Exposing the Stupidity of Fantasy Sports

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“Life is just a fantasy.  Can you live this fantasy life?”

-          Aldo Nova

I don’t play fantasy football.  I don’t play fantasy baseball.  I don’t play fantasy golf.  Between work, sleep and some semblance of a social life, I just don’t have the time.Every so often, a friend will ask me to join his fantasy league for either this sport or that, knowing full well that I’m not interested, but telling me it will help promote the website, so I’ll appease.  For me, committing to a full season of fantasy sports simply requires too much time, effort and definitely, too much luck.

But today, I am here to blow the lid off fantasy sports, proving once and for all, that any monkey can win a fantasy league.

At the beginning of this NASCAR season (that’s right, I said NASCAR), some friends invited me to join their fantasy racing league.  After some deliberation, I figured, why not.  I had already dominated our football pick ‘em league two years in a row, so why not try my hand at a little NASCAR.  It couldn’t hurt, right?  Besides, NASCAR’s not like baseball, where I need to scour the internet for last-minute transactions, or ensure I start my utility infielder on a Tuesday night because he hits better in a dome against lefties.  NASCAR races are held once a week.  Pick a name out of a hat and wish for the best.  That’s less commitment than a one-night stand.

Well, let me just tell you, out of the 13 people in Yahoo’s Jim Beam Racing League, I am currently in first place.I literally know nothing about NASCAR, nor do I drink Jim Beam.  Off the top of my head, I can, at best, name fifteen drivers on the circuit, and that’s because I live in the South.  I don’t know who drives what car, who represents which sponsors, which driver performs better on what track or what the hell a restrictor plate is.  Yet there I sit, atop the leader board, in all my glory, spewing trash talk from my NASCAR mountaintop.  All luck, no skill.  No research, only randomness.  So what, I ask you, is the point?

Come autumn, American males will spend weeks dissecting NFL rosters.  We’ll spend way too much time reading Street & Smith magazines, along with countless hours planning a chicken wing and beer-soaked draft party, only to complain when some random geek a few cubicles down, who knows nothing about football, wins our fantasy league.

This year, I am that random geek.

I am auto racing.

NASCAR fans, bow to me.

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