But they never come, do they? No, they never come. And why not? Because you're not funny.
Still, there's hope. If you can learn how to avoid the mis-steps that have damaged millions of reputations, you might be well on your way to a winning team name . . . and as a result, quite possibly, a winning team.
10. The Winners
You love telling people how great you are. But when you're home alone in the dark, you sob yourself to sleep while clutching your tattered Teddy Ruxpin.
9. The Athletic Supporters
You are a genius at word play! A Shakespeare for the modern age! And a nimrod for borrowing a pun that's older than the Bible . . . and not nearly as funny. Now go read to your girlfriend from your Mad Magazine collection.
8. The Tom Brady Bunch
Okay, I think I get this. Wait, don't tell me. Okay, there's Tom Brady--I get that. He's a football player. And then there's . . . hold on . . . gimme another moment . . . to figure out . . . this riddle . . .
7. Big Balls
Not only do you have big balls, but now you've let the world in on your secret. Too bad you have only two to share. And too bad you're so transparently over-compensating for your latent sexual inferiority complex.
6. Hammer Time
Your team name each year since '91. You enjoy calling your opponent every Sunday, proclaiming, "U can't touch this" and "I'm 2 legit 2 quit," and then quickly hanging up and sighing contentedly while grabbing another extra-large handful of Cheetos. And you wonder why nobody has your number stored on their cell phone. . . .
5. The Icky Shuffle
A throwback to pathetic touchdown celebrations. You're the lone Bengals fan in your league eager to remind the world of your team's "glory days." You practice the Shuffle at home before bed each night so that you can present it to your friends at the annual Christmas party. But sadly, your dance performance--like its name--looks more like a frantic walk of shame after losing control with the latest Maxim magazine.
4. The Mighty Morphin Flower Arrangers
You've taken the name of an endearing children's television show and turned it on its ear. How brazenly naughty. How sinfully decadent. Congratulations on being crowned emperor of Tool-ville.
3. The Dynamic Duo
You've decided to co-own a team with your best bud in the world. Two great friends, one super squad--joined at the hip, fantasy-style. It'll soon be apparent that you're too amazing for this league. And it's all too apparent that you're too cheap to pay for separate teams.
2. The John Elways (or any other sports hero you'll never meet)
By naming your team after your favorite player, you're showing all the other punks in your league that you're playing to win. This alone should intimidate them into forfeiting each game. And if they don't, you can always go home and write yet another letter to Elway asking what women look like up close.
1. Norfolk-in-Chance
As in, "No F*cking Chance." But you've taken it a step further, gleefully burying the dirty word in a series of clean words. You're so excited about your awesome name that you go home to brag to your girlfriend. But she's already moved out.
---
Barring an unforeseen Digg-like marketing blitz, this will be my last blog post. Topping out at 99 visitors per day, this site requires too much research and writing--2-3 hours daily--to warrant continuing for .0000015% of the world's population.
Now I realize the .0000015% of you might be pissed--at least those of you who haven't clicked away by now. You're wondering, "What will become of us? Where will we turn next?"
Whatever time you spent reading this site, I suggest you invest it in something more useful, such as:
- Picking up a book and reading the back cover
- Playing catch with your favorite son for a minute
- Starting cooking an egg
- Thinking about what you're going to wear tomorrow
And what will become of me? Thank you for asking, loyal .0000015%. I've lost most of you? Okay, to the remaining .00000002%, in case . . . okay, to the final .000000001%, in . . . ugh, all right, to my parents, who are the only people still reading this . . . all right, to my mother, who's reading this to my father while he's in between conference calls with clients . . .
Fuck this. Turns out I'm the only one who's made it this far down the page.
-- What about me? --
Is that you, Fantasy B.J.?
-- Damn straight. Now listen up: --
-- Wherever there is an office cubicle where co-workers gather... --
-- Wherever there is a sports bar with a break in the action... --
-- Wherever there is a bathrooom stall to sit and collect one's thoughts... --
-- ...I'll be there to share my trademark hardcore fantasy sports analysis. --
Where are you going, Fantasy B.J.?
-- To Internet Heaven. --
What's up there?
-- Web sites that never survived. I've just finished reading Judge Lance Ito's blog . . . . --
And Dirk Hardy and Jo-Jo McSofty? Are they up there with you?
-- No, silly. They're a part of you. They've been a part of you all along. --
---
That's pretty much how the conversation ended. There were some other pleasantries tossed around, but nothing notable.
In the end, when it comes to winning at fantasy sports, remember this:
May your research be forever diligent, your emotions forever restrained, and your picks forever justifiable.
And so, on we go, spreading our buttery knowledge on toasty sports fans yearning to be consumed by fantasy truth. Always spread wide. And always eat heartily.
