Last night, I became a Fantasy Football Champion. It was, if I may say, a Cinderella story.
(I’m actually the only person who’s said that, but I think it still counts…)
Look, Ma, I’m on top of the world/rankings!
Some said I jinxed myself writing about my fantasy domination. But that wasn’t boasting; it was straight-up incredulousness at this very bizarre anomaly.
I owe much of this to the man, the myth, the legend Mr. Peyton Manning who, most weeks, was an absolute monster on the gridiron.
All I ever asked of Peyton, and the rest of my team, was that they show up for the game. And most weeks they did. Like any team, when one player looked like he was struggling, others picked up the slack. Obviously these dudes didn’t actually know they were playing on a team together — and some weeks were playing against each other in real life — but I like to think that a very infinitesimally small part of them knew they were all Team Puck Bunny.
When you think about it, football is such a funny game. Every single play ends with two or more men throwing themselves into each other and falling dramatically on the ground. I can be quite clumsy, but, man, how does your body sustain such constant stress and battering? No wonder these guys can only manage to play one game a week, and sometimes just barely.
Most of all, I owe this victory and championship win to my brother Michael, who endured all of my fantasy panic and shared all of my fantasy excitement. Best brother ever.
Guys, I’m just waiting for a call from Coach Taylor to join his football coaching team.
PS: Hey Peyton, still waiting on your address to send you the most extravagant bouquet and also all of my worldly belongings because you deserve it, champ!