Fantasy Football 2017: 10 Awful Things I Would Rather Endure Than Hear About Your Team's Roster

bucs guy
Tampa Bay Buccaneers fans cheer prior to a game against the Cleveland Browns at Raymond James Stadium on August 26, 2017. Reuters/Kim Klement/USA TODAY Sports

Say you're walking the streets of New York City—perhaps near my local grocery store in Astoria, Queens (shoutout Key Food)—and you happen to spot me trawling through the jalapeños attempting to discern which peppers appear especially spicy. If you, my good friend and dear reader, approach me and strike up a conversation about your fantasy football roster, know that I will grimace and nod politely. I am nothing if not a coward who avoids confrontation.

But internally I will be screaming.

I do not need to hear about your fantasy team. Please. Just please. It feels almost played out to complain about this in the year of our lord two-thousand-and-seventeen and yet, AND YET, without a shred of doubt before this week is done—as jabronis nationwide draft fantasy football teams—I will no doubt be regaled multiple times with tales of brilliance and mastery of all things fantasy (otherwise known as reading the ESPN position rankings like everyone else.)

So, if you—godforsaken internet person who clicked on my content—find yourself one-on-one with me, here are a few things I would rather politely endure than listen to you describe how, "Actually, drafting Kirk Cousins as early as you did was genius."

1. I would rather hear about a stranger's ingrown toenail than listen to you jabber about running backs. God, I would happily hear about how the problem was ignored for a while then things got infected and now it's got this awful puss—goopy and yellow and thick—that just won't fix itself and "Here, why do you don't take a look..."

2. I would rather invite a college sophomore from, say, the University of Vermont or UC Boulder and fire up, at exactly the same time, The Wizard of Oz and The Dark Side of the Moon then just see what that student has to say for the next couple of hours.

3. I would rather challenge a dad, any dad, to remember the year something happened then listen to the inevitable oscillations among, "It was '89, well no, it was '91, ah but I don't think Janet was born yet so it must have been 1990 but wait, no, yes, it was '89 because I was jogging a lot at the time and well, maybe it was..."

4. I would rather watch The Emoji Movie than hear half a syllable about "how your strategy makes sense in a PPR-style league."

5. I would rather fall into some sort of mysterious portal and be forced to relive the time I called my elementary-school teacher "mom" than be forced to bear 2 minutes of you rattling off wide receivers you think will take you over the top this year; holy shit, I don't care.

6. To ward off your fantasy preachings, I would rather sit on the New York City subway, which proves daily to be a near-Sisyphean task of fighting hordes of passengers, enduring unbearable heat and zen-acceptance of bureaucratic slothfulness.

7. Speaking of New York things, I would rather attend a gig for Knicks owner James Dolan'sshitty blues band/vanity project.

8. Do you know that thing where you eat too much Cap'n Crunch and it scrapes the roof of your mouth, leaving little dangly bits of flesh in the wake of the deluge of crunch? I'd rather have that than hear a single thing about your fantasy draft.

9. I would rather plop myself directly across from one of those people who slurps everything really loudly—I'm talking inner-ear rattling sluuuuuuuuuuurps—and sit through them deliberately housing a family-sized pot of soup.

10. You know those YouTube personalities who start their videos with "Hey guys!"—those online monsters who peddle a witch's brew of bootstrap optimism, crap products and influence over The Teens? I would rather watch their latest 20-minute soliloquy on how a good life starts with reminding yourself of your truth and a particular avocado oil than hear one word about how, actually, taking a kicker before the last round was innovation at its finest.