Three weeks of football and Jalen Hurts looks like he’s just witnessed the fall of Rome.
The haunting, helpless disappointment of a man watching his night unravel. Forced to sit idly by as the cruel hand of reality shatters every aspiration he carried into the night.
Desperate to impose his will. Powerless to his wretched fate. Yet unable to look away.
I’ve been there.
Hell, haven’t we all?
Anyone who’s 0–3 right now knows this feeling all too well. You sit there helplessly on the couch knowing there is nothing you can do but watch yourself slowly bleed to death as the projection ticks lower and lower while your odds of winning diminish play by play.
Week by week.
Drowning in your own disappointment. Another season lost.
But it’s only Week 3!
I mean, mathematically you are technically not eliminated yet. Relax. You still have 3/4 of the season left, you got guys coming back from IR, a couple of things fall your way and boom! You change your team name to “Comeback SZN” and the sun shines once again!
Yeah, yeah, whatever.
I get it.
All this eternal optimism is getting real annoying, isn’t it? Trust me, I have to sit here every day with this optimistic Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder and he’s fucking relentless.
But it is just Week 3.
So, fine. Your team is dead. You wanna fire sell all your players? Hmu.
It’s Week 3…
You got bamboozled by all the industry hype?
It’s Week 3.
Your whole team is on IR? And your league only allows 1 IR spot? Ridiculous.
But it’s only Week 3!
Keep telling yourself that.
See, I’m a huge believer in the power of repetition. That’s why I’ve never actually followed through with anything my whole entire life and always quit the moment the magic wears off or when some random butterfly catches my eye and suddenly there it is—my exciting new obsession, my next grand illusion that absolutely cannot fail.
But what do I know? What can I tell you?
Don’t be like me.
Be you.
Be better.
Although I must say the 0–3 / 1–2 pill is much easier for me to swallow because I’m 4 for 4 on writing my article, bitch.
Ahh, there’s that other Jiminy Cricket guy in the red suit. He’s a hell of a lot less virtuoso, but a hell of a lot more payaso. It’s a balance.
You can stay the course. Or you can crash out.
You can trade your whole team away. Or see it through.
You can spend all your FAAB on Ollie Gordon. Or just pick up Jaylen Wright for free.
Fuck it.
You don’t even really care about fantasy football anyway. You’re a whole ass adult with real responsibilities. All this is just child’s play.
Talking ‘bout “we never agreed on a last place punishment!”
Have some dignity, ladies and gentlemen.
Respect the game. Respect the struggle. Respect the grind.
You don’t get to decide the party sucks just because you stopped having fun.
You were awfully fucking excited when you got here, weren’t you?
And now all of a sudden you’re a grown-up?
ALL OF A SUDDEN
Where was this newfound defensive-mechanism-induced maturity in August?
Nobody made you draft this sorry-ass mediocre team.
You weren’t talking about “real responsibilities” when you thought you won the draft.
Now you’re 0–3 and suddenly this is beneath you?
Your precious little aspirations have begun to crash and burn, and now you want to look away?
Please.
You wanted this.
You prayed for football season.
You talked your shit.
You picked your guys.
You paid the buy-in. Hopefully.
You came to the fucking party.
And the party never ends.
Week 3 Recaps:
Little Guys League
Case Keenum woke up and chose violence