Football Fantasy
By H.G. Miller
Everybody keeps asking me about my limp, and it’s getting a little annoying. Normally, I’d love the kind of sympathy and attention that a little gimp in the step brings, but there’s a strong sense of insincerity in the queries of my co-workers.
“Did you hurt yourself playing softball, again?”
“No, I just…”
This is the difficult part. How to explain the origins of this throbbing pain in my right leg. The simplistic explanation is to say that I stubbed my toe, and be done with it. But, those who know me, know that I am somewhat obsessed with answering any and every question that may arise out of any given explanation I have for the events of my life.
You see, football season is starting up. You can’t miss it. I’m four picks into my fantasy football draft (We’re doing it over the email this year, which is excruciatingly slow. Four picks in a week and a half? I mean, come on! Even the Vikings move faster than this.); the college season kicked off in full this weekend with my successful wagers on UNLV, USC and the half-time score of Nebraska/Oklahoma State; and, of course, ESPN Classic is showing nothing but old NFL Films clips about teams, players and Super Bowls from the past.
Well, maybe the last part is sort of always happening, but nonetheless, football is here.
I went to the store for some personal items – why does the cashier always take so long to scan the Vaseline? I feel five swipes is a little bit of overkill. And, why did she wink at me and smile? While there, I passed a display with a bunch of footballs.
Since my last football suffered an unseemly demise at the hands of a Ford Explorer during the Super Bowl halftime show… I just missed making a brilliant catch on Nick’s pass, but to be honest he led me way too much for the amount of alcohol I had absorbed. The driver of the SUV said she was sorry about the ball, but it was either running over that or me. I still berated her properly. I can only hope her children were paying attention.
Anyway, I decided to get a replacement football.
Well, once I got home and took care of some personal business (Too… many… jokes… must… resist…), I kicked on the television and perused some of the many collegiate games ESPN had slated for my entertainment.
Now, watching Louisiana Tech A&M Community College play against the Northern Illinois Satellite Campus team just wasn’t enough for me, so I busted out my brand new football and began calling out some plays.
As you may have noticed, I have a very active imagination, so the fact that it was just me and the television did little to stop me from getting a full blown ESPN Instant Classic football game started there in the living room.
We were down by a touchdown when the defense got the ball back on our own twenty with about 15 ticks left on the clock. Seems like an impossible situation, I know. I had one more trick up my sleeve, though. The team lined up in a classic shotgun formation, with the running back there for protection.
Or was he?
I handed the ball off in a draw, the defense quickly reacted and collapsed on the back. AH! But, he pitched the ball back to me. “Flea flicker!” the opposing coach yelled. It was too late, though. Our rookie wide-out on the right side had sprinted past his defender and was wide open… Now, it was up to me to get the ball there.
I planted. I heaved. The ball majestically soared seventy yards downfield (maybe a couple of feet in the apartment, but you get the idea) and was caught in stride for a touchdown.
Now, an extra point would have tied the game, but being the young renegade quarterback that I am (It’s an amazing back story, really. I’ll have to tell you all about it sometime), I run my team to the two yard line and go for the two point conversion.
The defense is confused. They line up quickly. The ball is hiked. I’ve decided to call a quarterback sneak. There’s an opening between the right guard and tackle. I sprint for it.
At this point, my imagination is brutally interrupted by a linebacker being played by my coffee table. I won’t say that he was quicker than me, as it’s actually an inanimate object, but he was certainly in the right place to take out my right shin and send me sprawling to the floor.
“You hit your shin against a coffee table while pretending to play football?” my co-worker asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her, and then smile. “But, I got the two points. We won.”
She slowly backs away.