Fantasy sports provide average fans a way to feel connected with their favorite pastimes in an above average way. Previously relegated to rooting on our home teams and beloved players in voiceless anonymity, we now have the pleasure of “owning” our own teams and “managing” them the way we see fit. While fans in some cities (Houston, Pittsburgh, Kansas City, etc.) may seem doomed by poor front office management to remain perpetually pessimistic about their World Series chances, this frustration may be at least partially alleviated by one’s own participation in the fantasy baseball world. No longer do fans sit back passively and observe the games as they are played, they are now active participants making decisions that determine whether their team wins or loses. Obviously, such a scenario is bound to be obsessed over and today’s fixation on the supposedly pretend fantasy game now blurs the boundaries of reality.
I personally am not one of the roughly 11 million Americans currently competing in a fantasy baseball league, but a few of my close friends, including my older brother, are complete fantasy freaks. They play in a ridiculously competitive league for much coveted bragging rights and the accompanying honor of the first pick in the following season’s draft but no money is involved. I’m sure many readers are thinking to themselves, “I bet my league is more (competitive, knowledgeable, difficult to win, or whatever other self-gratifying adjectives they can think up) than those guys’.” If you play in Tout Wars you may have a point, otherwise you are almost assuredly mistaken. And if you aren’t familiar with Tout Wars, you aren’t even close.
This league is almost entirely comprised of graduates/former baseball players from Grinnell College, a highly respected, private liberal arts institution in rural Iowa often dubbed “the Harvard of Methland.” The place is literally nerd central for the Midwest, and the guys in this league not only received degrees from its insanely rigorous academic program, they also played baseball for the Grinnell Pioneers. They basically make up any casual fantasy player’s nightmare match-up: super-educated geeks who have the obsessive drive required to play collegiate athletics but have since retired from playing the sport they love so dearly. To get an idea of what these guys are all about, and to get some tips for your own sorry team, check out their writing at The Golden Sombrero.
They ooh and ah over OPS and WHIP the same way I do over diving catches and moon shot home runs. I sometimes can only tell what they are discussing by their furrowed brows and frantic hand-gesturing as the players they are debating exist at such a minuscule level of obscurity they are typically only observable through an MLB-licensed microscope. It really is ridiculous, and I enjoy mocking my friends’ failed efforts at the conclusion of every season after a summer of hearing about nothing but inane statistics and all-but-irrelevant minor league prospects.
Today, most in the league have since traded in their cleats for loafers and fantasy competition now remains their only real tie with the baseball world. Needless to say, when you finish the best four years of your life and move on to a staunch, suit and starched-shirt existence, you cling to the scraps of that previous world tighter than a lifeboat from the Titanic. I have watched this ludicrousness escalate year after year and continue to marvel at the ferocity they play a game derived from monitoring box scores. To this point, this passion has translated into fierce competition equaled only by the league’s brotherly camaraderie. But now, after half a decade together, this competitiveness has boiled over into bitterness and resentment that may prove to be the league’s eventual demise.
This particular league’s trouble stems from something that has likely been a point of contention since the inception of this silly little fantasy game, a trade. The transaction was an offer by player K of Dodgers closer Jonathan Broxton to player D for Orioles closer Alfredo Simon and Orioles second baseman Brian Roberts. D found this trade to be exceedingly in his favor and quickly accepted. The trade did not garner the necessary veto votes required to be overturned as predetermined by league players and was therefore accepted. And then all hell broke loose.
For these poor suckers the last week has turned into way too much politics and way too little baseball. After the trade had been accepted, a number of people began to cry to the commissioner that it was monstrously unfair in D’s favor, disregarding the fact that K actually proposed the trade and that it had passed legitimately under the league’s standing rules. There has been constant bickering from all sides even though the majority of the league did not even cast a vote when the trade was originally proposed and therefore were counted as indifferent by default.
Suddenly, everything has been called into question in their once peaceful fantasy world. The commissioner has been inundated with countless claims, counter-claims, and suggestions as to how the manner should be resolved. I have read through a nearly endless league message board and heard a bunch of know-it-all nerds throw around the biggest words they can in an attempt to politically maneuver into what they see as the most favorable outcome for their own interests. And I must be honest; I have found these shenanigans to be incessantly amusing.
I used to have the utmost respect for this league. I admired their wholehearted, albeit in my opinion misguided, passion and competitive spirit, the way they somehow managed to still capture the emotion and enthusiasm for a game they had given up playing in real life. I understood that as cut-throat as it all was, the bottom line was that they were old friends continuing to have fun every day even though their lives had taken them all in different directions. Or I thought I understood that.
Player D, who like much of the league has literally dedicated way more of his life than he should have to attempting to win a fantasy title, has threatened to leave the league permanently. I understand his position; he made a trade that passed following league rules yet is now in danger of being retroactively vetoed. For a bunch of smart, successful guys with a lot going for them in life, this all seems extremely childish and crybaby-esque. But what I find most shocking is that I know all of these guys have much more important things to worry about. Yet over a week after the original trade came and went the Congress-like back and forth campaigning continues to bleed over into their real lives.
For me, the enjoyment of professional sports is in witnessing the jaw-dropping displays of sheer human athleticism, not poring over spreadsheets. Real life politics and drama have suddenly invaded my friends’ onetime fantasy land sanctuary and I’m glad I can just sit back and watch it unfold. This whole incident seems to confirm my suspicions that fantasy sports are nothing but a big joke in which people get way too carried away thinking that they are actually doing something substantial.
Get a life, people. Go watch some actual baseball. Or better yet, next time you’re tempted to get out your Iphone and propose your friend a trade, go grab your glove and play catch with him instead.
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Brett Phelps is a regular writer for The Golden Sombrero who splits most of his time between the Land of Enchantment and the Biggest Little City in the World and contributes weekly to You Been Blinded. Known in other circles as Slo-Mo and Captain Buck Nasty, he is a wandering gypsy and amateur conspiracy theorist. He likes skiing, getting thrown out of sporting events, and long walks on the beach. He hates being in handcuffs, as this is usually a sign he will spend the night in jail. Any questions, comments, concerns, love or hate mail can be sent to him at brettsta04@yahoo.com
