Humiliation and destroyed relationships: A fantasy football draft story

Estimated reading time: 3 minutes 18 seconds

Fantasy football had always been a source of embarrassment and soiled relationships for me. While it usually takes an entire season to humiliate myself and destroy at least one acquaintance, this year I managed both before the season had even started.

My fantasy football draft was a disaster. But it wasn't who I did or did not draft – Tiki Barber, Anquan Boldin, Kurt Warner, blah, blah, blah – the players don't matter. It was the events surrounding the draft that made me want to find a necktie, a closet and cut my life short.

It was one of those drafts that take place online where you can draft live or have a robot pick your team using players you ranked at the last minute (computerized drafts are widely known to produce teams with four kickers, three defenses and a handful of players residing on injured reserve.) To start, the draft did not take place at a time likely be free of prior commitments and distractions . . . like "work" or "a career". It was held at 4:45 p.m. on a Thursday, which begs the question, "What productive citizen is free to devote an hour to something as superfluous as fantasy football at 4:45 on a Thursday?"

While technically "at work" during this time, what other choice did I have but to proceed with the draft and somehow draw as little attention to myself as possible?

My fundamental fear was that what I was engaging in would somehow become widespread knowledge. I imagined a large gathering of people – coworkers, interns, my boss, higher-ups, the bosses of my boss' boss – everybody all in one place. Somehow the fact that David Holub was drafting a fantasy football team online while on the company's clock would be broadcast in front of all.

But events that could possibly realize these grave fears were so remote that I didn't give them much thought. But from the start, there were forces working against me.

Being at work at 4:45 on a Thursday, I was forced to rank most of my players beforehand given the high likelihood that I wouldn't be able to devote my full attention to a live draft.

Upon arriving at work – 15 minutes until draft time – I immediately logged on to the draft site, the first successful logon for the day (the trusty web site had been in the crapper the entire day). Following that, I checked my e-mail and discovered a broomstick being firmly jammed into the spokes of my fantasy football draft plans.
A going away party had been scheduled at 4:30 that day. So skip it, you say. And I would have, if the going away honoree was anybody but my immediate supervisor, the kind soul who hired me and gave me a chance to do great things with my career.
And since the sendoff was for a manager, it attracted the types of higher-ups that wouldn't have shown for a going away party for, say, me.

Since I still had 15 minutes until the draft, I figured I would go to the party, hear some goodbye speeches and then silently slip out in the name of fantasy football. This worked perfectly. I hung around for a few minutes, made my presence known, did some glad-handing, slammed some cake into my face, then quietly backed out of the room and ran to relieve the robot from drafting my team.

Just when I thought I was in the clear, sheepishly drafting at my computer, I saw a coworker hustling from the room I had deserted five minutes earlier.

"There you are! Come on back!" she summonsed.

When I left the party, things seemed on the verge of winding down, the point where people engaged in mindless chitchat only to avoid having to go back to work. Apparently things had miraculously reorganized. And out of this reorganization came a worst-case scenario, something that would demand my presence, a public roll call, an event that would make those in attendance say "Where is Dave? What is he doing that would take him away from this special occasion?"

My departing boss had gifts for the members of her staff and had been handing them out publicly while saying something personal about each recipient.

"Awl Hell," I growled when discovering this fact.

My supervisor, my gift and the attention of many inquiring coworkers awaited my arrival. I tried to be vague explaining that I had just "stepped away." This didn't seem to suffice and I wound up broadcasting my whereabouts to all within earshot. Fortunately by that point, people were mingling and chatting and some had returned to their work. I graciously accepted my gift and attempted to genuinely apologize for my absence.

With the draft now common knowledge among many, I returned to my desk to see it through, dammit. But the problems didn't end there. Seemingly every time my turn would come to draft, my phone would ring or someone would stop by to discuss pesky work-related matter. But what could I expect at 4:45 on a Thursday?

By then the damage had been done. Everyone would see me from then on as the guy who selfishly skipped the going away party for his celebrated departing supervisor, someone who went out on a line to create his position and hire him, a person he should be indebted to and very well might never see again. All for something as meaningless, trivial and juvenile as fantasy football.

Or perhaps that was just how I felt.