How Fantasy Football Makes Me a Bad Person

The one thing that cushions the blow of summer ending, for me, is that it coincides with the start of football season. I am a big pro football fan. (The Jets are my team. Although they only occasionally resemble a pro football team.) Since the Jets more often than not make my Sundays miserable, since they more often than not make football irrelevant for me late in the season because they're usually out of it, fantasy football keeps me invested. And, most of the time, it keeps me happy as well. Recently I shared with you why I need fantasy football. I highlighted the positives that come from my participating in this annual Dungeons-and-Dragons-for-jocks exercise.

But it's not all a positive experience. There is a dark side. Yes, this game could certainly take a sinister turn. In fact, fantasy football can bring out the worst in me. Here's five ways how:

1. No compassion I root for people to get and stay injured. This goes against everything my dad ever taught me about sports. I remember one Sunday when the Jets were playing the Patriots. I was about 10 years-old. One of the Patriots' top players got hurt and I cheered. My dad yelled at me. "You don't cheer for someone to get hurt," my dad told me. "He's someone's son and father. Besides, you want to beat them with their best." From that point on, I didn't root for injuries. I felt compassion. Except...

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Why I Need Fantasy Football

"It's just a fantasy. It's not the real thing. But sometimes a fantasy is all you need." -Billy Joel
It's the most wonderful time of the year. You know that old Staples commercial with the dad dancing through the aisle as he shops for school supplies with his kids who are miserable because summer is ending and school is starting? Well that's how I feel about football season. More specifically, fantasy football season. I'm willing to bet most football-loving men feel this way about fantasy football. At the risk of sounding cliche, a majority of women I know - My Director included - have no idea why this is so important to us. Well, I have no idea what the allure of shopping without a purpose is. So until someone explains that to me, let me explain why I need fantasy football...

The winner keeps the cup for a year.
(It's engraved with the names of all the champs.
My name's on it three times.)

First off, I'm a Jets fan. My season is usually over before it begins. Especially this coming season. Fantasy football keeps football interesting for me. It also keeps me from crying in the fetal position every Sunday afternoon.

Second, there's the gambling. Whether it involves money or not, most men like to gamble. Not only does fantasy football provide an outlet, it is socially acceptable. (And perfectly legal.) So we're not degenerate gamblers, spending all night in a casino feeding our debit cards into the ATM because we feel a hot streak is coming. Speaking of legality, according to a recent ruling by a federal court in New York, poker is a game of skill and thus not considered "gambling," I am willing to apply the same reasoning to fantasy football. Sure, plenty of luck is involved. But there is also skill and strategy. Above all, money is on the line. And the only thing sweeter than hoisting that championship trophy in December is one of your buddies handing over a fat wad of cash to help ease the burden of the Christmas bills. (Yes. There is a championship trophy. Any respectable league has one.)

Third, there's the competition. It's healthy competition too.

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With Friends Like These

"No man is poor who has friends," - from It's a Wonderful Life

This weekend My Director and I attended my 20th high school reunion. Amazing that two decades have passed since high school. We were driving to the reunion and she noticed I was quiet. "Are you nervous?" She asked. "No. I'm just...I find this...surreal. I can't believe we're driving to my 20th reunion. Isn't that crazy?" She agreed. Aging is a wonderful, mysterious, inevitable, frightening thing. I also felt excited. To see all the guys again. There are maybe two times a year where we're all together. I don't care what were doing as long as we're all there. It's always a good time. Always brings back happy memories, and always creates new ones.

On our way home, My Director said how great it was that all of my friends had made it. And that we took this great picture together:

We're very handsome. And very plaid.

I am who I am today thanks to a lot of people - my parents, My Director, Peanut - but these guys have been just as instrumental in making me me. (So they have themselves to blame.) And to quote my mother-in-law, of all people, "You can tell a lot about a person by who their friends are." Well, then I must be one hell of an amazing guy. Not because I have friends, but because of who they are. I'm so proud of my friends. For their successes in life and love. But more, for their success in friendship. 

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Mean Girls

"It's not about aptitude. It's the way you're viewed. So it's very shrewd to be very very popular. Like me." -From Wicked

Kids really do say the darndest things. Sometimes we'll have a conversation with Peanut and the words that come out of her mouth are so hilarious, whether intentional or unintentional, I bury my hands in my face to avoid embarrassing her. Just last night at dinner, for example, she was trying to explain to My Director what she thought the cause of My Director's "g.i." issues were. I sat in stunned disbelief, chewing my food while subconsciously holding my nose as Peanut described in great detail what causes certain types of bowel movements.

