holding violations and those who love them

I'm about to attempt my first season of fantasy football.

Jesus takes the hand-off...

People always seem to find it odd that I like football. It doesn't usually register high on the List of Things Homos Should Enjoy, usually falling somewhere between church and flannel. However, I maintain that any sport where one man's taint is another man's hand-warmer raises a plucked eyebrow no matter how aghast middle America would get at that assertion.

wandering fingers a happy center makes

Even though it takes me out of the running for Queer of the Year, I like many others will spend the next sixteen or so weekends arranging my activities around who pulled the 10am game. I like blitzes and punt returns and can even hold my own in a debate over the effectiveness of the Wildcat Formation, which to the confusion of my brothers in the rainbow does not involve Andrew Lloyd Webber in any way. I am not however a stats master, which is what I'm quickly deducing this whole fantasy world is all about. Thankfully the computer does everything on autopilot, so it's yet another new-found hobby that furthers my ambition of becoming the laziest human in existence.

I'm actually going to be in two leagues, commanding the forces of Beaver Fever in one and The Hail Marys in the other. Seeing as how I know absolute dick about who is good in what position this promises to be a comedy of errors not unlike when I would occasionally play pick up basketball with the guys in college.

flagrant foul? friendly game? you decide.

I will provide occasional updates as BeavFeve and the Marys grind their way through the season, hopefully allowing me to brag at my awesome predictions and unflappable instinct.

I realize this only digs the not-getting-laid hole that much deeper.
But c'mon, I also wear cargo shorts to bars.
Game on.

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