I like our time-tested customs.
Like howling at Little League umpires and demanding really cold beer.
Call me old-fashioned, but I like Fridays that are reserved for high school football, Saturdays for college football and Sundays for the NFL.
But there are a few things that I draw a hard line on.
I’m still not used to the designated hitter, and I haven’t yet seen a tattoo that works for me.
And I am done with fantasy sports.
I don’t know about your workplace, but that’s a constant buzzword in my business. There’s not a season that goes by without co-workers haranguing over proposed trades or bemoaning the fate of previous mistakes that pay off for opponents.
It’s our business to know this stuff. I’m looking at a room full of people who can tell me about the Dolphins’ third tight end ... from the 2000 season.
I used to be like that. I should have reveled in the Pistons’ championship 1989-90 season. Instead, I tried to will Jack Sikma to take more shots.
I manually updated my scoring chart daily, just like I did with my knockoff Strat-O-Matic baseball game that I pieced together one long-ago summer. Just like then, I wanted to recognize trends and streaks. I wanted insider info.
In the end, I missed a great season because I was too caught up in my players who couldn’t score often enough to satisfy me.
I know it’s un-American, but I’ll sit out this fantasy football season, too. I don’t want to miss anything.
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