Meeeeeeerry Christmas Everybody!

Uh, yea what the title said.

When Reality Ruins Fantasy

I love fantasy football.

Towards the end of last season, Washington Redskins tight end Chris Cooley found himself with a bit of a problem. Like many other NFL players, he's a big fantasy football guy, and was the top seed in his real team's fantasy league playoffs. Late in the game, with the Redskins' playoff hopes still very much in the balance, Cooley caught what turned out to be the game-winning touchdown for his team. It also wound up being a stake in the heart of his fantasy team.

You see, the person he was playing that week actually had Cooley as his tight end. So, while those 6 points may have gotten the Skins into the playoffs, it ended his fantasy season.

It's a tough little task to find the balance between rooting for your fantasy players and your actual favorite teams, especially for someone who grew up being more allegiant to teams than specific players.

Take tonight, for example. I found myself rooting for the Bears to win, but against Matt Forte, who was on the team I was playing for the championship in my fantasy league. If that wasn't sick enough, I actually have Forte on one of my other teams, The Little Mansies, as my friend Ryan's wife, Holly, so eloquently described. But we'd dominated so thoroughly on Sunday that we didn't need any Monday mashing.

So, imagine my discontent when, with my lead becoming increasingly shorter, the Bears turned to Forte with the game on the line.

"OK, I'm still up by nine, so watch, he's gonna run for a 10-yard touchdown for seven points and then Crosby is gonna come back for the game-winning field goal and that's how I'm going to get beat," I told one of my best friends Josh as we watched the game.

"It's really my own fault. I didn't start the right guys this week, I guess. I scored more on my bench with four guys than I did with nine starters. If you score what I did, you don't deserve to win."

Well, the field goal from Green Bay's kicker, who my opponent also had, never happened. He missed two in the game, one of which would have won the game with :25 seconds remaining. Nope, my season actually ended when Forte ran it in from seven yards out (after having run for three yards on first down) to simultaneously tie up the game late for Chicago, which eventually won, and give me a two-point loss in the finals.

Geez, I hate fantasy football.

Role Models

I knew what his response would be to what I'd say before I even opened my mouth.

"Well, you don't tell people because you don't want to have to say you didn't get it later."

He was right. I've always been honest with him about my job situation, or lack thereof in this case. Whenever I've needed to talk, my mentor has been there for me.

My mother always felt like I needed an older male role model since I never had a father. A male presence is important in everyone's life, to be sure. The thing she didn't understand, though, is that it can't be forced. She's tried to force male guidance upon me a few times, which is a little disconcerting considering that she should know how I react when people try to force me to do anything. I cannot stand being pushed in to doing things; I will resist at all costs. I'm stubborn like that. Continue and I will simply dig my heels increasingly deeper into the soil. Like all good things, this too must come organically.

Auspicious beginnings seem to be the constant for my most meaningful relationships. My first encounter with him was in my freshman year at college, when I took his class, not knowing much more than that someone had mentioned he was the toughest teacher in the school. Like almost everything else other than football and my social life that year (what else is there!?), I didn't take it seriously and proceeded to get a sub-par grade. Ironically, it was par for the course that year. It was, in fact, the toughest class I'd ever had to that point and was lamenting my decision to take it by the end of the semester.

By my senior year, a few things had changed. I'd gotten a new major, which was treating me much better than the previous one ever had. I was treating it better as well. I was in a healthy relationship with my academic life by that point and had found the right balance for me to be successful. I needed to take a class which, of course, he happened to teach. I saw it as an opportunity for redemption. After I added his class and before the semester actually started, I sent him an email letting him know that me choosing his class was completely deliberate and that I planned to show him what I'm really made of. He let me know the class would be much more difficult than the one before it.

As the semester went on, I continued to plow through, occasionally stubbing my toe, but mostly fighting through with the tests, quizzes and papers. A paper in his class is more scrutinized than a military barrack, every speck of dirt or untucked corner exposed with bright red Sharpie ink. The final one was the stuff of legend, the kind where an all-nighter -- or two straight -- is more expected than not. Upon completion, I decided to write him a little letter letting him know just how he'd impacted me and that I'd appreciate a deeper relationship. I turned both in on time and walked out of the room, never looking back. He responded on my paper, "I would very much like that."

