smack talk

Scott will never let me forget that I destroyed his ten year old work league.

December 10, 2008

  • Private: those darn elves


@ 6:30 a.m.

I woke up to this bulletin from the fantasy football board from Scott’s boss.

PLAYOFFS START Posted by Sxxx, to Everyone
Dec 08, 11:21 pm ET Congratulations to the 4 playoff teams, It should be wide open,with each team playing well. It has been a fun season and I hope everyone has had a good time playing.Also a reminder to anyone that has not paid the $5.00 entry please do it asap. Thanks

???  Entry fee?  I asked Scott point blank at the beginning of the season if we were playing for money, and he said no, and I have proof that I had no idea in this bulletin I made on Dec. 1st begging off with a list of reasons why *I* (really Scott) threw the playoffs, see # 9.  The kitchen remark in # 6 was in reference to one of the guys saying the women should get back into the kitchen.  Moonknight of # 7 is the other woman in the league who jeered all the guys.  Zilla, of course, is ‘Satan’ at the very top of the league that everyone wants very badly to beat.  And # 3 pretty much says it all, if anyone is keen enough to pick up on Scott getting into my team behind my back.

Posted by Janika Banks, to Everyone
Dec 01, 10:18 pm ET I have so many excuses.

1- I’m psyching you all out.

2- Zilla jinxed me with his voodoo doll because I ‘elfed’ him.

3- Quack Attackers presumed to give me guidance I felt intuitively against.

4- I’m really in love with someone else in the league and got distracted.

5- Someone paid me to throw the game.

6- I was conducting an experiment that exploded in the kitchen.

7- I’m using moonknight as a human shield for my next move.

8- I was blinded by puke and testosterone, both of which make great movies.

9- We aren’t playing for real money, so I don’t care. Unless Quack lied to me and was going to take all my winnings…

and finally

10- My real team leader is sitting out in a henhouse in subzero arctic blast weather and is glad you all ate turkeys and not chickens. Well, I actually ate a stuffed cornish hen… Which leaves us to wonder- who is the real turkey here?

So I texted Scott at work…  He tried telling me that he *had* told me about the entry fee, and I quoted my bulletin with the date and time stamp, and I guess he decided he’d better back down because a little red flag was going off somewhere in his brain that this is a huge PMS time for me and he’d already been caught red handed getting into my team and totally screwed my last two games, effectively knocking me from 2nd to 5th in the power standings and right out of the playoffs.  So HE screwed HIMSELF out of the winnings, which he wasn’t telling me about, and all that nervous pacing and whatnot wasn’t because he cared about ME actually playing well all season.  He considered my team his by proxy from the very start.  What pisses me off is that I never saw it coming, I really did trust him, and I really did believe he cared that I was having a good time playing fantasy football.

He was smart enough to say he was sorry and he loves me before he hung up, so I didn’t reach through the phone and yank his eyelids off.  But I think we’re pretty clear now that I will never trust him to know one of my passwords again.

Ok, that was a bad year. My team was awesome, my own husband sideswiped me with sabotage out of nerves and the rest is lost in him not admitting he kept secrets from me. I found out a couple of years ago that he sometimes takes some pretty sweet winnings, no wonder he paces around obsessing over all his teams. The next year (2009) I was 3-0 when my mom died, everything crashed after that, and my hostility reached the ‘nasty’ level. As hard as I tried to just be silly and smack talk, Scott says I got so scary that the league disbanded and never came back. Since the commish of ten years was fondly called ‘Satan’, you can imagine the quaking fear rippling through the league when even Satan got quiet. They experessly forbade me from ever joining their MLB league, like I give a crap about baseball.

Football is a HUGE thing in our house. I used to wear a Bears sweatshirt over to Scott’s mom’s house when she was a cheesehead and everything in her house was green and gold. I didn’t really care about the Bears, but she hated them, so it was funny to sit there being quietly annoying. We made peace only when Favre jumped ship to the Purple People Eaters.

So. I’m doing fantasy football again. I took second place last year (790) and managed not to alienate the entire league because I kept my mouth shut. Guess who the Flying Monkeys are- that’s right, Scott.


Anything football always winds up him against me. You should have seen us during the draft last night, set up in the same room, him at the desk, me at a card table, twitchy and gleefully hand rubbing and smack talking almost nonstop. The rest of the league is like a game board set up for Scott and I to do everlasting battle with each other.



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