The Champion

This post is so long in coming, its not even funny. But, before we begin - a little mental exercise. Close your eyes. Ok, now open them, because you won't be able to read anything else unless you do. Picture, if you will, Queen. No, not the lady in England, but the power rock band. Remember the song "We are the Champions"? Yes, I know that it's now stuck in your head. Remember this song, and all its emotions, as you continue reading.

My sweet, sweet husband has a problem. At first, I didn't think much of it. I thought he could stop whenever he wanted. We dealt with it on and off while dating, and as newlyweds, but it never seemed to cause an issue. At times, I have actually encouraged this problem, I will admit. I thought he was just having fun, you know, being "one of the guys". But, lately, this problem has gotten worse. Like I said, I thought he could stop. I now realize that my husband has a serious addiction. Does anyone know a 12-step program for...

FANTASY FOOTBALL?

Ok, ok, so I was totally teasing in the last paragraph, lest anyone call the Betty Ford Clinic on my behalf. But seriously, the man LOVES fantasy football. He watches the training camp news with bated breath all spring & summer, waiting for pre-season to finally start. The first day of pre-season, he is positively giddy. He then spends the next four weeks pouring over every fantasy report, magazine, and website he can get his hands on, all in search of the elusive "sleeper". Personally, these "sleepers", to me, sound like either a terrorist cell or a really lazy player, but, like I said, that's just me. He spends hours (I'm convinced) at the office, discussing defenses and wide receivers with the other addicts. You see, before he entered the black hole that is Coldwell Banker, he was not this bad. He played, but didn't live it. Now, he spends from August to January refreshing the injury reports from ESPN, in the desperate hope that he will get the news before everyone else.

Do you want to know what the worst part of all this is? The worst part is that I can no longer harass him about it. Why? Because he WON his league! Here is my giddy husband, holding his huge and hideously ugly trophy, along with the engraving on the side that will declare to eternity that, in 2008, Jerome's Walkers Texas Rangers won the Durango Fantasy League.

The night he brought home this lovely piece of artwork, I got to hear many renditions of "We Are the Champions". He taught it to the girls. They all danced. I laughed. And now, because of "league rules" (whatever, league rules, I know it's just an excuse), he HAS to participate in the league again next year. Oh well, I guess I can't complain too much. For once, his addiction paid off to the tune of a handy cash sum that allowed us to pay off some bills. I know, I know, exciting use of winnings, but, hey, we are in a recession people!

Seriously, though, it was fun to see my husband's amazing ability to memorize sports facts come in handy. And I am proud of him, even though I tease him about it. Because, now, he's in a funk until baseball season starts. He's pacifying himself with pro hoops fantasy leagues until the real thing comes around again. Pray for me, please. Because I know he's going to be that much worse about it next year!

P.S. I would like to mention that, the night of the draft for the aforementioned league, Jerome texted me. He wanted to know if he should draft Westbrook. I told him absolutely, he's a steady, consistent, proven receiver (shout out to Q). He then texted back that he didn't know, what about this player? I responded, "If you don't want to hear my advice, don't ask for it." He chose Westbrook. Westbrook put up a lot of points for him. So, who is worse? Him for playing fantasy football, or me for getting upset when he debated my draft recommendations? Because I'm not bad about football at all... GO CARDINALS!