Wildest Fantasy

This football season, the wife and I have been introduced to the all-consuming obsession that is fantasy football.

For those who are unfamiliar with this nifty little pastime, here is a quick explanation. Each member of a fantasy league is the "owner" of a fantasy professional football team comprised of actual professional football players. Prior to the opening game of the real NFL season, league owners assemble (in person or, more commonly, via the interwebs) for a draft, wherein teams are assembled as owners take turns selecting players to fill out their rosters. As the real-life players compete on the gridiron, their fantasy counterparts score or lose points accordingly. Quarterbacks, for instance, earn points for total passing yards and touchdown passes but lose points for interceptions or lost fumbles. Every week, your team goes head-to-head with another in the league, and the winner is the owner with the most accumulated points on his roster. Throughout the season, adjustments can be made: benching players (you don’t want to be the idiot who plays an injured athlete or a guy on his bye week), making trades, etc.

I dove headlong into this venture, joining two Fantasy Football leagues in this inaugural year of my participation. In keeping with the central theme of my life’s work for the past six years, my teams are the Hartford and New Haven Wild Yeast. The wife, a bit more prudent in her fantasy expenditure, is coaching just one team: The New Castle Gangstas. Her mascot is a hooded sweatshirt—which is about as gangsta as the little lady gets. Other teams in our leagues include the Angry Muffins, Community Organizers, Fighting Boobies, and Casey Hampton Fit Club. Additional teams have family-blog-inappropriate monikers.

Allegedly, smacktalk abounds in fantasy football, with an online "smackboard" provided for each game. We have been terribly disappointed by the dearth of smack. We do our best to egg on our opponents (insulting their players, their mothers, their players' mothers, their mothers' players, etc.), but none have taken the bait.

We now watch football in a new way. No longer do we simply cheer for teams to win or lose for the simplistic reason of liking or disliking them or for the impact that their performances will have on the standings of our beloved Steelers. Now, we switch from game to game, cheering members of our own squads while wishing fumbles and interceptions and missed field goals on our opponents’ athletes. Each week, we scour the statistics and make our best predictions for who will be the highest point getters based on past performance, conditions in which they thrive (or not), who their opponents are, etc. and make trades and select starters accordingly. We read columns by dedicated professional fantasy football analysts, track each player’s projected point total throughout the week, and monitor our adversaries' lineup changes, logging in to the league pages several times per day. So addictive is fantasy football, I have not yet found time to assemble my McDonald’s Monopoly game pieces or enter the winning codes online (no worries—I'm confident that I’ve won—my winnings will be waiting for me whenever I get to them).

Fantasy stats and potential roster adjustments are always on my mind. Last night, the wife was describing to our friends an educational research study she would like to perform for her PhD dissertation. Part of the proposed investigation involved tracking individual students’ academic performance by monitoring the grades of each pupil over time. As she described her plans, I interrupted her; my new idea was of much greater import than whatever research-statistical-significance-improving-education-and-bettering-mankind mumbo jumbo she was spouting, so I blurted out, "We should have a fantasy student league! We could pick students and get points for their grades and stuff!"

The moment passed— only minor interest was generated by my proposition, but I believe my idea is truly innovative. Last night's friendly get-together might not have been the appropriate venue in which to expand upon my scheme, so I will elaborate upon it here. At the beginning of a school year, members of a fantasy student league ("fantasy teachers") would draft a classroom. To make educated decisions, fantasy teachers would have access to dossiers on each potential pupil with information such as: past academic achievements and failures, grade-point-averages, athletic accomplishments and embarrassments, birth order, religion (you wouldn't want to draft all Jewish pupils, for instance, as you'd have an empty fantasy classroom on Rosh Hashanah and a dreadful score for the week!), attendance records, classroom participation statistics, medical charts (you'll want a fully vaccinated classroom roster), relationship history, and job data (you might not want to draft a student who's working 20 hours a week at The Gap).

