For the second year in a row, I’m participating in my husband’s Fantasy Football league (I got second place last year, thank you very much) that he put together, featuring a rag-tag group of nerds. Though these nerds kind of understand football and know the players. If I’m the Jenny of this league, my husband is the Kevin and well, Two-Headed Nerd Comicast co-host Joe Patrick is straight up Taco (based solely on his picks and knowledge of the sport, not Tacos, ahem, extra-curricular activities).
On Monday night we had our draft, which is one of my most favorite nights of the year. I actually do homework and have a list. I’m always prepared — until I get the draft order and am %#$@ing six out of ten to draft … then it all goes to shit. I admit I %#$@ing panicked, but all things considered (aka some nerd plucking Peyton Manning, Adrian Peterson and Calvin Johnson), I still managed to put together a solid-ass team.
Side: Once I discovered the chat function on the fantasy football draft page and could join the nerd shit-talking, I soon realized that half the jokes being made in this draft were comic book jokes. I felt I was the dirtiest of the lot, because I would joke about dick — and not in the Dick Grayson kind of way. End side.
Anyhow, as you all know, Tony Romo is my Voldemort (that is important for later in this tale). So when it was time for me to draft my QB 1, I went with Cam Newton. Dude is like top three rated fantasy quarterback. I was crazy proud of my choice. I was talking smack about it to my husband as he sat there with this shit-eating grin on his face (that is also important for later in this tale). When the time came for me to pick a second quarterback, I noticed Voldemort was still availabel because that dick dropper is OVERRATED (fact), so out of spite I snatched him up. Now why would I draft my arch nemesis you ask? Simple: It was so I could stick it to his butthead face and bench him the entire season. Because obviously in real life that affects him.
Once the draft was done, I was still mocking Voldemort, and it was delightful. I was as giddy as Ron Swanson at a free breakfast buffet. Then it happened. I noticed a little marker by Cam Newton. Bitch has cracked ribs! I yelled, the pugs side eyed me, and my husband lighted up like Charlie Day after huffing spray paint. QB1 is injured … but the coach was optimistic that he would still start on Sunday. All was fine … until today.
Picture it: Thursday, September 4, 2014. This day will be marked in infamy. No, not because it is Beyonce’s birthday, but because thanks to Cam Newton and his janky-ass ribs, I have to mother%#$@ing start TONY ROMO.
I. Can’t. Even.
This is the text I sent my husband when it happened:
“God %#$@ing dammit. I’m starting Tony Romo. I don’t even want to talk about it. Cam Newton needs to get his shit together or he’s dead to me.”
Now I get that this is just fantasy football, so really, this is all silly shit. But you don’t understand. My first match is against my husband. I’ve beat him every time we met last season; I must continue the streak. In the league email he stated, “Welcome to the Don’t-let-Kacie-Baum-win-again-so-she-will-shut-up-about-it league…” (Or something similar.) So for all things holy, I need to win and I have to put my (lack of) faith in the hands of Jessica Simpson’s ex-boyfriend. The man I drafted out of spite, the man who was going to warm my %#$@ing bench (that’s what she said?) all season long, is now my QB1. Plus the winner this year gets an actual SHIVA TROPHY!
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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.
