The holidays are here and so are the finals. The best of both worlds have been put together in this festive piece about fantasy football and Christmas. Enjoy!
‘Twas the week of the Championships, with a game on Saturday
owners were up late figuring out whom to play.
The lineups would be set on the computers be them Windows or Macs,
and they tried to find a defense that could record some sacks.
The owners were scheming trying to get to the place called first,
while visions of championship glory made their minds almost burst.
They’re trying to avoid players from Jacksonville and guys from Kansas City,
to make sure their title game didn’t end in pity.
Then out on the wire there arose such a clatter,
I ran to my laptop to see what was the matter.
Away to the screen I flew like a flash,
I looked at free agents trying to find the one that’d get me the cash.
My team was beat up with injuries,
I lost six guys to IR
but somehow I made the playoffs,
and was shocked to make it this far.
The glow of the screen lit up my cheeks
as I tried to finish what I’d been aiming at for 16 weeks.
I was up all night trying to make decisions,
and find a quarterback who throws with surgical precision.
I searched for a defense so lively and quick,
anyone playing the Cardinals would be a good pick.
I was running on little sleep making sure my lineup was right
and I nearly lost it when I heard something odd that night:
“Now Gronkowski! Now Graham!
Now, Martin and AP!
On, Megatron! On, Welker!
On, Ray Rice and Tom Brady!
To the top of the league!
Let’s win it all!
Come on Pittsburgh defense,
I want a turnover, that’s all.
And then, in a moment, I heard on the roof
the distinct sound of cleats and someone saying “oof”.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
down the chimney Fantasy Football’s St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in pads, from his head to his foot,
and his jersey was all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of stats he had flung on his back,
and he looked like Matthew Berry when he opened his pack.
We talked about my lineup,
and he gave me advice.
A wink of his eye told me
my team wouldn’t be naughty but rather quite nice.
He picked up his things and left real quick,
If he heard one more question on Tebow he was going to be sick.
His sleigh split the uprights at the park down the street,
I was confident I’d win and not suffer defeat.
Everything was working and going according to plan,
I thought fantasy santa was going to be the man.
Down by twelve late in the game but I still had Brees,
It seemed to be in the bag; I’d win with ease.
Until Dallas knocked him out of the game
That’s when I saw my score and the tears came,
He had racked up points; a total of eleven,
Left me two points short of fantasy heaven.
I finished in second place again
I was stunned in disbelief.
I thought it might have ended better
If I started Ryan Leaf.
I don’t believe in fantasy santa claus; He’s clearly not real.
He sends out awful trades and rips you off on every deal.
He went just seven and seven but thinks he’s the boss.
But it was to his team, that my championship was lost.
As you look back on the 2012 season,
Maybe you cried or maybe you laughed
It’s time to put it all behind you though
It’s eight months to the draft.