Each week, your classroom will compete with another assembled from students in the same school or district and you will earn or lose points as appropriate to your students' performances. Below is a proposed scoring schedule for students in such a league:

Performances on Quizzes and Tests:
Grade of D or F: -3 points
Grade of C: 0 points
Grade of B: +1 point
Grade of A: +2 points
Grade of A+ or 100%: +3 points

Homework completion:
No assignments turned in complete and on time: -3 points
All assignments turned in complete and on time: +3 points

Classroom participation:
Every 3 questions or comments: +1 point
No questions or comments for the week: -2 points

Participation in a fight:
Wins the fight (and is not caught): +3 points
Loses the fight: -3 points
No decision (or caught fighting): 0 points

Consequences of Bad Behavior:
Missing Recess: -1 point
Detention: -3 points
In-school suspension: -5 points

Awards and Recognition:
Make the honor roll: +4 points
Student of the Week: +3 points
Earn a pizza through Book-It: +3 points
Win a spelling bee: +2 points
Win a game of Around-The-World: +1 point

Extracurricular Activities:
Weekly participation in recognized extracurricular activity: +1 point
Being a member of a winning athletic team: +1 point
Being a member of a losing athletic team: -1 point
Winning in a solo sport: +2 points
Losing in a solo sport: -2 points

Relationships:
In a relationship: +1 point
It's complicated: -1 point
Dumping: +4 points
Being dumped: -4 points

It would be prudent to disallow participation of "fantasy teachers" in districts in which their children attend school. 'Twould be a real shame to have a parent sabotaging their child's in-class performance to gain a competitive advantage over an opponent who has that student on his or her roster.

Depending on how successful the Fantasy Student League becomes, we can roll out an entire lineup of Reality-based Fantasy competitions. I've got a few in mind already, admittedly inspired by my own life experiences. In the Fantasy Science League, for example, participants would act as virtual funding agencies, drafting a lab of professors, post-docs (such as myself), graduate students, technicians, and undergrads. Points would be distributed for successful experiments that yield novel findings, authorship on papers in peer-reviewed journals, book chapters, and pretty western blots; points would be deducted for broken equipment, scientific fraud or misconduct, poor mentoring of younger scientists, and being scooped by competing labs.

Following naturally from Fantasy Student League is Fantasy Higher Education. In Fantasy Higher Ed, players earn points for academic achievement in proportion to the average amount of years it takes for an individual to make such achievements (4 points for bachelor's degree, 2 for a master's degree, 5 for a PhD, 3 for a JD, 1 for an LLM, 1 for each year of postdoctoral fellowship training, etc.). In contrast to most fantasy games, this fantastical competition, of course, would take much longer than a single year, as players would be tracked for the duration of their academic pursuits.

Perhaps the ultimate in Reality Fantasy contests is Fantasy Life, in which fantasy players ("gods") draft a team of real-life people as their own mock creations. Points are earned for life successes such as getting promotions, finding love, making babies, or purchasing hot tubs and detracted for missteps like going bankrupt, committing felonies, or traffic violations.

What Reality Fantasy competition would you like to see and how would points be allocated? Leave your ideas in the comments section!

Culture shock

This weekend, the NFL is sending two teams to the United Kingdom for a regular season match-up: the Miami Dolphins and the New York Giants.

In a recent interview about his upcoming trip across the pond, Miami Dolphins linebacker Channing Crowder had this to say:

I couldn't find London on a map if they didn't have the names of the countries. I swear to God. I don't know what nothing is. I know Italy looks like a boot. I learned that. I know London Fletcher. We did a football camp together. So I know him. That's the closest thing I know to London. He's black, so I'm sure he's not from London. I'm sure that's a coincidental name.

When reminded that his teammate, receiver Marvin Allen is from London, Crowder replied,

He's from London? I don't want to say he didn't look the part because that's a stereotype, but he didn't look the part. I heard him talk, and I thought he had a recorder and was just mouthing.

Crowder also reportedly asked for a translator for his trip. It’s clear his partial education at the University of Florida has only gotten him so far. I’m happy that he finally gets this chance to study abroad.

The Mighty Bumpkins

My amibition has always been to be a part of something larger, greater than myself. Since I was a small child, I have dreamed of working as a part of a team to accomplish something that no one individual could on his or her own.

I experienced it in fourth grade when my team (Murphy Construction) won the Liberty Township little league championship in the late 1980s. I recall chanting "We will, we will rock you" from the dugout with a group of guys unified in mission. That was the height of my athletic career. My statistical highlight: I had two base hits on the season, one of which was a closed-eyed single which broke the no-hitter of Josh C. in the bottom of the final inning. His dad nearly strangled me. My other hit was a ground ball to left field. Speed demon that I was, I barely beat the throw to first base by diving toward the bag. Actually, my assistant coach tripped me on the way to first; he rightly believed I'd arrive faster at first by falling than running. Regardless, my identity was subsumed by the whole of championship winning Murphy Construction. The victory Dairy Queen banana splits could not have been any sweeter than the thrill of being on (if not contributing to) the winning team.

