My 2006 Fantasy Football Draft

By Allan J. Bassler

I don't remember. It's all a haze of beer, sports and testosterone. I think I emerged with Tom Brady as my quarterback, but I'm not sure. It might be Brady Thomas, a true NFL veteran in his 21st season and currently serving as the backup to the backup to the backup of Brett Favre. At least with Brett in there, he has a chance of playing a down or two.

I also dimly remember drafting Jerome Bettis for running back due to a beer-fueled argument over whether or not Bill Cowher is really going to leave the Steelers next year. I'm not sure what the two have to do with each other, but it made perfect sense at the time. And I still feel good about standing up for Bettis. Or Cowher, rather. I guess.

Later, I paid big bucks for Corey Dillon based solely on the theory that someone named after Bob Dylan deserves a chance, even though he's got bad knees and he's approaching 42. The discrepancy in spelling of the name didn't occur to me until I'd already bid the price up beyond all reason. By then, it was too late. The room went silent and everyone was staring at me through the haze of cigar smoke. I realized that I was standing on my chair and had just finished yelling, "By god, if no one else will stand up for our 60s music icons, then I guess I stand alone!" The commissioner then awarded me Mr. Dylan ... er, Dillon for a bid of $48 out of the total $100 we have to spend. It put me in a bit of a tight money situation when I later had to, according to the league constitution, acquire a minimum of five wide receivers, four place kickers and two cheerleaders.

I seem to remember that my starting place kicker is a 18-year-old female from the Roaring Aardvarks, a team from Central Regional West High School in Dayton, Ohio. I'm not sure if she's actually eligible to play in the NFL, but she went 39-for-41 in extra points last year and booted a dead-center 42-yard field goal to win her homecoming game in OT. So if she isn't eligible, she should be. And she's hot, too.

There was a very spirited discussion (read: fisticuffs) over whether Ricky Williams is really a pothead or just dumb as a post. I believe I was defending his right to be both when I was struck in the temple by a nearly full can of Yuengling Lager and ended up under the table. The fracas resolved itself without my further participation. But I'm glad to note that we all managed to agree, after the unfortunate loss of two office chairs through the window, that in his prime, Ricky was one hell of a running back.

Lastly, I also vaguely recall police officers in the room, the flash of handcuffs and the sudden absence of one of our more vociferous owners. He'd been mixing Coors Gold and Blue Skyy vodka all night and we had warned him of possible consequences. He became very upset when someone managed to finagle Future-Hall-of-Fame Wide Receiver Marvin "Marv" Harrison for a measly $8.50 and I believe -- although I wouldn't testify to it in court -- that he pulled a firearm and threatened the winning bidder. The gun might have gone off at one point, or the roaring in my ears might have been from my consumption of a twenty-seventh can of Old Milwaukee Ice. The room was much quieter after he left, I'm sure of that. He completed his draft by calling us from

Central Booking on his cell phone. It must have been tough, as he was apparently forced to repeatedly fend off the attentions of someone named "Hoo Daddy" while trying to keep track of his draft without his books and notes. He still performed admirably although I suspect that his firearm has been permanently confiscated. On the other hand, he has a date for Saturday night.

Does that help?