I love fantasy football. Sports are a passion, and fantasy sports bring out the best or the worst in me. I rattle off statistics of players no one cares about. I break down defenses to find the perfect match-ups while ignoring my girlfriend nagging about being late for something, and I sit in front of a TV seven hours on Sunday without even blinking.

   Does that make me a geek? Absolutely! I am a geek among men, but a god among fellow geeks. I have more bragging rights than T.O., and more virtual trophies than Tom Brady has rings. I live for fantasy football, and there is no one better at it.

   Fantasy football is a five-month religion that I converted my entire family to follow this fall. My dad, who is a college football fanatic, has disowned me because he is now so obsessed in my fantasy world that he doesn’t even know who is in the top 25. My brothers will not call me anymore because of how badly I rubbed their noses in the dominant wins against them the first two weeks of the season, and my sister hates me because I got her husband addicted. Losing my inheritance and getting death threats from my siblings only makes this fantasy football season that much sweeter.

   If your into football and don’t know what fantasy football is, your missing out. The game itself is meaningless really – picking players who will have the best stats during the week – but the rituals it involves really brings out your true character.

   The first ritual is picking the perfect name. Your fantasy team name changes with your mood before the season. I have used names like “Tastes Like Chicken,” “Cajun Swamp Monkeys” and the always-insulting “Your Momma” in the past, but I come up with something new each season to keep it fresh. Instead of trying to strike fear in your opponent, you are really trying to make him think what the hell? Coming up with the best name every year is the battle inside the battle.

   The second ritual is the draft. I prefer a live draft, which is just an excuse to drink beer with your buddies and come up with amusing ways to pick the draft order. Most of my more creative draft orders selection would have PETA picketing my league; so, I’ll just let you use your imagination to come up with what works best with you. Anything with “Chinese Fighting Fish” always brings a crowd, though.

   The draft is where leagues are won or lost. To prepare for the draft you have to study countless hours of statistics, figure out trends and come up with sleepers others haven’t thought of. By the time the draft rolls around I’ve lost my cheat-sheet and am too drunk to say LaDainian Tomlinson; so, I got good a winging it. During the draft is where the real fun begins. You make empty promises of whooping peoples’ tails if they draft certain people, talk smack after landing the top player on your list and use propaganda to get people to draft players you know will flop. It’s wartime during the draft – all gloves come off. I called my dad a dirty bastard after he drafted Anquan Bolden right before my pick, and he threatened to cut off my tuition if I drafted Ronnie Brown. Rivalries form and friendships end as the draft progresses. It’s the nature of the beast.

   During the season the fun continues. My dad upgraded from cutting off my tuition to losing my inheritance after I rubbed in my one-point victory over him. My older brother threatened pain and torment after he realized I tricked him into drafting Daunte Culpepper. Each win brings me closer to the family dominance the youngest of four kids always strives for. I love fantasy football, and I hope I can spread the infection throughout Monticello.