Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Doorman and the Old Man Draft a Fantasy Juggernaut

Taking this job has flat-out robbed me of my Sundays. And I fucking love Sundays. Who doesn't love a smelly, hungover Sunday? A day that starts with brunch and football and ends with premium cable television is better than any vacation I've ever taken. Working 3-midnight has taken that privilege away. I'd burn a sick day every so often to fulfill that need, but I don't have any fucking sick days.

When I'm not displaying my door-opening talents, I make a small fortune playing fantasy football. Fantasy football is Dungeons and Dragons for frat boys and idiots with "man caves". If you don't care for this pastime, then I suggest you stop reading now. Or don't. Or fuck yourself.

Our league has an annual tradition to hold the draft at the commissioner's house on a Sunday afternoon, where we get shit-hammered drunk and abuse each other. It's easily one of my favorite days of the year. Since all of my friends have normal jobs, I had no say in the matter. The draft was happening on a Sunday, whether I could make it or not.

After spending weeks unsuccessfully bribing the guys I work with to cover for me, I needed a back-up plan. The only person I could call upon is the wisest fantasy football man I know. The man responsible for molding the roto-prodigy that I became. It was time to bring in the old man...

Friday night via text-

Me-" Dad, I need you to draft a fantasy team for me. It's big money."

Dad- "I'll do it for you, but I'll warn you, I haven't studied. I've been reading Game of Thrones."

Oh, for Christ's sake.

Me- "Seriously? Who are you?" 

While he holds a Master's Degree, I've never seen my father read a fictional book. Ever. Let alone fantasy. 

Dad- "Doorman, these books are terrific. You would appreciate them. The characters, the story lines, everything is just terrific." 

I know it took him at least 40 minutes to send that text, and I needed him to be sharp, so I called. 

Calling DAD. 

Dad- "What's up, Doorman? I'm reading. Have you seen the show? What's the guy's name? The little person. He's terrific." 

Me- "It's not my thing, Dad." 

Dad- "I'm telling you, Doorman. The first few episodes are slow and there's so much going on, but you gotta stick with it, trust me!" 

Me- "Fine, I'll check it out."

Two years ago, if I had called asking him to do a draft for me, he would have been all over it. No questions asked, no distractions. This Game of Thrones was polluting his brain. Unacceptable. 

Me- "It's a twelve team, two QB format. First place is well over a grand. I need the money." 

Dad- "I told you I'd do it, but I haven't been paying attention." 

Me- "Well, I need you to pay attention."

Dad- "Who are you talking to?"

Me- "Uh... My roommate." 

Dad- "E-mail me who you want and I'll see what I can do." 

Works for me. 

Me- "I have a phone next to the door. I'll be in touch with you as much as possible." 


Saturday night I get this text- 

Dad- "Doorman, I'm in the truck at work and I forgot my book. I found this fantasy football magazine here. What do you think of Ryan Matthews? He gets hurt a lot but Tolbert isn't there anymore and he'll be the featured back. I think he'll be a solid late first round/early second round pick." 

The old man is back. 

We spend the next day and a half exchanging phone calls and brainstorming ideas like Brad Pitt and Jonah Hill in Moneyball. 

Draft day arrives. The first team is on the clock at 5:45pm. After 5 years of dominance under the team name "The Toxic Avenger", I failed to make the playoffs last year. I really fucking hate losing these things, so given the chip on my shoulder and obsession with Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy, I decided to name my squad "The Toxic Avenger Rises." 

Don't hate. 

The commissioner set up a Yahoo draft so everyone could draft from their laptops at the table. This saves him the work of having to manually create every roster after the draft is over. It also allows for the man known at "Tex" to draft from his home in Texas. Tex is the guy in the league that everyone savagely massacres whenever he opens his mouth. People are only nice to him when they are seeking a trade. Every league has that guy. Since I didn't want to subject my Dad to the animals in my league, I told him to draft from home. 

At 5pm, I get a text from Dad informing me that I have the last pick. Of course. Why wouldn't I have the last pick when I can't even see the team that I'm drafting. That's just fucking perfect. 

Here are some highlights from the draft- 

- Draft begins, 7 of the top QB's go before I pick. There's no more QB's worth taking this early. Dad gives Ryan Matthews another ringing endorsement. I take him, then Darren McFadden with my second pick. I now have two stud RB's. Could be a lot worse. 

- My Dad calls in hysterics, asking who this guy Tex is and informs me that he's "taking a beating" in the draft chat. This makes me laugh. 

- Dad texts, informing me that I'm 6 picks away. A van full of Brazilians pull up. The driver motions to bring out the luggage cart. I sprint into the bathroom. I sit on the toilet and call Dad. We end up with Matt Ryan and A.J. Green with my next two picks. A solid, top-ten QB with huge upside and one of the most promising second-year WR's since Calvin Johnson? I'll take it. 

I exit the bathroom and see 10 steaming Brazilians whom had to carry their own 400 lb. bags up the steps. I apologize and rub my tummy, indicating that I just had violent diarrhea. They are disgusted. Good, fuck em. 

- Dad calls:

Dad- "I asked a question about scoring on the draft chat. This guy 'The Untouchables' told me to shut up and said that I'm a 'no-talent, ass-clown.' I think he was talking to you."


Dad- "Yeah, I'm not gonna do that. Is it points per reception?"

Me- "Yes it is." 

- I'm holding the door open with my foot, on the phone with Dad, arguing about taking a Tight End early. I never take TE's early. 



A guest trips over my foot and gives me a dirty look. I ignore him. 

- I get a text message from Dad. 

Dad- "Why don't you call me anymore? - Mom." 

I call my mom and let her know that I still care. 

- I take a 15 minute break. Sprint into the locker room, where my laptop is waiting. I type in the wifi code that I stole from behind the front desk. The locker room is in the basement, and there's no fucking signal. Sprint up the stairs and into one of the storage closets, and sit on a wheelchair. That's 4 minutes of my break wasted. 

The second I log into the draft, I get kicked off. I log in again, and am booted immediately. I try one more time. My cell phone rings. 

Dad Calling. 


Me- "I'M SORRY, DAD! GOD!!!" 


I spend the rest of my break sitting in the wheelchair with nothing to do. Dad drafts TE Jermichael Finley. I'm okay with that. 

- The draft is nearing a close. Holding the door open with my foot and on the phone with Dad. 

Dad- "Brandon LaFell is still there."

Me- "Perfect! Let's do it."

I turn around and the GM is standing behind me. Fire in his eyes. 

Me- "Yes, that's "L" as in Larry, "A" as in Adam, "F" as in Frank, "E" as in Eddie, double "L" as in Larry. 8pm, party of 4. Thank you so much. 

Dad- "What the hell are you talking about?" 


I turn to the GM and smile. 

GM- "Don't hold the door with your foot." 

Me- "Sorry, sir." 

He leaves. 

- The draft has come to a close. Here's the final product (I know my hand-writing is atrocious, but this is the list that I recorded as the draft was happening) :

For having the 12th pick in the draft and the chaotic fashion in which it was drafted, we ended up with one of the best teams in the league. Yahoo predicts that we will finish in first place with a 10-3 record and the most points over the course of the season. Suck it. 

I call Dad on my next break to thank him: 

Dad- "You're welcome, Doorman. I had fun. But I gotta go, Game of Thrones is coming on."

1 comment:

  1. He was lying to get off the phone with you. Game of Thrones isn't on right now, he had it queued up On Demand or was flat done talking to your goofy ass.