Again, in junior high, I found myself a member of a whole greater than the sum of its parts. After being cut in the first round of tryouts (I was the only one cut in the first round of tryouts), I was offered a position as scorekeeper for the seventh grade basketball team (because I had heart, if not skills). I traveled with the team, ate with the team, carried basketballs for the team, cheered for the team, and recorded statistics for the team. That year, the team went undefeated, dominating all other opponents in the Trumbull Athletic Conference (TAC-8). Few other events in my life have been as exhilerating as watching the team for which I kept the books win it all. I wore that conference championship t-shirt with as much pride as I would have had I shot the title-winning basket myself.

I have since longed to work together with a group of dedicated individuals to accomplish something great... to be a cast member in the community theater... to contribute to a scientific breakthrough... to win the intramural bowling championship...

I recall in college a dozen dorm mates were working together to complete what seemd an impossible task: passing a nerf basketball twice around the cramped dorm room, each individual being required to shoot it through the nerf basketball hoop consecutively without anyone missing. After hours of intense gameplay, tumult erupted from the dorm room like nothing I had ever heard. "We won! We won!" were the shouts of the young men who had each twice made the basket. The resident of the room was so elated that he shook a can of orange soda and opened it with his thumb partially occluding the hole such that the soda spurted around the room like champagne. "We won!" he passionately intoned as the orange pop rained down on his laundry and bedsheets. Oh, to have won with these men and tasted the sweet, sticky orange flavor of success.

My dream was finally realized again last Wednesday. The place: Chick Fil A in the South Hills of Pittsburgh. The occasion: Free chicken for a year for the first 100 people in line (I was number 31, and Lisa was 67, for those interested). The event: Hula hoop relay race.

The evening was packed with music, games, and free food. The emcee announced that there was time for one last game, and that teams of five should make their way to the front. My friends were not interested in competing (not even my wife, who had already won a t-shirt by singing with motions I'm a Little Teapot in front of the Chick Fil A crowd), so I resigned myself to watching from the sidelines yet another team accomplish excellence. To my delight, a group of four tough, burley, pierced n' tattooed guys shouted out that they needed another teammate. I knew immediately that this was my opportunity. I dropped my barbecue chips and sprinted to the guys. I told them I'd join their team if they'd have me. They'd have me: I was accepted.

"We're the Bumpkins!" one yelled. "Yeah, the Bumpkins!" another chimed in. "Bumpkins!" I added in solidarity.

The rules of the game were simple. The members of each team stood side by side, holding hands in a line. At the whistle, the first teammate would step through a hula hoop. The hoop would then be passed along the length of the team, with each member passing through the ring, and back again. The first team to have the hula hoop return to the first man would win. Teams would be disqualified if, at any point in the competition, the chain of hands was broken.

I was thrilled to participate and show my worth to these guys. Fortunately, I'm nimble, so this sort of event is right up my alley. I was the anchor for the Mighty Bumpkins, and I would not let my brothers down. Initially, the brawny bunch decided that holding hands was too effeminate and that we would be connected fist-to-fist rather than hand-in-hand. Unfortunately, the taskmaster emcee prohibited our adjustment, so we held hands.

From the first whistle, the bumpkins functioned as a single body, effortlessly wiggling through the hula hoop. The first man in line, still holding hands with the second, guided the hoop down the line around each subsequent teammate. My heart raced and pulse pounded as the plastic ring neared me. I couldn't, nay, wouldn't let my brothers down. By the time the hula hoop had reached me, I was in the zone-- the TigerWoods-MichaelJordan-JoeMontana zone. I passed in and out of that hula hoop like a hot knife through butter.

The hoop traversed the line of men and reached the front of our group, and, like the men of Memorial Hall in 1999 (but without the orange soda), the cheer burst forth as we Bumpkins, Mighty Mighty Bumpkins, chanted in unison: "We won! We won!" The tangled group of men jumped up and down, exchanging sweaty high fives in what can only be described as orgasmic elation. Oh the glory. We were on top of our game and on top of the world. Against all odds (we were by far the girthiest team in participation), we conquered the hula hoop challenge.

For winning, we each got our choice of prizes from the Chick Fil A stash: I picked a Chick Fil A travel mug and coupons for (more) free sandwiches. But nothing compared to the real prize: the pride that comes from losing oneself to the single, successful, victorious, organic whole... giving in to the power of the Chick Fil A sweet tea... and the everlasting kinship I will feel with the champion hula hoop shimmying Bumpkins.


Originally Posted: Tuesday, April 7, 2007
(Then) Curent Mood: subsumed
http://blog.myspace.com/yajeev