An Open Letter to Fantasy Baseball
Dear Fantasy Baseball,
I don’t like you. In fact, I don’t see a need for you to exist. I know I am being quite blunt right off the bat, but I’ve felt this way since we met and it’s only right that I speak my mind. I first came in contact with you a little over four years ago. It was a fateful day in March of 2012. My husband, who was my boyfriend at the time, invited me over to his apartment.
“Hey, I am just hanging out reviewing some baseball stats, but come over.”
The sight I saw will never be erased from my memory. Pages and pages of players’ names and their stats laid out on his coffee table. He was studying for his fantasy baseball draft. While this was almost a strike one for him, I simply laughed to myself and thought, “okay, this is sort of insane, but if he’s into it, I’m cool with it.”
The insanity only grew and the conversations grew complex. I consider myself a chill girl, I don’t mind hanging out with a group of guys. I grew up with brothers, so I am used to the sports talk. But these phrases, I never heard these phrases. What’s your WHIP, they would say. How about your wOBP, xFIP, Ks? I grew to understand that if Zach’s WHIP wasn’t in good shape, Zach wouldn’t be happy.
I understand people have their interests, but Fantasy Baseball, you take up so much time. There are 162 regular season games. Baseball has the longest season of all the sports. You are played everyday. You are almost a part time job. Fantasy baseball, you are giving our men a false hope that they actually own a team. You are only making our men crazier than they really are. They talk about how much players cost and how much of their monopoly money they are willing to put out. What about their women? How much real money are they willing to put out for their women who are a reality? We are real. We are here. Mike Trout and Mookie Betts do not really belong to them. Clayton Kershaw has no idea who they are and Andrew McCutchen won’t listen to them if they tell him he’s benched.
I liked baseball. I liked it when I could simply watch it and enjoy it and have normal conversations about it, like oh that player is cute and has a good arm. Or that guy can really hit and his butt looks great in those pants.
No matter how much I dislike you, why do I still wake up sometimes and say to my husband, “Hey I thought of a great name for a Fantasy team.” People do crazy things for love. I have become more aware of the subconscious control you have over me and, though ashamed, I am strong enough to admit that it is occurring. While I am not happy about it, I submit to you in a small way.
I am now married. I not only married my husband, but I also married into a fantasy baseball team. Technically, in the fantasy world, I am a part owner of a baseball team…positive way of looking at it, right?
I suppose I can put our differences behind me, considering you make my husband so happy. It could be good to be familiar with the terminology so I can hold my own in front of other guys and be able to spout out fun facts like the seven ways to get on first base.
I want my husband to be happy and I know I can’t do that completely on my own. I know that means I need to get along with you. I am not fully consenting to you. I have sternly vowed to never join in your madness. I will always be a spectator and an earshot listener. I will never be a player.
In closing, I accept your role in my relationship with my husband. While I don’t always enjoy you, I will reluctantly fake smile when you are brought into the conversation.
New fantasy baseball wife