Okay, in light of the Tyson-Holyfield fiasco (still infamous almost
20 years later), that's probably a terrible opening line for an
argument about the refreshing predictability of fantasy football.
But by the end of this little piece, I hope to have demonstrated
why it's less inappropriate than it seems.
If I wanted to focus on some of the biggest stories of the offseason,
I could analyze the suspension facing Tom Brady or the fact that
Adrian Peterson has, despite all expectations to the contrary, returned
to the Minnesota Vikings.
But it's only June, so we don't need to get all white-knuckled and
serious about the most important developments across the NFL just
yet. There's still plenty of time for the dust that shrouds figures
such as Brady and Peterson to settle. Instead, I want to take this
opportunity to reflect on one of the things that I've come to value
about FF over the years.
You see, when FFers talk about the penalty Brady faces for having
used underinflated balls, we never say things such as, "I've
lost all respect for him!" or, "He was scapegoated."
We just accept that the four-game suspension diminishes his value
at the beginning of the season, when it probably matters least,
as plenty of healthy alternatives will still be available on waivers.
The same principle is plainly at work in this
article about AP's fantasy risk by Eric Karabell of ESPN.com,
who writes:
While the way Peterson handles his business
away from the field isn’t for everyone, we separate this from
evaluation for our purposes. We just want the big numbers.
That's par for the course in FF writing. The question we ask about
any player under intense media scrutiny isn't, "Is he bad role
model?", but rather, "How much later than usual in the
draft can I expect to pick him up for my team?" In a sense,
FF never fails to bring out our inner Belichick.
In a world that expects us to get ourselves all worked up over the
latest story we've heard (whether it's from Fox News or the Huffington
Post), fantasy football remains a safe harbor in which civilized
people can have sane and focused discussions about things that really
matter, such as whether Tony Romo can be effective in 2015 without
DeMarco Murray in the backfield.
I
was struck by this fact when I went from reading online reviews
of a newish cartoon called Mike Tyson Mysteries to researching
what FFers have to say about Tom Brady.
It so happens that Mike Tyson Mysteries features my kind
of humor. It follows Tyson as a retired boxer who will solve your
mystery if you can get a request for help delivered to him via carrier
pigeon. The artwork is an inspired rip-off of Scooby-Doo,
and the outlandish supporting characters include the ghost of the
Marquess of Queensbury and an alcoholic, womanizing pigeon voiced
by Norm Macdonald.
The show teaches viewers a valuable lesson by demonstrating that
all problems can eventually be solved through violence and misunderstanding
(as happens when Tyson mistakes Robert Redford for Paul Newman and
beats him up).
If this kind of nonsense doesn't sound funny to you, that's fine.
It's not funny to my wife either. She watched an episode with me,
rolled her eyes, shook her head, and sneered, "Boys!"
whenever I cackled. But she didn't try to guilt-trip me for watching
the show. She just recognized that we have different tastes in humor
and left the room.
If only the critics could have responded that sanely.
But they couldn't. The reviewers of Mike Tyson Mysteries
(whether amateur or professional) overwhelmingly felt compelled
to comment on Tyson's personal history before getting on with their
evaluation of his show. His troubled past could be mentioned in
passing ("his constant run-ins with the law") or a bit more sensationally,
with a bullet point detailing his "time
in jail for felony rape" (just in case any of you Tyson apologists
were thinking it was the misdemeanor kind).
I wish popular culture could take a lesson from fantasy football
on this front.
Just as we FFers refuse to fret over Brady's culpability and focus
instead on what a looming suspension means for his productivity,
critics of cartoons should focus on whether a cartoon is doing its
job. If the cartoon is supposed to be funny, the question for the
critic to answer is, "Is it funny?"--not, "How do
I feel about a person who bit off part of Evander Holyfield's ear?"
The Brady story may be the flavor of this particular offseason,
but in the NFL, there's no shortage of misdeeds for us to scrutinize.
We can talk about what Peterson did wrong, what Ray
Rice did wrong, or what Mike Vick did wrong. But at the end
of the day, it isn't our place as FFers to judge players or hold
them accountable. The NFL and the legal system can sort out all
of that stuff; the central question left for us to answer is always
the same: "How good are they at their jobs, and how much playing
time are they likely to have?"
Outside of FF, it's astonishingly difficult to find that kind of
clarity. Last year, an op-ed writer for The New York Times
published an open
letter from Dylan Farrow, who accuses Woody Allen of having
molested her as a child. Even if we all agree that child molestation
is horrible (which I assume we do), I don't understand the structure
of her argument, which begins and ends by asking the reader, "What's
your favorite Woody Allen movie?"
Well, before she told me about the despicable things she claims
Allen did, my favorite Woody Allen movie was Love and Death.
And when she finished telling me about those things, my favorite
Woody Allen movie was still Love and Death. For the life
of me, I can't understand what the sordid details in between have
to do with my taste in movies. Maybe Woody Allen is a horrible person,
but if so, he's a horrible person who makes me laugh my head off
when I watch Love and Death--because when it comes to being
a director of funny movies, he's good at his job.
As a dog lover, I find the crime for which Vick was convicted especially
despicable. His legal case was enough to make me wonder whether
we need to have stricter penalties on the books for people who willfully
engage in cruelty against animals. As a pure football fan, I could
never have worn a Vick jersey after learning what we all discovered
about him in the course of his trial. But as an FFer, I only cared
about whether Vick could pull a Tyson--by successfully navigating
the transition back to life as a professional athlete after his
stint in prison. When he proved that he was equal to that task,
I resumed caring about him as a quarterback, which was the only
sensible thing for me to do, since before, during, and after his
conviction, his role as a quarterback was the only role in which
he ever mattered to me. There are all sorts of people out there
who have been convicted of doing horrible things to animals, but
since I've never heard of them, I don't feel compelled to make chitchat
with strangers about how disappointed I am in these people. Why
should Vick be any different? Why should I care whether he has been
rehabilitated? In truth, I don't care--not unless he gets within
arm's reach of my dog.
I feel the same way about the supposed moral failings of Rice, Peterson,
and Brady. Fantasy football doesn't award bonus points to players
who set a good example for children. It allows us to focus strictly
on how good players are at their jobs.
So simple. So refreshingly predictable. Thank you, fantasy football.
Mike Davis has been writing about fantasy football since 1999--and
playing video games even longer than that. His latest novel (concerning
a gamer who gets trapped inside Nethack after eating too many shrooms)
can be found here.
I
was struck by this fact when I went from reading online reviews
of a newish cartoon called Mike Tyson Mysteries to researching
what FFers have to say about Tom Brady.
