Well, we have an aggressive commish who likes to control every aspect of our league. He sends you non-stop trade offers, while over ruling any deals you strike with others players. He takes things way too seriously. At this year's draft, only 9 of 10 players showed up. As we sat down and waited for Drake to show up, a person (who we didn't know) delivered an envelope to each of us with the following letter inside:

"Mein script

George Santayana remarked, "only the dead have seen the end of war", and "those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it". I urge you to fancy the latter quote as you sit in wonderment and quite possibly anger at the reading of this tale.

The world of fanasy football is meant to be an escape from the real world as the name suggests. We should all be forgiven for taking it too seriously on occasion. Frankly, we all brag of high school football glory. Who wasn't one second too slow on their 40 yard dash time from being all state at tail back? A few extra inches and you may have even had a shot at the homecoming queen instead of Larry the drag queen. He didn't mind you coming up short. Ah, but I digress. This antidote is meant to explore the depths of the overly serious fantasy player.

Does he post messages at 2:00 A.M.? Probably just stumbling home from the corner bar, wink wink. Ever get a ridiculous trade offer or two or two hundred? "How about Adrian Peterson for a 6th?". Ever have a fair trade over ruled, arbitrarily? Ever seen a grown man naked? You get the picture.

With the stage set, let's consider the motivations of these faux grid iron geniuses. Most likely, the following apply:

1) Your cash is my stash. The commish is using you like a hacked ATM machine. Resist the urge to be a P.I.N. called "sucker".
2). Daddy gonna show you who's boss. No, this isn't an insert your Tony Danza joke here comment. The dude was chained up by his mom, beaten by his wife, abused by his boss, and laughed at by his kids.
3). I win, I win. A special olympics moment for sure. You beat a guy in a wheel chair, one with three #21 chromosomes, and a crack addict. You're my hero.
4). The package. Justifiction for giving Directv $300 to watch the red zone channel. What a superfan.
5). 6 league sammy. So many teams, and I only talk about the winners. It's a brute force attack. Strength in numbers. I'll have a winning team for every neighborhood wine tasting

Not there's anything wrong with that. Rrrrrrriiightttttttttttt.

So here we are or should I say here you all are. I may be the bad guy now. Actually, this may be sinking in for the enlightened veterans in the group. For you newbie donation stations, I hope you're taking notes. It ain't worth the effort. It seems fun. It also used to be fun twirling the ole girlfriend/wife. Same burnout applies here. You die a little faster in these parts with Mr Amazing at the helm. I was warned a while back by the wise fore father. He prothesized of this day. He actively encouraged the text of this letter. It's no joke.

Lay down your $7.99 magazine. It doesn't have the updated depth charts and injury statuses you'll need to succeed. You killed a small forest with all those player rankings you printed while you should have been working. You're the sucker for a man who likes lollipops. Close your wallet. He is adding up the your league fees and expected transactions costs times the 1st place prize percentage. That'll cover half of the monthly interest expense on his mastercard. Take a final swig of your beer, gobble up those chicken fingers, drain the main vein, don't forget to wash your hands, eye that waitress who would only say "no" if you ventured to ask, and go home. That's where I rest happily at this hour. A little extra coin in my wallet, less stress on my brain, and a wide smile on my face knowing full well that this is a night and a memoir that you'll never forget.

Regards,

Ham on Rye"

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Hawaii (fuck) You