I don't want Peanut ending up in a garbage can.
Or walking away from someone who did.

Other times the conversations are more serious in nature. Like being nice to others, accepting those who are different, and feelings of exclusion and inclusion. These conversations revolve mostly around girls. Sometimes, mean girls.

Little boys can be obnoxious. For the most part, they're rough-housing, insensitive little jerks. I should know. I used to be a little boy. But I don't worry about Peanut being able to handle herself with the boys. They push and she pushes right back. She stands her ground. Defends herself. Peanut has established herself as the boss. The alpha female. It's the other girls I'm most worried about. Because while boys might engage in physical combat, girls are all about mind games. And being popular.

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Stepping Up is Hard to Do

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.” -Dr. Seuss, Oh the Places You'll Go!

Now that Peanut is kicking the comfort of daycare off her shoes and heading into Kindergarten in the fall; now that she's participated in the emotional, adorable "stepping up" ceremony that had my face soaked with snot and tears, causing me to lose all of my street cred as a stoic, stone-faced sarcastic dad; now that all of that is behind us and we are looking forward to the rest of her academic career, I have some words of wisdom to impart on Peanut and her pint-sized classmates.

First: Learn to read. You're not going to get anywhere in life having other people read things to you. It's embarrassing, really. Grab a book, sound out the words, and string a sentence together. Educate yourself. Stop relying on other people - mainly, your parents - to read to you. It's lazy. (Actually, you're so close it's scary.)

While we're on the subject of parental dependency, that brings me to my second point: your mommy and daddy aren't always going to be there to help you. Cut your own meat. Blow your own nose. Wipe your own butt. Have some dignity. When you get older, and you ask someone for a favor that you're perfectly capable of doing yourself, and they respond with, "You want me to wipe your butt for you too?" You'll know what I'm talking about. Cut the cord.

That leads perfectly to number three on my list: entitlement. You are not entitled to a snack, a nap, or dessert. You don't get a toy every time we go shopping somewhere. These things are rewards and they are earned. You work hard, you play hard, you follow the rules, you be kind to others, you reap the benefits. Do those things, and you get a bowl of ice cream. Do those things and I'll get you that Rapunzel pez dispenser you've had your eye on. 

Number four: if you don't do those things, you don't get a reward. And you definitely don't cry to get your way. Do you think that's how people act in the real world? In Kindergarten? This is the big leagues. Shape up. Crying because you want to read a different book than we picked? Or because you wanted to be the one who opened the door when we got home? Or because we didn't let you play a ninth round of hide-and-seek before bed? That's immature and unacceptable. Suck it up. Choke back those tears. As The Rolling Stones say, you can't always get what you want. And as Frank Sinatra says, that's life. Sometimes it's not fair. You cooperate and coexist. Deal with it and move on.

Finally: grow up. Everything is not a game. Or a joke. On second thought...who am I kidding? I still make a game or a joke out of almost everything. It's why you're so funny. (That and your mom serves a great 'straight man.') But if you do everything else on my list, you can get away with the occasional - or not-so-occasional - nonsense. People will take you seriously when it matters if you lead by example. Show that you're smart, capable, independent, hard-working, fair, dependable, and realistic. You'll have yourself allies. More important, you'll have yourself friends. Friends you can joke with. Friends you can be silly with. Friends for life.

You stood up there on stage at your Pre-K Stepping Up ceremony. You walked up to the microphone with a big smile. You grabbed it, leaned in, and said confidently and excitedly that your favorite thing about Pre-K was "being with your friends." You can tell a lot about a person by the quality of their friends. Keep surrounding yourself with good people. They will help you. They will love you. They won't judge you. They'll make you laugh in the good times. They'll make you laugh until you cry in the bad times. No person is poor who has friends.

That makes you one of the richest kids I know. Keep doing what you're doing, Peanut. I'll always be here to guide you along.

Kindergarten here we come. But first, one last summer as my baby.

Here is the video of Peanut saying what her favorite thing about Pre-K is. (If you listen closely you can hear a proud dad's reaction):


Two days before her Stepping Up ceremony, I wrote this for my "little girl."

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You're My Best Friend

"A single rose can be my garden. A single friend, my world." -Leo Buscaglia

I just knew. I knew the woman whom I now so affectionately refer to as My Director was the one. I knew early on, too. Too early, some might say. My college roommate for one. When I shared with him my epiphany that I thought she was "the one"only two months into our relationship, he warned me. "Be careful," he said. And that's all he said. But I was careful... all of those other times. With every other girl. (I made it sound like there were many. There were not.) I never let them in. Never opened up. Didn't want to.

