Today began with such promise. I was in the championship game of my fantasy football league for the third time in four years, and my beloved Eagles needed only win the last two games of the season to advance to the playoffs.
As the afternoon progressed, the sweet turned to sour. I lost a thrilling fantasy football championship by the slimmest of margins, 100-96. It was not decided until the last minute of the last NFL game, when one of my receivers still had a chance to win it for me inside the 10-yard line. As that was happening, the Eagles were trailing 10-3 and driving for the tying touchdown. I was frantically watching TV and keeping an eye on the internet following the real game and the geek game. In the space of a minute, the fantasy football game was lost and an Eagles player was tackled six inches short of the goal line as time expired. To use the parlance of the dear departed "Wide World of Sports", I vacillated the entire day between the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, and at the end I was that ski jumper that took an Evel Knievel-style header and broke his ass in half.
Football, like love, is pain. I don't know why I come back for more in either case. This time, I think I've had it. Finally, I'm done with football.
Until next week.
The box score that will haunt me until next year
The six-inches too short catch that I will see in my nightmares
