This is a guest post by Joyce Mccall

Fantasy Football has ruined my life. If you are thinking that I am utilizing hyperbole here, let me assure you that I am not. It’s one thing that my husband plays in multiple leagues every year. With each league comes a “drafting party” (i.e.—an excuse to sit around with his friends and drink), and an “awards ceremony” at the end of the season. Awards? For correctly picking a player that happens to perform well? Unbelievable. And then, he monopolizes my direct tv gaithersburg television for the entire season. Trying to watch a show pretty much all day on Sunday, or on Monday night, or Thursday night is completely futile. Unless he decides that he wants to go out with his friends to watch the game elsewhere, thereby blowing off whatever plans we might have had together. And evidently Fantasy Football is like a free pass? I was unaware of this, but I’m fairly certain a group of men got together and made this a decree. Because if they’re all doing it, the women can’t argue, right? Have I proven my point? Fantasy Football=life ruiner.