Thursday, January 26, 2017


For eight fruitless years did I toil away
In fantasy football obscurity.

My teams featured studs in their break out years:
Brady, Welker and DeMarco Murry

All gave their greatest seasons to my teams
Their greatness could not propel my fortune

Beyond moribund mediocrity
Always just short of complete victory

Then Lady Luck sent a boon rather fickle:
A car to run over my motorcycle.

Laid up, cast down feeling rather morose
Killing time hearing those podcasts verbose.

Brain filled with football statistics and news,
a treasure trove of knowledge that I could use,

to establish a tyrannical reign
and humiliate my very best friends.

Hobbled and gimpy but filled with more pluck
Than our new Il Duce, Donald J Trump:

With great panache I limped to the draft room
Leaving my friends to contemplate their doom.

Despite injuries to my all-star team
Victory never in doubt it would seem,

Amassing wins at a furious clip
On the way to my very first championship.

The offseason proved a fine time to gloat
And plot many ways to squash my friends hope.

With great relish did I accept my part
But then stumbled to an ‘0’ and ‘3’ start.

Exposed as a loser the critics scoffed:
“No such team has ever made the playoffs”.

Arose like the phoenix my will to win
competitive from my living room

Motivated to build a winning team
at great cost to my Game of Thrones watching

Prodigiously did I burn midnight oil
Competitors’ strategies would I foil

Against all the odds, my underdog run
And the subsequent victories I won

And an attitude that was rather flip
Ended in my second championship!


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