It is officially fantasy football season again
Glenwood Springs, CO Colorado
“It’s STARTED!” Husband-Head said victoriously, raising his hands above his head. “The best part of the year has begun! Don’t bother me because I’m very busy.”
I knew what that meant. And I dreaded it.
Somehow I knew it had something to do with football, but I didn’t want to believe it because the summer was only half over.
He proceeded to go out to his playhouse.
After thinking for a few minutes, I followed him out to the playhouse to see just exactly what he was so “busy” doing. And sure enough, there he was, sitting at his computer and talking on the phone to one of his buddies.
“WHAT?” he asked when he hung up, as I stood in the doorway with my arms folded across my chest. “What’s up with you? Don’t you have to clean or cook something?”
I chose to ignore that remark and continued to stare.
“OK, if you have to know, it’s STARTED!” Husband-Head finally confessed, although not apologizing at all. “Fantasy football has now officially begun! And these aren’t just mock drafts anymore – this is the real thing!”
With that, he began to do his funny little clap in which he turns his hands in opposite directions and slaps his palms together.
“It’s only July,” I deadpanned, not happy about this news at all. “It’s way too early to be thinking about football.”
“Whoo-HOO!” was his response, along with a little happy dance.
He tried to get me to dance with him, but I would have no part of it because this was clearly not something I was going to celebrate.
“Don’t tell anyone, but I think I’m going to pick McNabb,” Husband-Head confided to me enthusiastically.
This did not compute.
“Who the hell is ‘McNabb?'” I asked honestly.
Husband-Head stopped in mid-jig.
“You know, Josh Mankiewicz from Dateline NBC asked you the same thing a couple years ago and you didn’t know, which was kind of embarrassing,” he said, shaking his head. “Once and for all, McNabb is the quarterback for the Eagles.”
“Wow … the Eagles?” I asked with surprise after a few moments. “I used to listen to them back in the ’70s!”
To prove it, I began to belt out a song.
“So PUT me on a highway … and SHOW me a sign … and TAKE IT – to the limit … one more time …”
Husband-Head stood and stared at me as if I was a complete lunatic.
“Stop it,” he said seriously in a soft voice. “You’re starting to scare me.”
“Yeah, well your fantasy football fetish is starting to make me a little nervous as well,” I retorted.
“That’s different,” he insisted. “This is football. This is serious.”
Yeah, and so is my addiction to shoes. …
And although I have no clue as to what fantasy football is all about, I know a number of guys participate in this game. According to Husband-Head’s reports, they come from all over the world.
“Right now, we’re waiting on this guy from France,” Husband-Head informed me. “He’s the one holding us up. We have guys from Germany, France and England, but right now everyone is making jokes about the French guy.”
Like I, for one, even cared. And for two, as if I knew the slightest bit about fantasy football and what the hell he was talking about.
“First of all, it is still only July and we shouldn’t even be having a conversation about football,” I said patiently to Husband-Head. “Secondly, who gives a flying fart about football? At this time of year, you should be more concerned about the chlorine levels of the pool.”
Mock drafts or real drafts or pre-games or real games – I can’t keep track of when all these things happen. Nor do I care. All I know is that football widow season is imminent, and it’s way too early.
“The cucumbers in the garden aren’t even ready yet!” I bargained, trying to put the whole timeline into perspective. “Tomatoes are still ripening, the sunflowers are still blooming, and my mother hasn’t yet called asking if we’re going to visit her at Christmas!”
But like it or not, the beginning of football season is creeping up and it’s not a fantasy. …
Heidi Rice is a staff reporter for the Post Independent. Her column appears every Friday. Visit her website at http://www.heidirice.com to purchase her book collection of columns, “Skully Says Shut It!” or purchase it at the Post Independent, amazon.com or barnesandnoble.com.
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