FFL Draft Night and Dating a New Man…Is There Any Difference?

That would be Hell and No…according to my friend, Sharra, that is. And now that I’ve given it some thought, I might have to agree.

Okay, so the other night was something me and Sharra had been looking forward to for a while. She had a date with a new man and I had my annual Fantasy Football Draft. We were both all positive thoughts, thinking this is going to be great. I just knew I was going to draft some elite players and they were going to win me a championship and I was going to be this year’s number one on my league. Sharra was anticipating meeting this man she’d been set up with and he was going to be special and she was going to fall in love.

But when all was said and done, she and I both ended our evenings slapping the palms of our hands to our foreheads because that is so not what happened.

For me, the night started off peachy. I drew the number two pick (out of a rudimentary cardboard box made from an empty Kleenex box), which meant I was going to have my choice of elite Quarterbacks or Runningbacks or Wide Receivers…and I knew exactly who I wanted. But then my nemesis drew the number one pick (are you freaking kidding me?) and from there, everything went to hell. Once again, I had to kiss Drew Brees good-bye and, instead, I had to settle for Aaron Rodgers. Okay, yes, I still had an elite player…but he wasn’t Drew Brees. $#!t

And then I had to wait…and wait…and wait…through 21 picks (for a 12-team league), until it was once again my turn to add a name to my roster. Which meant I would not be adding Adrian Peterson, Arian Foster, Doug Martin, Marshawn Lynch, or Ray Rice (all elite RBs) to my team. Nor would I be adding Calvin Johnson, A.J. Green, Brandon Marshall, Julio Jones, or Dez Bryant (all elite WRs). Not even Jimmy Graham, Rob Gronkowski (had him two years ago and he rocked), or Jason Witten (all elite Tight Ends). I was all good-bye championship team. Maybe next year…if I’m lucky.

Meanwhile, back in Sharra’s world, her date didn’t exactly go as she’d planned, either. The guy she’d been set up with wasn’t as tall as she’d hoped. Nor did he have an athletic build…nor was he well-endowed (according to his feet and hands, anyway).

…And we both walked away from our respective evenings scratching our heads and wondering what the hell just happened.

Oh, well…there’s always next year. Here’s wishing all of you a fantastical football season!

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