I must truly be evil...a bad seed even...surely a very bad girlfriend!!!

I am playing Fantasy Football this year, for the first time and although I really wanted to play, it almost didn't happen. The day of the draft, I asked Dash what he thought about me playing. He asked me if I knew what I was doing. I said not really. He said I shouldn't play. So, I consulted random strangers at the local Sharky's, as I waited for my pub to open their doors for the draft, and they all told me to go for it.

"Play! Who cares if you know what you're doing? It's fun! Will there be other women playing? Do all the people playing know what they are doing?..."

Still unsure of which decision I would make, and running out of time, I arrived at my pub to watch Dash, and the others playing, prepare for the draft. Most everyone had stat sheets and print outs of various design layed out before them like cheat sheets before a final examination. It was quite obvious these people took the whole thing very seriously!

Just as I began to lean toward the anti-fantasy football side of the fence, The Commissioner asked me if I was participating. I had to think, for a moment, how to respond correctly. I had Dash standing just beside me, his opinion already laid out on the table, and I wasn't sure I wanted to cross him in this uber-masculine realm. As a result, I told The Commissioner I didn't think so, but he told me if I was there during the draft then I must play.

*Splat!* I fell off the fence.

Grinning, in both a slightly victorious and "crap-what-if-I-do-horribly" nervous way, I gathered together the items necessary for what had now become something of a turning point in my relationship. If I did well, Dash would be so very proud of me and I would be able to hold my head up high; in my mind, I could already hear him bragging about me to all his uber-masculine friends. If I did poorly, however, I would have to hang my head in shame for the following three to four months, dreadfully listening to the beratement that would surely follow, regarding my inability to keep my nose out of places where it did not belong.

Numbers were drawn, in order to determine the queue, and I was relieved to be ten of ten. The Fantasy Football Gods had given me an opportunity to watch and listen so that, hopefully, by the time I was up I wouldn't look like a total idiot. They also blessed me with Number Nine, as he was kind enough to tell me players first names so I would look slightly more knowledgeable to Drafters unaware of my predicament. (Nine was helpful in another way, as well; at the end of the draft he handed me the names of two players, not on the provided list, whom he thought would be decent.)

As I drafted my players there was an occasional moan or groan from others, indicating a good choice on my behalf. I did get laughed at once, but it was for a joke I made regarding Dash and all his stat sheets. I called him a nerd but The Commissioner reminded me of where I was and what I was doing on a Sunday afternoon...apparently, I am a nerd as well. In the end, I survived the process and came out of the ordeal looking fairly decent. Dash even complimented my draft picks.

Currently, my record is five and four. I survived the first four weeks of the league undefeated. In week five I lost to The Commissioner by two points due to my poor choice of Quarterback. In week six I lost to the undefeated and self-proclaimed "Fantasy Football Jesus", which was a very painful loss and it took me several days to recover. In week seven I won again, only to be defeated during weeks eight and nine. As of last week, my excitement began to wane.

In spite of my two week losing streak, Dash seems to be falling more and more in love with me. He is eating up the enthusiasm I have regarding the entire process. We call each other, email each other, and constantly find ourselves discussing fantasy football. He is more than proud of me. He has actually bragged about me to other players within the league! I called my quarterback a "point-whore" one day and he laughed like he had finally found the woman of his dreams...

But this...this is Week Ten. This is the week we have teased each other about. This is the week I have wanted to win almost as badly as I wanted to beat the self-proclaimed "Jesus". This is the week Dash and I play each other.

He offered me a wager, which I did not accept. I admit it. I was frightened. My team seems to be falling apart and this week some of my key players are injured. Trepidation was my middle name at 11:59 AM, yesterday morning.

The QB I didn't start did very well along with two other players I didn't choose to start. I was very worried. Surely, I had blown it. I told myself it didn't matter, that there was no one I would rather lose to...

This morning, I checked the current standings with a knot of fear in my stomach.

I clicked the link...

saw the scores...

and cackled.

I didn't giggle. I didn't grin. I didn't sigh with relief. I cackled!!!!!

I have never cackled in my life! I didn't think I knew how to cackle, but there it was. I could not believe how much pleasure I received from what I saw before me. I could not believe the sound that had just escaped my lips! I felt horribly evil and yet so happy I could not contain myself...I cackled again. And again.

He is beating me by two points, but his players have all finished playing. I have three players left to play tonight, during the Monday Night Football game, and one of them is my Quarterback. It is possible that he may still beat me but it is also very possible that I am going to cream him like a damn good homeade southern gravy!! And he thought I shouldn't play.

What kind of girlfriend am I???

I am evil. So very very very evil...


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