Fantasy (hoops) is a reality

By Mason Williams Sports Central Columnist

I live in a world where fantasy blends with reality, thereby causing my judgment to be terrifically skewed. Basketball has always been my favorite sport. I love the way they dribble up and down the court. That was a Kurtis Blow reference for all you old school cats.

Anyhow, I've watched basketball for years, cheered, cried, thrown random objects at my family, and have sometimes been accused of being fanatic. I rooted for my team and placed gris gris on other teams and players so that they would not stand in the way of my team's success.

My passion was so innocent and so forthright. Then, one day, it all changed. My passion became bastardized the minute I logged on to Yahoo! Sports and signed up for fantasy basketball.

Now, you may be thinking, "fantasy basketball is a fun adjunct to the fan experience." Woe to you who believe that to be true. I harbored no latent desires to be a scotch sipping general manager of a basketball organization as a youth. I rooted for the Lakers, bottom line. I was well aware of the other talented teams and players, but I couldn't have cared less about them and their success. I had love and I had hate, and I liked it that way.

Fantasy basketball changed all of that. Now, I have to be a fledgling talent scout as I seek to fill out my roster with players that my opponents expunge from their teams. I find myself checking the Internet incessantly to see how my players are doing.

Do I care about the Milwaukee Bucks or Philadelphia 76ers? No way. But I still check to see if Desmond Mason got 8 rebounds or if Eric Snow garnered 10 assists. I find myself hoping and praying that individual players do well, even if I hold intense disdain for their teams in my heart. I am a torn soul, the paragon of contradiction. I don't really like myself.

Those are the facts cause me to have night sweats and irritable bowel syndrome, but it gets worse. Not only has fantasy basketball altered my approach toward watching the games, it has negatively affected my standing amongst my friends. You see, I play in a league called the American Ninjas. That's a homage to Michael Dudikoff, perhaps the greatest actor of this or any other generation. Our league is comprised of eight friends who all enjoy basketball, and all fancy themselves knowledgeable.

As a writer and purveyor of useless trivia and historical knowledge, I pride myself on my knowledge of the game. Knowledge means nothing in fantasy basketball. Henceforth, I dwell in last place as the laughing stock of my league. Each week, I get manhandled like a new prisoner in a Supermax prison. I even changed my team's name to "Givin' Up the Booty." What have I become?

My opponents post messages disparaging my character while thanking me for yet another easy victory that I provided for them. "Oh, Mason doesn't know jack about basketball." That's what these jokers are thinking as they stay up late at night working the waiver wire like hoes walking the street looking for johns. However, I refuse to sellout the whole route!

After eight weeks of playing, I officially sit 20 games out of first place, and I am seven games out of seventh place. There is no hope for me. So, I decided that I would pull a real deal Holyfield move and trade away my best players to the first place team, which happens to be managed by my oldest friend, in exchange for his worst players.

For instance, I'll trade Jason Kidd and Zydrunas Ilgauskas for Lamond Murray and Christian Laettner. Or maybe I'll go with the Rashard Lewis for Oliver Miller blockbuster. I just don't care. Leave me alone.

Whatever happens, my once virginal vision of the game has been turned into a ghastly old French whore. My fantasy world has corrupted my tiny little mind and I blame you, La Canada Spartans, California Adventure, Waiver Workers, Strongmads Minions, Maui Jim, Joe Armstrong, and Team Dream. Most of all, I blame you, Mason Williams. You're even a loser in the fantasy world. What does that say?

Happy New Year to all! May 2004 be your best year to date.

Article courtesy of Sports Central.