You’ve read all of the tired columns by fantasy sportswriters talking about how their wives/girlfriends/pets/inanimate objects HATE fantasy sports. Well, I’ll try to spice things up by, you know, doing the same thing. While one might argue that I am in fact “not spicing it up,” I’d like you to reflect on the idea of “spicing anything up.” It kind of makes me angrier everytime I type it.
Anyways, I do indeed have a girlfriend, and yes, we live together. To spice everything up to a point once though impossible in the realm of spiciness, she doesn’t relegate me to the basement and call me an asshole for my love of fantasy. We don’t have a basement, so no spice there. Presently, she is travelling in India, so no doubt we keep in contact over the phone. How about a conversation we had over the phone the other day, in shortened form.
Me: Holy crap I miss you.
GF: Yeah, me too? How’s your fantasy team doing?
Me: What?
GF: Your fantasy team? You know, the thing you won’t shut up about, ever?
Me: Who are you? Please put my girlfriend on the phone.
GF: I really am worried about how Edwin Encarnacion will pan out this…cough (voice lowers) this year.
Me: Hey, you’re not my girlfriend! Who in the name of all things spicy is this?!
GF: Sorry, it’s me, Pedro.
Me: Pedro Martinez?
GF: No, just Feliz. Please don’t drop me, my numbers will pick up…(I hang up)
All spiciness aside, my girlfriend is as tolerant as you can imagine. This takes into account the following:
1. I am aware of my shallow nature
2. In no way do I view my league as a bunch of ultra-hip-better-than-you dudes. We are all pathetic, equally (besides Eick).
3. If it ever came down to it, I would choose not severing a body part over fantasy baseball (unless the scenario was brought up in the movie Four Rooms, and Quentin Tarantino is going to chop my finger off)
So yeah, she’s down, but I think she wishes I studied for my GRE’s more than I tried to project Eric Brunlett’s 2008 numbers if he played all of his games on the Moon.
I Truly Have No Life 