The Greatest Fall of Our Lives
Last night is my favorite night of the year. Every year at the end of August me and my best pals from the U gather in cyberspace -- a land that I have shockingly grown quite close with over the last 6 months -- for our fantasy football draft.
As you all know, I am a baseball guy first. I would trade 10 Giants Super Bowls for 1 Mets World Series.
At the same time, I am definitely a fantasy football guy first.
Everything about it to me is perfect, but most importantly, it is that for one day a week, 9 beautiful hours, you have one thing on your mind: getting in the end zone and racking up yards.
Unfortunately, I have been deemed the Yankees of my fantasy league.
After winning the first 2 years -- followed by 3 years of losing -- (FIRST OR LAST in the Momo household) I feel like 50 Cent, like I have an S on my chest.
Everyone is out to get me. My friends get their players fired up when they see the GPB’s on the schedule (my team every year is a knock at one of my meathead friends). And that to me is OK. I live for the competition.
The point of this column is not me. Though, I love me some me.
The point of this column is to discuss my sports euphoria, what could be the greatest September of my life and what we can all pray will be the greatest October, too.
The fantasy football draft is to me what the day after Thanksgiving is to the Christmas season. It is my launch date.
It’s the time of year where my two favorite sports overlap. As much as Opening Day is my favorite day of the year, the first Sunday is probably my second. Sitting in a bar and seeing all those screens with all those games in the one sport where every team cares about every single game.
It’s just a great feeling. A lot like Christmas.
Every year, those who choose Jesus Christ as their lord and savior experience an immense build up, hoping that mommy and daddy might get them that shiny new Marc Boerigter Colts jersey that they had been dreaming about since last week’s quiet but eventually impacting acquisition.
If little Sip was a good boy, maybe just maybe Senior might do a little research, call up some of the A-listers and make sure he found the perfect gift.
Unfortunately for me though, Jews don’t have Christmas. Instead they have 8 days of joy that end when you are 10 years old and you realize that this is just a sad attempt to compete with the Yankees of religious practices. And then you pray, and I mean pray, that grandma remembers to send you that spending money.
I’ve never experienced Christmas. That time where everyone you know is happy, even if for the other 364 days of the year they may be miserable and sad. I saw it happen with my buddy the Kid’s family a couple years back, and it was truly a magical thing.
This year, that magic will hopefully sprinkle on all of us.
With my fantasy draft I know that the stretch run is upon us. Baseball is winding down as football season lies on our fingertips. It’s the best of both worlds, and for the first time in 20 years, both of my teams will be sharing meaningful games in the fall.
For 5 months we have watched the Mets plow through the National League like Brody Croyle plows through debutants at an Alabama barbeque.
But now, it’s going to really mean something. The prize is actually in our sights. We know we are going to make the playoffs, we have basically known that for three months now.
Which means the expectations for all of us are extremely high. Every one of us, for the first times in our lives, thinks we have a legitimate shot at winning this thing. It’s a weird but amazing feeling.
As I write this column I think of all my close friends, my brother and even my dad. We have all sweated this thing out for so long. For most of us, this is more than 20 years and tens of thousands of hours invested in a silly little baseball team.
For me, this is my hobby, my passion and everything that is just OK in this scary little world of ours.
Which is why, as my Christmas season begins -- following a stunning draft that saw young Sip stock up on quarterbacks, the cocaine of trade commodities in our 12-team 2-QB league -- the Sip only has one real wish.
I wish that I do not have to really start caring about the Giants until November.
You all know what that means.
Vaya con dios,
Sip
As you all know, I am a baseball guy first. I would trade 10 Giants Super Bowls for 1 Mets World Series.
At the same time, I am definitely a fantasy football guy first.
Everything about it to me is perfect, but most importantly, it is that for one day a week, 9 beautiful hours, you have one thing on your mind: getting in the end zone and racking up yards.
Unfortunately, I have been deemed the Yankees of my fantasy league.
After winning the first 2 years -- followed by 3 years of losing -- (FIRST OR LAST in the Momo household) I feel like 50 Cent, like I have an S on my chest.Everyone is out to get me. My friends get their players fired up when they see the GPB’s on the schedule (my team every year is a knock at one of my meathead friends). And that to me is OK. I live for the competition.
The point of this column is not me. Though, I love me some me.
The point of this column is to discuss my sports euphoria, what could be the greatest September of my life and what we can all pray will be the greatest October, too.
The fantasy football draft is to me what the day after Thanksgiving is to the Christmas season. It is my launch date.
It’s the time of year where my two favorite sports overlap. As much as Opening Day is my favorite day of the year, the first Sunday is probably my second. Sitting in a bar and seeing all those screens with all those games in the one sport where every team cares about every single game.
It’s just a great feeling. A lot like Christmas.
Every year, those who choose Jesus Christ as their lord and savior experience an immense build up, hoping that mommy and daddy might get them that shiny new Marc Boerigter Colts jersey that they had been dreaming about since last week’s quiet but eventually impacting acquisition.
If little Sip was a good boy, maybe just maybe Senior might do a little research, call up some of the A-listers and make sure he found the perfect gift.Unfortunately for me though, Jews don’t have Christmas. Instead they have 8 days of joy that end when you are 10 years old and you realize that this is just a sad attempt to compete with the Yankees of religious practices. And then you pray, and I mean pray, that grandma remembers to send you that spending money.
I’ve never experienced Christmas. That time where everyone you know is happy, even if for the other 364 days of the year they may be miserable and sad. I saw it happen with my buddy the Kid’s family a couple years back, and it was truly a magical thing.
This year, that magic will hopefully sprinkle on all of us.
With my fantasy draft I know that the stretch run is upon us. Baseball is winding down as football season lies on our fingertips. It’s the best of both worlds, and for the first time in 20 years, both of my teams will be sharing meaningful games in the fall.
For 5 months we have watched the Mets plow through the National League like Brody Croyle plows through debutants at an Alabama barbeque.
But now, it’s going to really mean something. The prize is actually in our sights. We know we are going to make the playoffs, we have basically known that for three months now.Which means the expectations for all of us are extremely high. Every one of us, for the first times in our lives, thinks we have a legitimate shot at winning this thing. It’s a weird but amazing feeling.
As I write this column I think of all my close friends, my brother and even my dad. We have all sweated this thing out for so long. For most of us, this is more than 20 years and tens of thousands of hours invested in a silly little baseball team.
For me, this is my hobby, my passion and everything that is just OK in this scary little world of ours.
Which is why, as my Christmas season begins -- following a stunning draft that saw young Sip stock up on quarterbacks, the cocaine of trade commodities in our 12-team 2-QB league -- the Sip only has one real wish.
I wish that I do not have to really start caring about the Giants until November.
You all know what that means.
Vaya con dios,Sip
posted by Sippy Momo at 12:01 PM
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