Sports are certainly not my calling. Until a few years ago, I was convinced that the yellow, first down line on televised football games was painted on the field.
It’s best not to ask me about statistics or rules or about that yellow line.
I am, however, well-versed in sports jewelry and sports trophies. So feel free to ask me about the Super Bowl trophy or the World Series trophy—both made by Tiffany & Co. Or ask me what it’s like to wear a Stanley Cup championship ring. Or don’t. But I’m going to tell you anyway—it’s quite heavy, but seeing 480 glistening diamonds and gemstones on your hand is pretty fantastic.
Despite my lack of actual sporting knowledge, I’ve always had a sweet spot for baseball. It has been the only sport I’ve ever had the patience to try to understand. In middle school, I was slightly obsessed with the New York Yankees.
At one point, I was invited to join my family’s fantasy baseball league. I had selected my dream roster. It consisted of only the MLB players I found most attractive.
It was going to be an interesting experiment and also redemption for my failed NCAA March Madness experiment. In case you were wondering, picking teams by length of college or university name is almost a surefire way to lose any sort of competition.
I was informed that teams must be drafted and it would be “unfair” for me to get my dream team in fantasy baseball. So I withdrew my request to join the league.
Somehow my traumatic fantasy baseball experience came up in the newsroom. The two other ladies in the office happened to think my theory might be fun to test out.
Rather than wait for the next, long baseball season, we opted to try football.
I obviously claimed the use of my original theory—only the most attractive football players. The
other three league members selected teams based on similar standards—players who get paid the most, players who are nice and players who have criminal records.
The rules were simple—we would only play for one week, which was long enough for me, and someone in the sports department would track our scores, which meant I wouldn’t have to actually watch any games. I put in nearly an hour of research to select my team. I was pretty happy with the looks of my players. But I wasn’t very confident in their playing abilities, mostly because I don’t know how to read football stats.
So I was pretty pleased with myself when I got an email on Monday morning saying I was in the lead. But that email also told me that most of my players had already completed their games and many of my colleagues had players who had yet to compete. I was satisfied with at least knowing I had the lead at one point during the week.
By Tuesday morning, I was completely shocked to find out that I had won by 17 points. I was the champion of our four-member, one-week fantasy football league.
Some in the newsroom suggested we continue the league. But come on, I won. And I’m pretty sure I just lucked into it. So I’m retiring from the world of fantasy sports.
And my criterion was pretty shallow, but it’s fun to prove to my family that maybe I was right all along.