Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.

Fantasy Football is for fools....

I am surrounded by fools who participate in this "Fantasy Football" thing.

Now, I don't know about you, but any fantasy from the mind of your Nigel typically involves Angelina Jolie, a buggy whip, chloroform, a feather-duster, and 6 jars of strawberry jam. See? There she is at left, biting on a strawberry! Must be the pre-Nigel warm up!

Pervy digressions aside: what to make of Fantasy Football, and the neckless lizards who participate therein?

1. Stats, which is what drives the whole thing, have nothing to do with the game. The sheer enjoyment of play, the back-and-forth of the team momentum, the noise of the crowd, the tailgating and beer drinking and booster camaraderie...fuck all that, here's a better idea, whatsay we sit in a dark basement and watch nfl.com for the latest "who's on waivers now" news, and then let's "trade" players, and then let's sit around jerking each other off when our "team" beats our "opponents". Sounds like fun, yes?
2. The guys (and it's nearly all guys who have "teams") have way too much time on their hands. To wit:
   
3. A wise man once said that talking about sports is like dancing about architecture. It's meaningless; not one tiny opinion, even well expressed, nothing we as fans and laymen contribute has anything to do with the reality of the outcome. Fantasy Football is like that, too. It proves nothing, it's mind numbing and time consuming, and it involves way too much effort working spreadsheets. Who wants to do homework on a Sunday night? Answer: the dolts who have to update their fantasy team point counts by digging through the day's statistic results, that's who.

Still, I suppose there are some fantasies involving football games that are worth the time and effort. I was at the Falcons/Saints game yesterday in the Georgia Dome, and my mind got to wandering...not about Drew Brees or Matt Ryan, no no no. Mostly about this one Falcons' cheerleader I spotted down below, shimmying and shaking: "Miss Cheerleader, please meet Miss Jolie. Can I offer you both some strawberry jam? But before that, please take a whiff of this handkerchief--does this smell like chloroform to you?"

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 12:21 PM