Even though I knew, I still tread lightly. I was, after all, a second semester senior. She was just a junior. A baby. This could never work. The long distance. A graduate and a student. We had been dating for such a short amount of time. But I felt it. I loved her. I couldn't say THAT though. Way too soon. So how do I convey my feelings without freaking her out?

I know. I'll say the next best thing. So one night, as we sat on the couch in my room in my fraternity house. (Very classy.) Jerry Maguire playing for the umpteenth time. (Very romantic.) I finally opened up. I couldn't hold it in anymore. So I told her.

"You know... you're my best friend."

Wow. I did it. I put some feelings out there. Not THE feeling, mind you. But it was definitely a hint.

Without hesitation, she shot right back with, "My mom's my best friend."

Record screeches. Tray of glasses crashes to the floor. Cuba Gooding pauses his "Show me the money" routine mid-gyration. I sat there in disbelief. In stunned silence.

Really? Her mom is her best friend? What the hell is that? If it was a warning signal, an invitation to exit stage left, I didn't take it. Still to this day I can't believe she said her mom is her best friend. Unreal.

That story has become legend. We continue to laugh about it, especially whenever her mom does something to aggravate one of us. At those times I will say, "So who's your best friend now?" Suffice it to say, she has since elevated and permanently placed me into her best-friend penthouse.

A best friend is someone who sees you at your worst but still judges you by your best. That's what My Director has done with me for the nearly fifteen years we've been together. As I said in our wedding vows, she knows everything there is to know about me but loves me anyway.

For that, I am eternally grateful.

Happy birthday to my best friend.

We clean up nice.

Which came first? The spicy chicken or the deviled egg?

Ain't that America: You and me.

A best friend agrees to dress as "Jersey Shore"
for Halloween one year. (I got a spray tan.)

Last year, a word she uses in her voicemail messages to me inspired her birthday post. Click here to read it.

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Am I Smarter Than a Pre-K'er?

"Only your real friends will tell you when your face is dirty." ~Sicilian Proverb

If you ask my daughter, the answer to the question I pose in the title of this post, is a resounding "No." ("Silly daddy.") She's told me so.

It's started already. The doubting of what I say. Actually, it's not doubt. It's an outright refusal to admit I'm right, or even acknowledge the possibility that I could be right. (Maybe she's seen what I call my blog.)

But for crying out loud, she's 4 1/2 years old. And she takes the word of her friends over the word of her dad. One friend in particular. We'll call her Rhoda. (That would make the Peanut Mary, after all.)

We were at a birthday party. Peanut was sitting next to Rhoda, from whom she is inseparable. The dynamics of their relationship are equal parts adorable and annoying. In this specific instance: annoying.

They were decorating pumpkin-shaped cookies with glitter and chocolate chips. That's when I spotted one of the cunning older kids go to another table, and grab some gummy worms and M&M's. Well, I'll be damned, I thought...Peanut would certainly enjoy some of that deliciousness on her cookies.

The cookies, with unceremoniously removed gumdrops

So I went over there myself and grabbed a handful of M&M's and some gumdrops that looked like candy corn. She was psyched. But I had started a trend. Soon, the other kids were going over to that table to raid the apparently forbidden candy stash. That's when the mom in charge of the party told them those candies were for the kids with allergies.

I immediately recognized this as a genius ploy to gain control of a crowd that was quickly becoming rowdy over gummy worms and M&M's. The Peanut and her little Rhoda took it as gospel. Suddenly, my daughter who just moments before was enthusiastically piling candy corn gumdrops onto her cookie, was now unceremoniously plucking them off.

"How come you're taking them off?"

"(Rhoda) said they were for allergies." Now, instead of being proud of my daughter for listening, I'm mad at Rhoda for being a know-it-all. How dare she put a cramp in the Peanut's cookie decorating style.

"No, honey. It's fine. You can use them."

"No. (Rhoda) said."

Is she kidding me? As I pleaded my case, Rhoda came to her defense with a superior, sing-song, "Yes they ah-ahrrre." This is what my life has come down to: my four year old and her sidekick passively aggressively singing me the rules of cookie decorating.

I really didn't expect my daughter to think I was an idiot until she was a teenager. Ten or eleven at the earliest. I didn't expect her friends to tell her I was an idiot until then, either. Maybe daddy really does know less.

My wife, however, would disagree.

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