Ultimate fantasy

I attended my first ever Fantasy Football draft the other night. Thankfully there was enough beer flowing to bury my mistakes!

There were only a few rounds, of beers that is, but I felt it enough to relax the troops through eighteen rounds of tense player picking. Turned out the guys were pretty lenient on me, considering I didn’t have much of a clue beyond the seventh round, or my third pint. Any dud picks I might have made, were lost amongst the sipping of frosty brew and hot-but-oddly-mild buffalo wings. Bless that sports bar.

With the second pick overall, monster Kansas City running back Larry Johnson, fell into my lap. Well not literally—that'd really leave a mark. But seriuously, it was nothing short of a Fantasy day miracle. No doubt this rubbed a few of my new pals the wrong way, but hey, the whole thing’s a lottery, so I figure a little beginner’s luck was on the cards. Johnson is an animal and was favored by every single Fantasy magazine I saw in newstands. If he wasn’t prominently on the cover, he was the second head poking around—like Han and Chewy in most Star Wars posters.

I was keen on last year’s league MVP, Seattle’s Shaun Alexander, myself. He just seemed more solid. Apparently so was the manager of the “Second Strings”, the team with the first pick on our draft board. So I happily took Johnson for McMahon’s Headbands (named in honor of the NFL’s biggest ever goon and my last post), the consensus Fantasy No.1 across all glossy $10 mags.

I’m just hoping the NFL’s “LJ” is not as big a let down as the NBA’s once greatly hyped version. The Charlotte Hornets’ Larry Johnson was a hoops superstar for about three years, so by that precedent, pro football’s equivalent should be alright for at least another season.

The thing about these drafts is, I wonder who actually knows what they’re talking about. I mean I’m sure there were a couple of seasoned veterans at my event, you know the kind; cellophane green visor, cheap cigar in the corner of the mouth, faded and unwashed Giants jersey hiding a beer gut. But mostly, I felt I was hitting my weight. Yeah, I struggled once the middle rounds shipped in, with "Who the heck is T.J. Houshmandzadeh and doesn't he sell souvlaki down the road", and similar comments peppering my conversation at that point. But with my trusty Fantasy guidebook tucked under my arm and the beer goggles on, my selections felt as sharp as anyone’s.

Perhaps that was just the buffalo wings talking.

Either way, it was a good night had by all, and something I highly recommend. In fact, I’m going to propose to a few friends that we adopt the “draft day” format for several of our weekly conversations; best bands, favorite celebrity women, top directors or actors, greatest burgers. The possibilities are endless, and the chance to invest money in mindless “Fantasy” pools seems far more enticing than dumping it into slot machines or on the ponies.

But before I get too excited, ask me how LJ’s going in a few weeks.