my bench players outperform the guys I started over them. Its one week I can avoid yelling at the television, football coaches in particular, for calling plays that helped their teams win games, while simultaneously neglecting my fantasy players.

It has become a sickness, and as a sports fan, I can honestly say I’m not to thrilled about it. In the years before I did fantasy, it was all about the games, and the actual real life outcomes, and not the statistical allegiances I had with players. The only heartache I experienced was my own team losing, but in fantasy world, you can find pain in one team’s running back, another team’s defense, and yes, even a team’s kicker all within the span of minutes.

So I started thinking to myself today, why do I hate Willie Parker so much? What is he really doing so wrong, other than being second in the league in rushing yards and helping his team to a probable division title. I hate him because he doesn’t score touchdowns. I also was especially peeved last night when Pittsburgh, with a first down within the five, couldn’t devise a Parker touchdown that would have one me the week, and that first round bye. I yelled at Mike Tomlin (I think, my anger was really directed to no one specifically) for not pounding it in for three straight plays, and giving his tailback the highest probability of hitting pay dirt.

Instead, he was simply trying to set up his team for a game winning field goal, and on a part of the field where Jeff Reed wouldn’t feel like Nancy from a Nightmare on Elm Street, when Freddy turned the staircase into a sloppy goo. In other words, the field was literally 85 percent diarrhea last night, and god forbid the coach seek out the one part of the turf that was remotely fertile, so his kicker could have the best chance to nail what would normally be a chip shot.

As I sat riled on the coach, sputtering out curse words like a madman, my brother reminded how little Mike Tomlin cares about my fantasy season and that of everyone else. How he was just trying to win a painfully scoreless game the best way he possibly could, and if that meant avoiding a possible fumble by Parker in the slippery swamp that was Heinz Field last night, then so be it. It’s a time like this, when you really have to separate fantasy from reality.