Hello, My Name Is: It's All Part Of My Football Fantasy

He was someone you could rely on. You could rely on him to drive in from out of town every single Labor Day for the past fifteen years to attend the league's annual Fantasy Football draft.

And that is what he did. In fact, C1 is only known to the other participants through this league. They've seen him for three hours every year for the last fifteen years. As one team manager pointed out, three hours over fifteen years adds up to a little over one work week's worth of time.

Cousin Two, on the other hand, was a bit less put together. Though The Cousins' loafers were the same brand and had been purchased at the same time, from the same store, at the same price, Cousin Two's were faded. Scuffed. Worn. Also, C2's hair was a bit more mobile. His shirt: a little more wrinkled. He held a plain old disposable ballpoint pen. He went through several a week.

In a perfect world, the combination of C1's attention to detail and C2's relaxed intuition would have been unbeatable; the C1-C2 punch would have rendered opponents defenseless. But of course we're all aware of the nature of the world. Thus, the C1-C2 punch simply rendered opponents awake past their bedtimes. These guys were slow... decision... makers.

And despite The Cousins' detailed analysis, they hadn't won any more championships than anyone else. In fact, just about every team had won a championship at least once in the past fifteen years.

And as I sat in the bright living room with eight team managers, I observed a seriousness that I hadn't been expecting.

Each team manager had a different method of choosing/tracking/researching players. Some were more complex than others, some more time-consuming. There were lists upon lists, stacks of stats inches thick, trade magazine rating sheets, Draft Cheat Sheets, good old Google-searching...

This was the fifteenth annual draft, which means that the league existed before the Internet (okay, not really before the Internet existed, but before any layperson would have ever used it to keep track of Fantasy Football). Every year on Labor Day evening, the participants get together to pick players, eat dinner and drink beer. I decided to join them.

And here's the deal: Have you ever been in a room full of hardcore computer geeks? You know how they talk in a different language, even though they're still speaking English? You know how it's more confusing than if they were, say, speaking Aramaic? Well...

That's kind of how I felt sitting in the living room surrounded by these hardcore football geeks. I mean, sure, I understand football, but this is different. This is work. Pencil-behind-the-ear, squinty-eyed, brain-straining work. Research. Analysis. Statistics. Psychology. Stacks of paper. Extensive Google searching. Limiting beer intake to maintain clarity.

So in this league, the previous year's champion has the honor of being the next year's Commissioner. This year's Commissioner seemed to be an innovator- the kind that makes lasting changes.

For the last fourteen years, managers had been on their own when it came to keeping track of drafted players, but this year The Commissioner instituted the use of a board and stickers to keep track of the draft picks. He simply peeled off the players' stickers and affixed them to the team's column. They were even color-coded according to player position.

This was also an expansion year. The league had gone from eight teams to ten. Each team had one manager except for The Cousins' (they always shared a team).

Three of the managers were absent from the draft. Two of them had given extensive instructions for others to pick for them, while the other one called in from California. He was on the phone with C2 the whole time... more than three hours.

The draft was underway, and The Cousins were already whispering. C1 calmly thumbed through his stack of papers. C2 divided his time between talking to The Phone, to C1 and to the rest of the room.

"We've reached critical mass," C2 told The Phone. "There are more Newbies, Yankees and Californians than the original founders."

"It's my 10th year in the league, and I'm still Newbie," one manager said, rolling his eyes.

The Rookie, who would prove to be the most efficient decision maker, picked the first quarterback, Drew Brees. The Host followed and picked Peyton Manning (someone I'd heard of).

The Commissioner took Tom Brady (a.k.a. someone I've not only heard of, but also recognize).

The Phone picked Thomas Jones, running-back for the Jets and everyone laughed.

"That's the [The Phone] I know and love," someone said.

I didn't have a clue. I smiled. I nodded. I flipped through The Host's iPod.

C2 to The Phone:
"Roddy White's gone."
"Boldin's gone"
Another person Wendy's never heard of is gone.
So-and-So is gone, but Wendy doesn't know how to spell his name and can't read the sticker...

The Commissioner chose for Absent Guy #1. "He's put me in a quagmire," he lamented (yes, he said quagmire). "He wrote down third round- take either the best available quarterback or Terrell Owens if he's still available. Which should I do? He mentions T.O. by name..."

"I watched the T.O. show," The Rookie told us. "It showed his softer side. He cried."

That must have convinced The Commissioner. He stuck T.O.'s sticker to the board.

C2 to The Phone:
"T.O.'s gone."
"Okay, we're on the clock. Gotta put the phone down."

The Cousins debated. They debated for a long time. A very long time. Very quietly. I couldn't hear. C1 looked pensive. Their legs were still mirrored, but this time the loafers pointed away from each other; I sensed dissent. No-Longer-A-Newbie got a beer. The Host did some errands. Someone ran around the block several times. The Rookie took an all-inclusive resort vacation. Ice cream was served. Finally, they chose. I can't remember who, though, as I was distracted by the drool hanging six inches from the corner of my mouth.

Next.

C2 to The Phone:
"Romo is gone."

No-Longer-A-Newbie took a QB.

