In Which He Tries to be Part of the Team

I'm probably not leaving my couch tonight. Leaving the apartment is out of the question. My eyes are fixed on the television screen, which in turn is fixed on the ESPN broadcast of the Oklahoma City Thunder and the Memphis Grizzlies. The game is meaningless since the Grizzlies won't make the playoffs and the Thunder are locked into the 8th place. But within in this game holds something that matters greatly to me. Kevin Durant, Russell Westbrook, and Jeff Green are on my fantasy team. Their stats affect my bottom line. And my bottom line means everything.

Fantasy basketball is my beating heart, it's a child I've been nurturing over six months, it's the destination of a long journey. It's not just the destination of a long journey; it is the journey itself. I've been thinking about how I'm so consumed by the performances of people I will never meet. The Bonafide Scrubs (my team), the way my team is performing, the "chemistry," never leave my mind for too long. It exists inside me, a scratch I can't itch. Perhaps this championship will be cure for this. Perhaps not.

At this moment, my match up with my opponent, Boom Boom Pau, is tied 4-4. BBP has locked down assists, field goal percentage [1], and most likely free throw percentage. I'm winning blocks and rebounds by a wide margin, steals and threes by a good but not great margin. I started the day up one in points. He is now up 18. The tiebreaker is unclear. My stomach is roiling pot of acid. I'm just six steals away from total cognitive annihilation. I'm screaming so much in my head that it is difficult to write.

Why do we do this? Why do we put ourselves through this? I'm reading "Black Planet," by David Shields right now and he wonders to himself why sports fans put themselves through so much angst on account of the "...performance of strangers. For once, we hope, the breaks will ho our way; we'll love our life now. This time we'll win."

This is true. I hope, I plead with the fantasy gods, I pray for the salvation of my team and it's deliverance to the promised land. It's not even so much the competition: I will be happy that my team is better than my Boom Boom Pau[2]. But it's not as if there will be a parade. Perhaps a trophy, but it is also likely I'll have to make the trophy myself, as I did for the last two champions.

I think I need this more myself. I just want to stare at my team, this thing that I constructed, this thing that I made for myself-I want to stare at it and say "I did something good. I made this thing into a success." And right now who knows if I will be able to say that? I lost, two years ago in fantasy baseball, in heartbreaking fashion at the end of the season. I feel in my core that this could happen, and I'm beginning to prepare myself for that possibility. I need Amare to get to the line; Anthony Tolliver to grab some steals; Jeff Green to hit a three; I need my mind to be at rest, simple and blissful rest. I need to accomplish something, anything.

Currently, Kevin Durant has returned to the game. I need him to get a steal. I need steals. I need my heart to return to the normal amount of beats per minute. This is not normal. I need peace. Just do this for me, Kevin. Just reach out your hand and grab the ball, it's waiting there, just waiting for you, reach out and grab for me!

__________

[1] This is particularly painful because my team is normally the best in free throw percentage. As the kids say, WTF.

[2] Will this really decide this? I’d like to think so. I finished first in the regular season. I feel like a victory would validate my team’s success. But I also feel like the rest of the guys will think the way I always do. I had the best team, but.