An organization near and dear to me celebrates it's 10th birthday this Saturday. While it's hardly as important as the Red Cross, not nearly as influential as the Freemasons or as popular as AARP, it's all three and then some to me. Happy First Decade to the Rimmers Fantasy Football League.
Sure, it may sound petty on the surface. Millions of Americans play fantasy sports every year, and millions more may belong to organizations or collectives that have a much greater and hopefully positive impact on humanity. What makes this any different? Or any better? Isn't it just an excuse for 10 guys to get together once a year, get blind drunk and communicate every Sunday morning? Well, the short answer would be: Absolutely.
But I'm normally not one for short answers, and this isn't any different.
The RFFL began 10 years ago at a cross-roads of my life of sorts. I was a full year out of college but maintained a link to the glory days as a handful of my friends remained there for one more year. For that brief period, I had the best of both worlds - a full time job and salary, with unfettered access to the carefree college lifestyle that I had grown to love so much. But like all great things, that was coming to an end.
Among other hobbies like beer pong, video games and the tossing of lunchmeat on the faces of unsuspecting, passed out individuals, fantasy football was one of the activities that my friends I partook in. Some of us had pre-college experience, some none, but all fell in love. The 1999 season was a special one for me. My team, The Whiskey Dicks (a name which I rather not get into at the moment) pulled off the upset of all upsets against the juggernaut Salty Dogs, thanks in part to an unnecessary 2 point conversion from Kerry Collins when the Giants were getting obliterated by Kurt Warner's Rams. The Dicks were champions, and I was hooked. And I wanted Kerry Collins as my QB for life.
Not long after that, I started tossing the idea of a "Keeper" league around (where you keep certain players each year). Reaction was lukewarm league-wide at first, but thanks to my brother Sean, my high school freshman lab partner Brian, and John, of my college roommates who dared to dream, we had an interested core, and we spent the summer drawing up guidelines and working the existing members of our league to the point where, by August 2000, we had 8 men around John's kitchen table in Suffern, New York on hand to hear Brian's stepfather Gary announce that Peyton Manning was the first ever player selected in the Rimmers Fantasy Football League. I had no idea what impact this moment would have on my life at the time.
After tinkering the next two seasons with expansion and replacements, for the 2002 season, we had a lineup of 10 men that hasn't changed. And that is precisely why I'm celebrating this birthday.
These 10 men, these 10 friends, this intoxicating band of brothers, finds a way every Second Saturday of August to blow off all obligations and make it up to my deck for the festivities. And therein lies the glory of what the RFFL really is. We're all north of thirty now (Not naming names, but one of us is north of fifty too). We used to hit up bars every weekend. We used to have an annual Christmas Party. We used to have a Halloween Party. We used to BBQ a couple times every summer. We used to hit up a bunch of Yankee games. We used to pack 3 or 4 hotel rooms for concerts all over the northeast. We don't really do any of that too often anymore. And that's why I'm celebrating this birthday.
That Sacred Saturday is the one defined time out of the year to get together and catch up on these milestones, good and bad. Maybe it's a new car. Maybe it's a sick parent. Maybe a baby's first step. Maybe a job hanging on by a thread. From a selfish perspective, I spend the day with my 5 best friends from college, my brother, my brother-in-law, my friend of 20 years and the man who took us out for our 21st birthdays a long time ago (again, no details shared for the good of all). Who could ask for anything more?
Because it's more than just touchdowns and draft picks. Since that first draft, six of us have gotten married and seventh will this October. We've welcomed four children: Maya, Quinn, Ella and Dylan (And one grandson). We've welcomed nieces and nephews. We secured millions of dollars worth of sub-prime mortgages.
Our lives have shifted from happy hours to property taxes. From tailgates to college funds and we've all gone through it together. My brother in law moved to Jacksonville 5 years ago. He hasn't missed a draft since. That's why I'm celebrating this birthday.
On top of all of this, the Draft - the League - has given us enough memories to last a lifetime. Whether it's Brian's 10 year old step brother asking how to spell "Crusty Beuerline" back in 2000, Anthony Becht needing 1 point and failing on the last Monday Night of the 2004 season to get Mark's team into the playoffs for the first time, Gary walking his cooler down Teaneck Road at 2 in the morning, Sean attempting to eat 100 chicken McNuggets after he and Travis forgot to go to sleep at the 06 Draft, or the improbable anti-perfect season that John's Stoagies managed in 2004, an 0-13 season that we still can't comprehend to this day, there's little doubt that our lives have been enriched by the league's existence. And that's why I'm celebrating this birthday.
Life gets in the way - there's no mistaking that. Maybe when we started we were naive or oblivious to what lied ahead as our twenties expired and the dawn of thirtyhood was on the horizon. Maybe we refused to believe it. Maybe we knew it all along. In the name of progress and maturity, we've grown up. We pay our bills. Lots of them. We're all better people for it. We boast three dedicated fathers and eight men who would jump into the pits of hell for their wives. But once a year, it's that Suffern Kitchen Table all over again. And that's why I'm celebrating this birthday.
It would be criminally negligent if I didn't thank the unsung hero of the draft in my selfish opinion: My wife. I find it hard to believe that she (our any or our wives) understands what we do, or why we do it, or what it means. But year after year, she helps me prepare for it, helps me get the house in order, and
I raise a glass (or more likely, a plastic 16 oz red solo cup) and salute my 9 fellow league members: Gary Burmeister, our current champion Eric Couillard, Sean Hanratty, Joaquim Johnson, Erik Peterson, Travis, Mark Sprengel Brian Thompson and Michael Woods. I salute you for the memories, the experience, and the many good years and decades ahead. We may have added a Touch of Gray, but we're Built To Last.