Ever since then, through my super-senior year and on into my post- collegiate life, I have looked to him for advice on a myriad of subjects. We have become close friends and have developed a strong rapport, something I don't have with any other male old enough to be my father. He's helped me through some tumultuous times and has never tried to push me into doing anything. He simply assumes I'm smart enough to understand what he's talking about. He assumes future greatness in various aspects of my life, from finding a new job to the kind of father I will become to simply living a life of obedience to God. It gives me confidence to aspire and the courage to be bold. I can only hope that I justify his affirmations.

I couldn't imagine letting him down, even if I already know what he'd say.

Flashback

I'd just like it to be remembered when I blogged about a certain crazy old man who was destroying my team.

Well, I was right...and because of that, I simply couldn't take the heartache anymore, so the decision was made, I officially disowned the Raiders. Unfortunately, they pay the price for their owner's lunacy. It's gonna take a while for them to win me back.

And hey, my secondary isn't too bad. I'm just glad I liked them before last year so there's no bandwagoning going on. Go Giants!

Where'd The Funny Go?

I read some old MySpace conversations I've had back in the day and I can't help but wonder what happened. As my eyes scanned the digital canvas of flirtations past, I started thinking about my current feelings and all that and I something is definitely different. I mean, I was funny, witty, nice, etc. Now, it's just not as prevelant. I don't know. I mean, it's not like someone stole my puppy or something, but come on.

Maybe I'm just a little older and "wiser." I guard my heart much more now, which I think is a good thing. I mean, that's what we're supposed to do during the weeding out process. When you leave yourself too open, you get hurt way more often than need be. Opening it up at the right time (or knowing when that is) would probably help.

Not sure if I'm more jaded or if I've learned my lesson from past burns. Either way, I need to crank up the funny quotient. I used to be a staple. I'd be hard pressed to say it's even a thumb tack now.

Goodwill

So, my mom's guy has cancer. It's in some of his endocrine organs. It's pretty progressive and he's pretty old, so the writing is pretty much on the wall as far as I know. It's really more a matter of "when" moreso than "if" at this point.

I've been trying to spend more time with him, which is pretty much the complete opposite of what used to happen. I was rubber and he was glue. Anything he'd try to do with me would bouce off and wind up sticking on him. We had our fare share of rubs, no matter the subject it seemed. But now I'm trying to make a concerted effort to be more friendly, more welcoming, more like myself. It's a shame it took this for me to act like this, but it's better late than never. At least that's what I tell myself.

Yes We Can

As my ears ring from the horns and screams and joyful wails of the people, the election of Barack Obama brings about the idea that anything is possible.

But possible for whom?

There's a reason most of those crying were black people. You see, even in the midst of the unifying words and the togetherness that Barack's words foster, for some reason I can't help but think of the generations of black people before me who never, ever thought to themselves yes, we can.

Never did they think there would actually be a time when someone of their color would rise to rule the free world. They were too busy trying to run from the police dogs or figuring out how to avoid being beaten and lynched. Dr. King's dream was an ideal for the future. By no means did it reflect the trials of the times.

My family isn't that of Barack's. We are no first-generation African Americans. I come from a family of slaves and have no knowledge of which African country carries my ancestry. My mother grew up in Arkansas and would have been in that first group of teens to be integrated into the high schools had she not moved out to California in the preceeding summer. She still remembers having to go to colored bathrooms and being forced to sit in the balcony to watch every movie because no Black was allowed to sit below the mezzanine. When thoughts creep up, they seem to seep out through her tear ducts. It is true for so many others.

After generations of being told first that we weren't human, then human but unequal, then equal but treated with actions incongruent with those words, we finally received a mighty blow which never thought could really happen.

Believe in ourselves?
Yes, we can.

Believe that it's true when we tell our children they can be anything they want?
Yes, we can.

When others tell us it can't be done because it's never been done before, we now have a response.
Yes, we can.