Tuesday, July 28, 2009

What the hell is this thing?

How it works:

It's really a bit of an experiment.

It's been debated at length elsewhere, we're sure, but how the hell does actual sports knowledge play into fantasy sports success? Bryan says: "A lot." Rob says: "The opposite of a lot." So two roommates on the opposite ends of the fanship spectrum will do battle on the hallowed field of pretend athleticism and see who will eat the most crow. Spiced with blood, sweat, and beer.

Both Rob and Bryan will enter the same head-to-head Fantasy Football league and both will participate in live drafts. Their teams will be listed on the Our Teams page and updated as trades, adds, and drops occur.

From there, they'll update on how they're doing in their league, and more importantly, against each other. And because everyone's a fan of a little irreverence, they'll be sure to share with you their thoughts on all the sportscasting flubs, ridiculous headlines, and insipid commercials as they happen to come along.

So sit back, crack a cold one, and watch the insanity unfold.

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Who We Are:


When I was still too young to know better, my father passed down to me the family curse: the Boston Red Sox. Like him and his father before, I grew up loving Mo, Nomah, and Pedro; cursing the Yankees, who were always one step ahead; and perpetually expecting the worst. Four years rooting for the Saints, the Hornets, and the Green Wave further cemented my pessimism. Despite all this, I've always enjoyed sports and (being mathematically inclined) loved the "Moneyball"-inspired idea that you can quantify sports and show why one team is better than the other, rather than just declaring, "They wanted it more," or whatever. I consider myself reasonably intelligent and cannot fathom why my fantasy teams always suck, despite my best efforts and research.

I blame the Red Sox.

Follow Cole (Walrus0909) on Twitter.


When he was just in third grade, after riding the pine all season, Rob hit a triple in his little league city championship, driving home the winning runs. And thus peaked, and pretty much ended, his illustrious sports endeavors. His attentions instead turned to Stanley Kubrick films, Temptations records, gentleman canes, and other decidedly non-sportsy things. And despite family outings to Fenway Park and the die-hard devotion to New England sports teams of all his friends and family (trust him, all of them), Rob has kept his interests and efforts on the sidelines. But all that is about to change. Because Rob wagers that he can beat his foam finger-wearing roommate in the sham of fantasy sports with one beer behind his back. With no research. No avid fanship. And almost zero fantasy experience.

And away we go.

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