Just played in my fantasy football championship, riding the tidal wave of the New Orleans Saints’ Drew Brees and the unscrupulousness of the San Francisco 49ers’ defense.
It was all scripted for another 100-point outing, a score I had put up on opponents for five straight weeks. Brees was averaging 30 points a game, the 49ers defense vaulted me into the championship on a historic 22-point outing (7 takeaways rocked the Arizona Cardinals).
And then, it happened. The Saints, winners of 13 straight and unblemished in the 2009 season, lost their friggin’ minds. It was not Brees’ day. Nor was it mine. But Tony Romo’s. (And unsurprisingly, not Nick Folk’s).
In fact, a lot of other people could take claim to the day, but fantasy footballers and gambling addicts. The loss was a bitter one.
The Saints have never won on a Saturday, 0-4 all-time. That should’ve been a red flag for me and you. I should’ve started Mark Sanchez (his 11 points beat out Brees’ 10). I should’ve switched kickers. I should’ve known Robert Meachum was a poor man’s Marques Colston.
In the end, I was leveled through Sunday, 103-76, with all but Kevin Boss of the New York Giants remaining to play in my lineup. I sent this text message to my friend Mando, who blasted me to win the title in our “Alcoholics Anonymous” league.
“I concede … Uncle, Uncle …”
It was that kind of day. Where all I wanted to do was scream uncle, as if that would relieve me of the fact that Brees just blew it for the Saints. But worse yet, blew it for me.
Aww, not only did you lose, you lost to Mando? Ouch, man…
Yeah. Worst thing possible. BTW, you really need to join the league next year. We didn’t even play for money this year, but it got pretty heated toward the end. Good stuff.