The Edge of Fantasy
First off, hi. I’m Lefty, I’m a writer. I’m a girl. I like sports. Those are my credentials. I’m one of—okay, so far, the only—chick here at DBB Sports that does something other than look hot or serve as some sexual punchline. Which is not to say I’m not hot or funny. I am. Take my word for it.
Here’s the topic I’ve been wrestling with for the past few weeks: men and Fantasy Football.
This topic initially erupted into my experience during the first weeks of football this season when everywhere I went—my failing bank, the elevator at work, my mechanic’s shop, a business meeting—guys were talking in hushed but excited tones about their draft picks, about their chances this season, debating the merits of various players with more seriousness than I know they ever debated wearing a condom with that bleached blonde from the after hours club (“she looks clean, man, I’m sure it’ll be fine”).
I mean, the anticipation was palpable. From grown men. Talking about something that doesn’t really exist. Grown men animatedly discussing a fantasy game without shame. In public.
(Yes, I know, some women participate, but ya gotta admit, Fantasy Football is overwhelmingly male dominated.)
And that got me thinking. First of all...why aren’t they ashamed? I feel like there should at least be some smidgen of chagrin from a guy with an MBA, two kids, a wife, and an important job–a guy on whom others depend to make rational decisions, like the head of my failing bank—whose voice squeaks with girlish glee that he landed Reggie Bush AND LaDainian Tomlinson.
Second of all, there’s that other more bothersome part of the whole fantasy football thing wherein–it’s a FREAKIN’ FANTASY!!! By virtue of its name, Fantasy Football is a made up thing that does not contain a shred of REALITY.
And yet, men are consumed by it. Men. Adults. Celebrating something NOT REAL. For hours. Taking time to IM about it, talk on the phone about it. Dream about it, probably. Why?
Because men love to fantasize. They love comic books, video games, looking at nekkid pictures of hot girls who would PROBABLY sleep with them if they ever ended up seated together on a plane. That’s how guys’ brains work. Far fetched daydreaming fuels a great deal of their thought time. So Fantasy Football fits.
It just fits. It’s a made up game in which guys can feel a fake sense of power at choosing and trading and selling the right players at the right time. And though it’s often played for real money, that doesn’t make it any less fake.
But the thing is...I envy guys their fantasy fueled fun. I wish I could give a shit about some giant fake game bubbling under the surface of the real football games that I’m watching. Because I believe all that fantasizing—year in, year out, from childhood to their deathbed—trains men’s brains to visualize outcomes.
And it has been proved in study after study that people who can clearly visualize are often MUCH more successful in life.
Yes, Fantasy Football and other ridiculousness like it, gives men an edge. And frankly I’m jealous that men can so easily “see” things that aren’t there...yet. Things that may
never materialize, like Angelina giving them a scrotal massage.
You have to see it, to create it. Brad did.
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