OK, that's it - I've finally had enough. It was fun while it lasted, but now I'm officially out. My fantasy is over, and I'm ready to get back to reality.
You see, I used to love fantasy sports. Draft days were the best days of the year. Football, baseball, basketball - heck, even NASCAR - you name the sport; I'd read countless Internet and magazine articles, look at depth charts and call all my team contacts for inside information to get the edge on the competition.
So maybe those calls would never be returned, but even that and a few restraining orders couldn't dampen my spirits. I was a fantasy-holic - living vicariously through my various rosters, cheering on guys whose names I had never even heard of before picking them up on the waiver wire that week and cursing players whose only crime was lining up on my opponent's team.
I loved the camaraderie the leagues built within my groups of friends and even deluded myself into thinking that being a fantasy owner made me a better fan. Note to those of you still in denial: trying to envision scenarios that will still see the Cowboys win while still ensuring Tom Brady throws for three touchdowns but only fewer than 300 yards so that bonus kicks in doesn't make you a better fan - it makes you crazy. During fantasy season, I was as happy as a pig in you-know-what, and I was certain the good times would keep rolling.
And then, things changed. Call it whatever you'd like - a spiritual awakening, a calling from beyond, constant disappointed sighs from my girlfriend, whatever - but somehow I finally saw what a fool I had been.
How much time had I wasted memorizing who was the backup running back on the Jacksonville Jaguars just in case Maurice Jones-Drew got injured? I mean, no one in Jacksonville cares about the Jaguars anymore, so what the heck was I doing caring about them in Virginia? I don't even like NASCAR but here I was getting stressed out about whether or not Juan Pablo Montoya's change of crew chief meant I should be looking for a new driver for my team. It's just not worth it anymore.
There are so many things I should be doing instead of wasting my time with fantasy sports, that as of now I'm officially... I'm officially... Ah! I can't do it. Who am I kidding? I love fantasy sports; I can't give them up!
The thing is, I've discovered this year that for some unexplainable reason I just completely suck at fantasy sports. You name it, and it has gone wrong for me. I've had players injured - thank you very much first-round pick Jamaal Charles and your torn ACL. I've had players underperform - was that really the second round when I took Carl Crawford? I've had entire teams choke on me - really, Giants, I lost in my survivor pool because you couldn't contain Tavaris Jackson?
Heck, I'm almost entirely convinced the entire NBA decided to go on strike simply to rob me of success in the NBA fantasy draft I just took part in. In my three fantasy football leagues, I'm a combined 2-13, and somehow I've managed to correctly predict a paltry 47 percent of games correctly this year. Forget Paul the Octopus out-picking me. At this rate, I'm pretty sure I'd lose to Pearl the Octopus from Finding Nemo.
When you're continuously coming up on the short end of the stick, fantasy sports can quickly turn into a nightmare and really make you question some of your life choices. While I don't think I could ever fully give up the games as much as I may want to some times, my unbelievable futility this season has helped me step back and realize that maybe, just maybe, fantasy sports are best dealt with in moderation. If all I'm going to be doing is losing, why must I lose three times when one team is enough to showcase my ineptitude as a fake general manager?
So here, in front of all my readers - and how bold a statement that is, I'm not quite sure - I'm making a promise. Starting next year, fantasy Matt is going to take a couple of steps back. I'm still going to have a team, still going to have a draft with my friends where we spend more time rehashing old jokes than making picks and still going to try and win the championship to take bragging rights until next season. But starting next year, there will be fewer teams, less concern about random teams' backups and more acknowledgements of the simple reasons why fantasy sports became fun in the first place - like friends, obnoxious gloating emails and nights away from girlfriends.
And, most important, above all else: absolutely, positively, no NASCAR.
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