NFL Fantasy FootballBut it’s just a sweet, sweet fantasy, baby…

My husband: “Babes, guess who our quarterback is this year for fantasy football?”

Me: “Ugh, if you even picked Tony Romo, I will divorce you. Oh god, you picked Romo.”

My husband: “No, Drew Brees.”

Me: “Meh. I would’ve gone with Manning. Peyton is going to kill it. I mean, even Eli would be a solid choice. But Peyton would be my QB1.”

My husband: “Drew Brees is ranked higher than Peyton. God, I would love to play fantasy football with you.”

His wish has been granted.

Three weeks ago my husband gathered a rag tag group of Two-Headed Nerd friends and family and put together an eight-person league. We are known as “THN Sucka” league, and I’m the only girl. My team is a play on Beyoncé’s current world tour, The Mrs. Carter Show World Tour. So, naturally my team is The Mrs. Baum Show World Tour and this is my avatar, because Beyoncé would sooooo approve. I mean, we are eyebrow twins (when I actually get them waxed).

We even had a proper draft, and I did research for this draft. I haven’t had to do research since, like, college. For reals. I looked up five players for each position I would need: five wide receivers, five kickers, five defenses, five quarterbacks, five tight ends, five running backs and five W/R’s (which I’m not sure what that means at all, but it exists). As luck would have it, I was the first to draft. YOU GUYS, you only get like 45 seconds to make a pick. It was the most nerve-wracking thing EVER! Who do you pick first? A quarterback? A wide receiver? I didn’t research what order you pick the players in — I was never that studious. So I went with what I learned from The League and drafted Adrian Peterson of the Minnesota Vikings (which is paying off to be a very wise decision, thank you Ruxin). After that, I was ready to draft all my other top picks, but guess what? Shit doesn’t work like that, and everyone else was taking my players, especially my quarterback choices. There went Manning, Colin Kaepernick … so I decided to go rogue and went with Michael Vick. I did apologize to both my dogs, but dude is such a wildcard he was due to get me mad points. Spoiler alert: mad points be gotten.

Fast forward to week one. I have my team all set up and ready to go against my opponent. I was glued to the NFL site all day checking my points. Half way through Sunday, I mentioned to my husband that I had 100 points and asked whether that was good. He said the only thing that matters is if I was beating my opponent, not getting more points than the rest of the league. Whatever, he just said that because he was at like 60 points. In the end I won my first match (um 133 points, holla at yo’ gurl!) and had more points than the rest of my league.

My husband felt that was probably a fluke and tried to get in my head for week two, even though I wasn’t even playing him. I was, however, playing his cousin. So I made a slight change in my line-up and awaited the results of the day. Once again, VICTORY!

My victory celebration was short-lived, though, as for the third week I was playing my husband. The epic battle of Baum vs. Baum was finally here. All week there were snide remarks that I suppose were his version of smack talk to me. Trying to get into my head, telling me not to over think my players, etc. Please, like that would even work on me…

Finally the day was here. On Sunday, we sat down on the couch to watch the games together, with the pugs, of course.  Then it happened. THE INTERNET WENT DOWN!! Thankfully, for some reason, his phone was able to pull up the NFL app (Oh, I guess that is because of 3G. Whatever, nerds.) and we could check out our scores. It was pretty tight there for a while, even without my husband having a defense in play. Yes, that’s right, you heard me. My husband made a big ass deal about getting the No. 2 rated defense, the Cincinnati Bengals, and didn’t even $%#@ing put them in to play. So, moral dilemma: Do I tell him or do I not? Sigh, I did. BUT by this time, the Bengals were playing, and he had to get a new defense. He went with the Jets, who at the end of the day managed to get him ONE point. I repeat: ONE $%#@ING POINT. HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA SHUT UP.

By the end of the night my husband admitted defeat. I had once again dominated and won my match (is it even called a match?) with 115 points to his 76. I’m now 3-0 in the league that he started to school us all in this game they call fantasy football, in which he is now 0-3. Which … oh my god. I just realized: I’m the Jenny to his Kevin. BRING ON THE SHIVA TROPHY!

Kacie Baum is a professional partier, mother of two pugs, and the wife of Matt Baum. She tolerates the constant presence of the Two-Headed Nerd in her home each week. She did not write this bio. Pre-THN entries of Girl Meets Nerd can be found here.