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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