Drafted the Rookie: One with Long-Term Potential
Five years undefeated in fantasy football. Thirty years outsmarting men who called it a "lucky streak." Football was my corporate currency. Then I benched the old me and drafted the rookie — today's me.
DRAFT DAY
August. Draft time. Five-year winning streak on the line. I told my fantasy league: I'm out.
The guys assumed I was being dramatic. Maybe "going through something." You know — menopausal.
I've loved football since I was 15.
Cheered in high school just to watch the games.
Pom-poms were a technicality.
Lifelong Giants fan.
Sundays were sacred.
Started playing fantasy in my late 20s — back when we calculated scores by hand.
Thirty years in — first place is the only place.
Anything else? Meaningless.
A woman beating the "boys" at their own game?
Priceless.
WEAPONIZE MY PASSION
Around year three in corporate, a realization:
Wait. This is leverage.
Sports knowledge became currency. Winning at fantasy football became proof. Not that I belonged — that I was better.
And the quickest way to shut down every "You like football?" Chad in a suit.
And a socially acceptable way to make every Brad who underestimated me -question their choices.
Fast forward three decades, and I've caught myself circling the same questions lately:
Can I watch sports casually, or am I still performing?
Do I still need to prove I earned my seat at the table?
Am I still playing defense against being called a fraud?
Honestly? My record speaks for itself.
Reality check: So who am I still trying to prove it to?
Turns out weaponizing your passion comes with side effects.
I actually lost my enjoyment in watching football!
Make that make sense.
So, I did the unthinkable.
I benched the "guaranteed-points" version of me — the one that ran on performance, certainty, and domination. She got me through three decades of corporate "hunger games."
If I'm not in the games anymore — why am I still running her playbook?
GROUP CHAT FREAK OUT
"Start a podcast about sports! Women like football now because of Taylor Swift!"
Really, Gordon? Twenty-eight years in the same league. Pretty sure you remember how these seasons ended.
Steve complained, "You're screwing up the league."
Relax, Steve — this is your first chance to not finish last.
Chad texted: "Just play for fun!"
Fun. Right. Chad.
You know I play to dominate — and to spend Tuesday reminding you of that!
While the rest of the guys were relieved — no more trash talk from "the girl" — something finally made sense.
Choosing the rookie me was a logical decision — not emotional.
It was based on the analytics.
Hey, I'm still the projection queen of spreadsheets.
Longer-term upside.
Wider range.
More potential.
Coaching her is a better use of my time than pretending the old playbook still fits.
FOUR MONTHS IN - UNDETERMINED
Sundays? Still sacred.
Just me, Red Zone, and the Giants (yes, they are terrible this year - I KNOW!)
Chris, my partner and lifelong Steelers fan, complains every weekend that Red Zone "defeats the point of watching football."
Old habits die hard — I'm so used to Red Zone now, I can't go back to watching one game at a time.
My phone isn't exploding with league chats.
No Tuesday-morning warfare.
I don't miss the spreadsheets.
But I do miss making Chad question his entire manhood.
Meanwhile, I'm watching without keeping score.
That's new.
That's… refreshing.
The guys are still confused why the reigning champion quit.
I don't feel the need to explain.
Some moves speak for themselves.
Did I make the right call?
Ask me after the Bye Week.
YOUR MOVE?
If you've been weaponizing your passion to prove you're better — and lost the enjoyment somewhere along the way...
Maybe it's time to check your depth chart.
Maybe the version who just wants to enjoy it again is worth drafting.
Maybe she's the smarter call after all.
And if anyone knows a community where we can trash talk about absolutely nothing — like a Seinfeld episode — let me know.
P.S. If a friend sent this to you and you thought “that’s me,” pull up a chair every Sunday by subscribing.
P.P.S. If someone popped into your head while you were reading, forward this her way.
P.P.P.S. If you're wondering how I got here: I got restructured by AI, spent three weeks planning instead of doing anything, and my face staged a hostile takeover. Standard stuff.
