The most appropriate time to eat a very stinky fried sandwich would be at dinner time, at your home, at your table. Perhaps with a nice house wine and some pork rhines.
However, an even better place to eat that stink fish sandwich is on a crowded airplane, sitting right next to me, while burping. Licking your lips and complaining that the stewardess didn't give you enough coke.
Two things: 1--If it is a 35 minute flight, like this was, just eat a damn candy bar for fucks sake. 2. It's considered bad manners not to have offered me any especially after I got to sit through your aromatic burps for 30 minutes. Seriously, throw a guy a fry.
But I would go unfazed and determined. This weekend, and the reason I was on a plane, was my fantasy football draft. See what I did there? I turned this blog into a funny weird person story perhaps with a humerus ending to a nerd sports story that has no ending what so ever. Just ask my wife. The jokes will be that bad all night people, dig in.
I am on my way to our fantasy football draft. This day is like Christmas to those millions of us who play this game. While you may be hoping for concert tickets stuffed in your stocking, all I want to see is the number 1 running back coupled with a two really good receivers. It's sports nerdom on a massive scale and I am flying 600 miles to attend.
This is the 19th year that I have played in this same league. 19 years, half of my life, doing one hobby. I think it's safe to say that at this point its more of an obsession than a hobby. And I do want to give a big thanks to my wife for making it possible for me to board a plane and go to the draft. And all though the odds are good that she may leave me before the end of this season she should know that I was able to grab a pretty good team thanks to her. I'll give her half of it in the divorce. (Not Adrian Peterson honey, he stays with me!)
I am dedicated to this league, thus the big trip. However, I wasn't the one who came from the farthest away. We had a guy fly in from Chicago and another guy drive in from Alabama. We have all been in this league together for many years and are dedicated. Those of us that traveled are perhaps the most dedicated. Those that had to call in by phone, wimps.
Except for the Hurricane guy. That dude is dedicated.
We had two people that couldn't make it this year. One was attending his child's birthday. But he was on the computer making his picks. And then there was the guy that was stuck in the middle of Hurricane Irene.
He was supposed to be on Skype at first. But then his power went out. Eventually he was crouched in a hallway with a flashlight, a draft cheat sheet and a speaker phone. I am the wimp.
Occasionally we would hear a big crash come over the phone followed by "I gotta go" and he would hangup quickly. We would pause the draft for a minute until he was able to swim to somewhere safer and call back.
And he had a contingency plan. He emailed our commissioner (yes, we actually have a ruling body) a document tittled "Draft Strategy" with the instructions of "Open if I am disconnected or dead" so that we could appoint someone to draft for him.
It is entirely possible that we take this way to seriously.
After he lost his shingles from his house and as he turned FEMA away, he was able to continue with the draft. I like to imagine that we offered him some comfort in his time of terror, friends gathered around to support him during this horrible storm. Friends that wouldn't hesitate to screw him over in a moment should the chance arise should he have the audacity to go after the player that I want.
Yup, way to seriously.
The 4 hour draft went well and we finished and the Hurricane guy was able to get most of what he wanted. He is hoping that some of the players also want to play on his fantasy roofing team as that is what he now needs.
Dedicated. Sure, we are all dedicated to this league and to this hobby. And it was this level of dedication that I was pondering when a large lady practically sat in my lap on the bus back to my car. I was taken a bit aback at first, after all how often to you get sat on? And how often does this happen when the entire FREAKING BUS IS EMPTY. Seriously people, what the hell?
I was able to count 26 open seats on the bus. It was easy to do because we were the only two people on the bus and she decided that the seat right next to mine was the place to be. I don't know why, perhaps it was a one woman flash mob that was set to take place on the bus and I just got in the way. I have no idea but for 15 minutes I was very uncomfortable and awkward. She may have had a Stank Sandwich but I can't be sure.
Screw the Hurricane guy, I'm easily the most dedicated of the bunch.
No comments:
Post a Comment