Just a Second

Written by Ricky on December 02, 2004

Disclaimer: This column is about me. There's a good chance many of my columns will be about me, because I'm a self-centered asshole. I'll try to make it entertaining, but if you don't want to read about me, I understand. Actually, no I don't. Go fuck yourself.

Second place. Second fucking place. And it's not just that I finish second. It's the manner in which I do it and the opponents that I lose to that make it truly unbearable.

See, here's the thing. I'm good at roto. Really, I am. I do my research, make good moves, and generally have a good feel for the way the game works. I know this. I give myself plenty of credit. But does anyone else? Of course not. And why is that? Because, according to unwritten league rules, the only people who have bragging rights are the ones who actually win the leagues.

Now, I'm not saying that this is not a fair rule. It is. Second place is just as much not-first as last place is. What I'm saying is: I deserve to have won one by now god damn it. I'm cursed. That's right. I said it. It's not my fault that I never win. I don't "choke" (as other, less honorable Rotogods might lead you to believe), I just get unlucky. Well, sometimes I make bad moves, too (I'll get into those at a later date). But usually, I just get fucked.

Somehow, it always comes back to my nemesis: The Junky. The Junky has been beating me at shit for years, and it has never ceased to piss me off. I mean, for real. Back in the day, he used to beat me regularly at Monopoly, whiffle ball, and video games. And he still does it today with roto. He's like the pre-ARod Yankees to my pre 2004 Red Sox. I come close, I take the lead, but he always beats me in the end.

Take the Rotogods fantasy basketball league from two years ago for example. I had a great draft, pulled out to an early lead, and made good moves. I held on until the last couple weeks of the season, when, of course, The Junky passed me and won. Nothing sticks out that I did wrong; my team just couldn't hold on.

The next year started out horribly. I drafted Troy Murphy, who immediately hurt himself, and Glenn Robinson who was worthless. Somehow, I managed to trade them for Ron Artest, and eventually I ended up with Andrei Kirilenko, Dwyane Wade, Sam Cassell, Zydrunas Ilgauskas, and more. My team was nasty. I was passing everybody. I got up to second place, still on the rise, and . . . the season ended. The dream was dead once more. And guess who finished first?

Anyway, I will persevere. And one of these years, I will win. If the Sox can do it, I can do it. At least that's what I keep telling myself. In the meantime, I take solace in this thought: At least the Junky isn't getting any pussy.

-- Written by Ricky on December 02, 2004