What's Your Fantasy?

I keep trying to come up with reasons to justify my addiction to (fantasy) football. I praise the parity of the NFL and argue that the helmets help create anonymity that makes football the ultimate team sport. I discuss the elegance of a tightly thrown spiral arching through the air, landing in the hands of wide receiver walking the tight rope of a sideline. Those things may all be true. But what is also true is that football is America’s gladiator sport. It is violent and boorishly brutal. And homoerotic as hell. I love it.

Last Friday marked the inaugural draft party of the Dirty Dianas Fantasy Football League. A small group of women gathered at my homie, Maeg’s house to get drunk get in on the nerdiest way to watch sports. As the commissioner of this new league, I wanted a few things to happen: our league would be all women, we would throw a party (and there would be cake!), and despite my ophidiophobia, we’d hold a snake [!!!!] draft.

Uninspired Nihilism

Lately, I’ve found it exceedingly difficult to blog.  To be sure, it’s not because I lack the desire to write and make you privy to my mental awesomeness each Monday morning, but rather because I’ve essentially checked out of the blogging world.  I wish I could blame it on my dissertation.  (It’s coming along.  Not swimmingly, but it’s coming along nonetheless.)  I could blame my blogging inactivity on the melanin storm of comments I got over at the Crunk Feminist Collective for talking smack about light-skinned people.  (That blog could not pass the brown paper bag test, and folks were not happy.)  It’s also likely that my hasty preparation for my fantasy football drafts have slowed my consumption of all things pop culture and news.  (Gargamel’s Revenge goes into Monday Night Football with a 32-point lead over its week 1 opponent, while The Flux Capacitors cling to an 18-point lead over A Love Bizarre.)  Yet, there are only so many fantasy football podcasts one can listen to until the (presumably) straight, white, obnoxiously nerdy and sport-obsessed male quota has been met and surpassed.  All of these statements are true, but inadequately explain my blogging ennui.