A person’s fantasy football draft is a sacred thing. Fantasy drafts have postponed weddings, caused car accidents, and left helpless children without supper. A good draft has the power to bring Springtime in the Winter, to rekindle a spark between old lovers, to give one a newfound affinity for life. Unfortunately however, for a local boy who wanted nothing more than a fighting chance at happiness this coming season, a good draft rarely begins with LeGarrette Blount.
The boy, who refused to give his name as an act of defiance to God, the very bastard he claims enabled the autopick of LeGarrette at the last second, is now taking things day by day, an unrealistically hopeful approach to a tragic situation. “It’s the only thing I can do,” he lamented as he stood in line waiting to purchase a gun. “That and pray Jermichael Finley gives me with the edge at the tight end position I need to make the playoffs.”
With the comically bad first pick in the books one must take the time to examine the player himself rather than dwell on what’s already done. LeGarrette Blount, the tailback for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, rushed for just over 1000 yards and 6 TDs in his rookie season. Wow, those are some numbers, am I right? Despite the aforementioned numbers which have most likely left you completely dumbfounded, Blount is best known for his time as an Oregon Duck, where he rushed for negative 6 yards and a safety against Boise State, was taunted by an opposing player, punched that player, then punched a teammate, and then entered into a melee with fans after seeing a student brandish a chair in his direction. Now that’s a guy I want in the trenches with me.
Regardless of his staggering pedigree, not everybody feels that this errant draft pick can be reconciled. “First motherfucking round? Are you kidding me?” said LeGarrette Blount, who heard about the story while preparing one of his patented buffalo wing sandwiches. “I don’t even have me!” he exclaimed in disbelief at the boy’s stupidity. “I mean he could have had Ray Rice, Aaron Rodgers, Maurice Jones-Drew, Philip Rivers, Tom Fucking Brady!..” he continued as he effortlessly bit through that ghetto-ass sandwich.
“Listen, everything happens for a reason,” said the boy serenely while loading bullets into the newly purchased gun with which he plans to kill God, “and I believe it’ll all come out in the wash.”
The wash, unfortunately, projects that the boy will finish at the bottom of the league, just below the gay hairless kid, leaving himself open to ridicule until next season, until he gets another shot at a #1.