In April, we launched a Bystander-based fantasy baseball league. It has gone very well, and I’m not just saying that because I’m currently 3rd out of 16. That’s better than I expected to do, honestly, but…what’s the opposite of “with a bullet”? “With a slowly deflating balloon”? “One of those foil ones, which look particularly forlorn”?
That’s what my fantasy baseball team is now, third with a deflating balloon. Every player’s walk-up music is sad trombone. And the funny thing is, nobody in particular is stinking. But as we trundle towards the playoffs, my ballclub of middle-achievers and cosi-cosi-contents seems to be losing something. Mental focus. Their edge. Their will-to-win.
(Looking at you, Julio Urias. I’ll give a fellow Glasses Guy a bit of slack but c’mon.)
As Sartre said, “Hell is listening to someone talk about their fantasy team,” so I’ll quit bitching. The point is, Ye Olde Bystandere Leaguee has revealed that many of you 1) like to play fantasy sports, 2) play it well, and 3) have an inappropriately nonchalant relationship to paying work similar to my own. It’s a character flaw, you know it and I know it and I’m getting help. But let’s be frank: that’s not going to change before the NFL season gets going on Thursday, September 7. So let’s all of us soi disant adults lean into our mutual character flaw. Let’s play fantasy football.
So: I need at least nine more of you reprobates to make the dream real. Just send an email by Saturday midnight Pacific to publisher@americanbystander.org. Given that we’ve all passed the test—we’ve come together and played fantasy sports without any major outbreaks of assholery (except for Urias, c’mon)—I’m going to the next level…
…this league’s going to have a trophy.
