After destroying an old draft of a query letter that just wasn't working, and before staring at a blank screen pretending that it's anything but, I decided to take a break from all this "work" to write something fun just for me. I'm not sure how many Fantasy Football Fans are in this forum, but I hope that those who are will enjoy the following blurb...
The clock ticks away to the all important kickoff. It’s when palms are moist with sweat and heat as their hands, clinched into fists, squeeze tighter and tighter in anticipation. It’s when every breath is heard, along with every sigh, every grunt, and every curse. A time where your comrades are enemies, and you rely on men you’ve never met before and barely know. This is the dawn of a new season.
The draft is over. A two hour block of stopwatches and poster board. Men, who normally wouldn’t have researched so much as a restaurant review, now sit with stacks of papers and notes all pointing to their own vision of a dream team. Hands move in formation after each pick. Crossing off names and circling others. Flipping back and forth from first string to second string. Checking schedules, looking up injury reports, and calculating projected values. All the while spewing the most vile and hateful trash talk. A barrage of insults attacking everything from personal character to tales of past promiscuous adventures, solely to get into the minds of their enemies who, in any other environment, would be considered a friend. The draft is over. The teams are selected, each one unique. Some heavy on running backs and wide receivers, while others focussed on quarter backs and tight ends. All of the lists contain the under the radar sleeper picks that every owner feels will win him the championship. The draft is over, but the war hasn’t even begun. The soldiers are assembled, the game plan is laid out, but still there is time. Time on a clock that ticks away to the all important kickoff.
It’s the dead time. Dead time is defined as one thing, anticipation. A suspense of what’s to come that’s further sensationalized by pre season, college, and ESPN. At this time the community resides in digital space, communicating scorn through the message boards, rallying their war cry and starting needless fights. Though these commanders will never see the battlefield, their passion for victory supersedes whatever talent they posses. It is smart decision making, their will to win, and the grace of god that will ultimately guide them to triumph over their opponents, and in turn, etching their names in utter supremacy throughout the entire off season. But not yet. Now it is dead time. A time where everybody shares the same record. When everybody watches the clock tick away to the all important kickoff.