Fantasy Football: I'm Locked Out of My League's Draft Party!

My good friend—who I won't name here—and I always get together at the start of each NFL season to throw a big fantasy football party, but this year he has decided that he’s going to plan this season's festivities without me, which is just totally unfair. Since he isn’t returning my texts or emails, I had to type out a note to physically send to him, and to make sure he sees it, I’ve decided to share it here. Just remember that men sharing their feelings is supposed to be positive and not something you can use against me later.

Dear [REDACTED]:

Look, this really isn’t funny anymore. The season starts in less than a week and I know that, once again, you’re throwing the biggest fantasy football draft party in [REDACTED] this weekend. You went to the website and locked me out of the league? That’s a load of [REDACTED].

You said that you had to pay for 60 percent of the refreshments at last year’s party, but what you didn’t mention was that I paid for all of the beer, so you really only paid for about 40 percent. And don’t tell me that the ice luge that you brought in counts as a refreshment. You cannot eat or drink an ice luge. That’s just a receptacle for frostbite and herpes, you idiot. I drink my apple martinis out of a glass. Like a man.

Besides, it seems pretty stupid for you to bitch about money when everybody knows what a big raise you got from work last year. I’m not asking for a handout, but do you realize how stupid you sound when you cry about not making enough money and you’re making more than all of us?

I’m also annoyed with the fact that I had to send this note to my girlfriend, who has to send it to your girlfriend to get it to you. And you just know that they’re going to go see Wicked or some other stupid thing while we sit at odds when we could be getting this awesome party together. The only ones that win in this thing are the girlfriends. Maybe if we could just get the girlfriends out of the room and talk to each other directly, we could work this out.

Why are you locking me out when I’m as ready for our fantasy football party as anyone? Didn’t you see me in the liquor store by your apartment the other day, just planning a party with myself? You might have thought that I was just there for the sake of appearances, but that isn’t true. I love our party, and I want to get back to partying.

Look, everybody knows that you’re going to let me back in, because you know I’ll take off my shirt and sit outside of the party if I have to. And once I get de-shirt-ified, you’re going to have to deal with me directly. I know you don’t trust me, and your anti-trust will become exposed when I’m doing the Dougie half-naked in your driveway.

How can we just sit here and let our friends judge us? Do we want THEM deciding how we enjoy Tom Brady or his wonderfully indiscriminate passing attack, or Michael Vick’s newfound public facade? I contend that we do not, good sir. Seriously man, answer your damn phone and reply to my texts for once. We can get this thing settled and get back to doing what we love: getting tanked and laughing like little girls when [REDACTED] drafts Matt Hasselbeck in the first round again.

So just stop this right now. What are you gonna do? Fill my spot in the league with replacement friends? Just call me and let’s get this thing done. Maybe Saturday would work for crafting an agreement on this. Come on, man! There is partying to be done this fall, so let’s get back to partying.

Because if I have to hunt you down, I’m going to punch you in the [REDACTED] so hard that you’ll be [REDACTED] blood until Thanksgiving.

Regards,

JZ

P.S. Maybe I should have sent this to you, like, two months ago, but whatever.