Fantasy sports will be the death of my productivity.

I never used to be interested in the stuff. Then, a few years ago, the guys at the design firm I interned for convinced me to join their Fantasy Football league.

Now, let's be clear here.

I am not an athlete. I am a dancer. "Downs" and "goals" all sound like sexual terms to me. It all seems fairly sketchy - people paid to play dress up and smash things.

But then my team started doing well. This was the year I picked up Brett Favre, in the 2001-2002 season - and everyone laughed at me.

Then he started rocking the Casbah.

My team came in second in my league. SECOND. I knew nothing about football. I picked most of my players because I liked their names. "Marshall Faulk sounds like a nice guy..."

Now my drug of choice seems to be fantasy baseball. I was in a league last year, but I let the autodrafter take over for me, and my team (the PikaRockers) got hit with many injuries early in the season. Then I went to work at Disney, and my lack of home internet access killed my interest.

(Yes, that's right...no internet access in my apartment ALL SUMMER. How draconian. But the Magic Kingdom was enough to distract me.)

THIS year is a different story. I now run a team called the Dead Aeryns, and they are the shit.

Sidenote: (geek warning level: orange)
The league is called the "Uncharted Territories", and it's a Farscape-themed league, so I caved into peer pressure. The name is a dig at the league owner - the show killed my favorite character, Aeryn, twice, and I pretty much complain about it every single time I watch the show.)

I'm seriously going to take all of the players on my team out to dinner. Dey just be takin' the games home fo' deir mamma.

Thank God most games take place at night. But I even spend time online during the day, analyzing the previous night's performance and setting my roster for the next week. And at night? Compulsive score checks. Email, baseball, rinse, repeat.

Right now, I'm beating one of the league favorites big-time. My pitching staff is totally rocking - last week one of my pitchers did a complete game shutout and scored me a bajillion points.

Not that I know anything about sports. ;)

******

When I was a kid, I grew up near Philadelphia, so I was a Phillies fan all the way. (Or Phan, as it were.)

When I started going to games and paying attention, it was in the old Phillies heyday. John Kruk, Lenny Dykstra, Curt Schilling, Mike Mulholland(?), and our relief pitcher "Wild Thing"...these were the pervasive (and usually quite unattractive) faces of the Phillies.

It peaked in 1993 when the Phillies got the National League crown and went to the World Series against the Blue Jays. Wow, I was so pissed when they lost. Fucking A.

And then the next year, they were doing ok - and we even had season tickets! We would have a shot at playoff tickets...

And then the strike came.

We still got season tickets after they came back, but the Phillies were never the same.

Of course, this all took place in Veterans Stadium, widely regarded as the Official Shithole of Major League Baseball.

Going to games with my dad was a strange sort of bonding ritual. I could tell it always made my mother somewhat sad that she wasn't included, but it was probably the only time during my childhood when I had quality time alone with my dad.

It started because the Phillies were giving out free tickets to kids with straight A's, and I totally qualified. Later on, as time progressed, my dad bought one of those partial season ticket plans (remember, money=love in my family) and Doug and I would take turns going to the games with Dad.

We'd bring the binoculars and drive over, as I updated my dad on my life. Upon arriving, we'd buy a crapload of food and just watch and chat, and I'd sometimes get the courage to ask Dad about bits of his past.

We'd always go back for food 2 or 3 times - I could have whatever I wanted. I always, always hoped the games would go into extra innings - I really enjoyed those times we spent together, almost more as friends than parent and child - and I was sad when they'd be over.

One time, my seat was picked for a random prize. Several staffers in crazy costumes came over, gave me an autographed baseball and a few other things, and my picture was up on the Jumbotron. That was memorable.

On the ride home, we'd sometimes turn on NPR - they had a storyreading show, and we'd just listen peacefully. If that wasn't on, we'd listen to the postgame recap on the radio and recall the highlights of the game.

I know it made my dad sad and maybe a little angry when Sesame Place started conflicting with our games. Doug went to more of them, and I don't think I got to go to any my summer before college, because I was also moonlighting as a costumer at night. (That in itself was a very contentious issue.)

Looking back, there's a definite sadness in my relationship with Dad, and his relationship with the rest of the family. I don't think I'll ever know what makes him tick. For a long time, I've feared him as much as I loved him.

*******

Wow. All of that just from the topic of baseball.

Just try asking me about something else simple, like Legos.

Floodgates, I tell you.
Floodgates.