The Commissioner was pensive again. "I don't feel great about it... but... Detroit Lions running back Kevin Smith," he blurted out. He tended to use the full name + position + team name naming convention. His stack of papers was several trees' worth.

The Rookie was no-nonsense. She picked quickly again.

Computer Guy's computer had run out of batteries, so he started fishing for help. "You guys think Wes [Something] is the next [Someone] Jordan?" he asked.

Lots of people answered with lots of opinions about lots of stuff having to do with Someone and Mr. Something. I fiddled with iPod, daydreamed about Greg Maddux for awhile.

The Rookie picked Addai, still choosing at the speed of light.

C2 to The Phone:
"Addai is gone."
"Vincent Jackson is gone"
"Schaub is gone."
"We're up. Gotta put down the phone."

The Cousins now whispered again. Their legs were now crossed in the same direction pointing toward C1, signifying his current dominance. C2 held up two fingers as some sort of signal. C1 flipped the pages like old fashioned ledger sheets.

C1: He's suspended for three games, I think. Wait. Here. Here. Here. What about him?
C2: Are you sure?
C1: Got a starter here, got a starter here...

No-Longer-A-Newbie stood up. "Good time to go get a beer."

C1: [Something inaudible]
C2: [Raises eyebrows, shakes head]
C1: What about... [points his pen to the middle of the list]?
C2: You think?

Debate continued.

No-Longer-A-Newbie returned to the room with his beer. "Who'd they take?" he asked.

"No one yet," everyone answered in unison.

"Big surprise," N-L-A-N replied. "Their strategy is to wear us down.

"We'll take McFadden," C1 finally blurted.

C2 to The Phone:
"We took McFadden. Two picks to round the corner and then it's back to us."

The manager on the end had two picks: Morano and McNabb. Then it was back to The Cousins. Dissenting mirrors. Their knees almost knocked.

C2: Here's my sleeper over here [pointing to C1's sheet].

C1 flipped to back of mound of papers for further research. From across the room, I could see several columns in no larger than six point type.

C1: We're down to, what, 50? The 50 good players have been taken [they look at the list together]. He's gone. He's gone. Gone. Gone. Gone... I mean, they're all following it.

He gestured at the other Managers, almost disgusted. And then, as if he were about to lose composure, he blurted out, "Ocho Cinco!"

Everyone laughed.

The Commission repeated, "Chad Javon Ocho Cinco Johnson."

"It took him awhile to convince me," C2 told. "It's all about the give and take, just like a marriage."

C2 to The Phone:
"Larry Johnson's gone."
"Roy Williams is gone."

The Commissioner picked Baltimore Ravens' Ray Rice.

The Rookie quickly took Jason West. She was so efficient that I wanted to give her a hug.

"Antonio Bryant's gone."
"Hines Ward is gone."

Hey, I remember him from my not-going-to-UGA-football-game days.

"How many rounds do we go?" somebody asked.

"The Old-Timers say it's fifteen."

We were halfway through the seventh round, and each turn was taking longer and longer.

Computer Guy accidentally picked someone who was already on the board. "That's, like, fifteen minutes of research down the drain," he said.

We all groaned. Instead, he opted for someone who'd been suspended for the first four weeks of the season. Something having to do with possession of a deadly weapon.

"So, about the bonuses," someone asked. "Is it two and two or one and three?"

"On defense, do we get special teams?" someone else asked.

"What happens if they run back for a touchdown? Do we get their points?" someone else asked.

"We never had these problems before we added defense..."

"So if Devin Hester plays on special teams and on defense, do we get points if he scores while on special teams?"

And so on.

"Big Ben is gone."

"We are now more than halfway through... Let's pick it up," The Commissioner prodded.
.
The Rookie was still on task.

"Berrian is gone."
"Gates is gone."

And then someone picked a kicker.

C2 to The Phone:
"Panic! Go get a kicker! Go get a kicker. A run on kickers!"

Four kickers in a row were chosen.

Tenth round. Thin pickin's.

Computer Guy, obviously a bit more casual about the whole thing than the others, asked, "You guys would tell me if this guy was just in a wreck, right?"

"He's got a bad knee," C1 replied.

"He's bald," C2 said, "And it rains a lot in Seattle."

Thirteenth round, and things were speeding up... until... we were back to The Cousins.

C1: He's a safe pick. Weather's good there.
C2: Now they do go out of town, you know...
C1: But you've got good weather most places in the south.

C1's glasses were perched on tip of his nose. The legs were crossed toward C2 this time. They finally picked.

"I can't believe they had this much discussion over a kicker," The Commissioner complained.

By round fourteen, The Cousins were having fun. They picked their defense. C1's legs were crossed to the right. C2's weren't even crossed at all. C1 took a sip of his Bud Light. He removed his glasses and wiped the sweat from his brow. By round fifteen, C1's loafers rested on the chair rung. He was almost slouching. The pressure was off. I could hear his pulse slow to a normal rate as the final pick was made.

And within seconds, kind of anticlimactically, everyone headed for the door.

STATS

Gender (participants):
7 males, 2 females, 3 males not present

My favorite football team:
Atlanta Braves
Oh wait...

Official sponsor of Fantasy Football League:
beer

League mascots:
Spot, Pickles and Rolo