The Betrayal

I have been betrayed. I have been caste into the role of a Greek play and the betrayel knife still shimmers, glistening in my blood. I am the betrayed.

This is a very big time of year for me. It is not because I have a second kid coming. It is not because Christmas is only a short 4 months away. And it is not because I am fixing to hit another 1000 on my reader counter.

No, this is the time of year where the few get together every year to play Fantasy Football. As if my dorkdom could not get any worse, I offer you this. Star Trek, xbox, Harry Potter and now Fantasy Football. Please, someone, send me to nerd rehab.

This is my 14th year playing fantasy football and it has become somewhat of a national sensation for those of you unfamiliar with this. Basically, a bunch of guys (and some groovy chicks) get together and pick players off of NFL teams. We then use mythical statistics about touchdowns, yards and catches to come up with a score. If the players I picked do better than your players, then I win.

If I win enough, then I get to go to the superbowl. If I win the superbowl I win some money. But more importantly, I win the ability to talk shit for a whole year to the other guys in my league.

I say league and this implies that I only play in one league. I am even more ashamed to tell you that I play in three leagues. Seriously, I need an intervention.

Hossmom describes this hobby as Dungeons and Dragons for those over 20. But let me make this clear—if I could find a bunch of guys my age that play Dungeons and Dragons over the internet, I so would. So I don’t see how this is an insult. If my running back can throw a 16 or higher on your Elf quarterback, I win. And as always, vengeance shall be mine in this world or the next.

In the 14 years that I have played this, we have evolved. Like monkeys learning to walk, we have become quit elaborate on Fantasy Football Draft day. It started out with just 6 guys and one magazine. We were terrible. This years draft featured a draft board, war rooms, everyone wearing jerseys, much beer, ridicule, an auctioneer who’s sole job was to saying “Going, going, Gone!”. In my other league, we actually had chicks who served us beer while this was going on.

There is a possibility, and only a slight one, that we may have taken this to far. And there are trophies involved now. With engravings. Jesus, even I’m starting to question my obsession now.

So as you can imagine, Fantasy Football Draft Day is a huge day for me. It is when I step out onto the world stage and declare my greatness. It’s where I let my intellect triumph over those that are only a shade more evolved than the Neanderthals. I spit on them! For Glory, For Honor, For Victory!!!

Yes, I know who the third string running back for the Houston Texans is. I know which players moved in the off season. I know that the coach for the Detroit Lions loves to pass and that should make for a very good quarterback. And I am not the least bit unusual in this compared to the other players. Our draft consisted of colored spreadsheets, laptops and a virtual connection to the one guy that couldn’t show up in person. And yes, we judge him for it. He obviously lacks the desire to be a champion.

In short, Fantasy Football becomes my world. My world that is harbors a traitor. A dirty, dirty, pregnant traitor.

It would seem that during my fever to play I have neglected to keep my own house in order. And by that fault I have allowed myself to be betrayed by the one cloest to me.

At this years draft I showed up with my color coded spreadsheet ready to impart my wisdom onto those that are less fortunate. Uncle Bricksalesman shows up with his partner. I am going to let you assume that he is gay. I am not going to dispute that. Because traitors do not deserve any pity. He is in my league and runs his team with his “partner”.

They sit down, smiling ever so slightly. I can see evil in their eyes, but what is it?

His “partner” says “Man, research was sure easy this time.” He then throws down his fantasy football magazine.

“Hmmm” I think, “I have that exact same magazine.”

“Really” he says. “Did your’s come with all the research already done with little hints and marked players?”

“Um, no.” I say. I have forgotten that true evil exists in this world. Dear god, I am so sorry.

“Ours did and it was great”. He then proceeds to open the magazine. I find my self staring at the writing on his fantasy football magazine. It is my writing. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks that Uncle Bricksalesman sells. Dear God, what is going on here!

I realize that is in fact, my magazine. My magazine with all my player notes. That is my magazine with my super-ultra secret draft strategy. How? How did he know? How did he grab it without my knowledge.

His sister. I am married to his sister. The awakening comes to me to fast. I get light headed. I immediately see the connection. He used his sweet, untainted sister to gain my secret plans. It was like he had the nuclear football and he was Russia. It was there, right in his eyes, behind the evil smiles of him and his “partner.”

I confronted him. Words like “shiteater” came out. He shrugged and said that Hmmm, he just got a magazine from Hossmom and didn’t think anything about it. I know that he used her. I know that he used her and now she has betrayed me. I let him know that I would very soon be doing unspeakable sexual acts to his sister because I know that this bothers him.

As you can imagine, my draft went to shit. Uncle Bricksalesman and his “partner” oddly went after the same running back as me. He tried to convince me that that was the plan all along. I hereby call bullshit.

I went home and talked to my wife. What I learned was even more disturbing. She intentionally gave him the magazine. She did it for a very low cost. She wanted the co-sleeper for the new kiddo that Uncle Bricksalesman brought down from my mother in law. Wait a god damn minute—that’s my co-sleeper in the first place. And then I saw the same look in her eyes. She wasn’t tricked, this was intentional! Hossmom sold me out. She sold me out because she has always hated Fantasy Football. Betrayed. Betrayed. Betrayed.

But pay heed my evil in law family that has no honor amongst any of you communist pigs. If you are going to go after a man, go after his children to. Because now they will grow up and get my vengeance. I hereby pass this vendetta on to them.

Little Hoss—Daddy needs vengeance. Our family name is at stake here. I am counting on you to restore the family honor. And Hossmom, yes we shall forgive her because she is currently caring the second tool to my vengeance. We will not speak the traitor’s names until our honor has been restored. Come my children, let us pray.