This was a big weekend at the Mario household: it was the weekend of the Fantasy Football draft.

Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. Fantasy Football, the latest, greatest trend hitting America. Everyone has a team, maybe even two or three.

A few years ago I was avidly anti-football. Sports in general, and especially Fantasy Football, seemed to suck the lifeblood out of my husband for months on end. Finally, I figured, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. So I got a few of my girlfriends together, we fielded our own team, and CBS Sportsline became my new best friend. I just wanted to prove that you can know absolutely nothing about football, and still not come in dead last.

I was right: we came in second to last.

But the next year, we finished second. A pretty big turn-around, I’d say.

Since then, we’ve been all over the map. But this year, our team—the Desperate Housewives, to you—drafted a rockin’ team that I think stands a chance to go all the way. And I will no longer spend Sunday afternoons as a football widow. Instead, I’ll be right there at the sports bar screaming when Priest Holmes runs in another TD.

We’ve turned draft day into a Labor Day weekend house party. With twelve teams drafting, it’s become quite an event. And it wasn’t just football, there was also golf. Lots of golf. On Saturday, my two golfing girlfriends and I took on four of the fellows. We asked for strokes, but it turns out we didn’t need them, because we won our match straight up. It was a glorious day.

Which just makes me think how sadly empty my life was but a few short years ago. No golf. No fantasy football. No Labor Day weekend house parties, complete with late-night Hold ‘Em tournaments. It would never have even occurred to me as being a good time, if it weren’t for all those great guys I hang around with, my husband included.

So thanks, guys, for letting me visit your world from time to time. It’s a lot of fun.

Permalink 4 comments