And so here we are at the end of the Time-out. We’ve seen tramp stamp tattoos, leotards on street corners, and being pelted with tomatoes. We’ve learned of being hunted by a paintball gun while dressed as a lion and having to draft on the toilet.
And now, the Panda League. They are a fantasy football league of 10 high school buddies from the Central Virginia area, and August 23, 2012, was the fifth annual draft for the league. After discussions and votes on rule changes and amendments to their governing document, the “Panda Carta,” the guys got down to the last piece of business at hand. Voting on this year’s punishment for last place.
Options included the loser performing stand-up or buying a cat. They wanted to top the previous year’s punishment, when a league member named “Pillar” had to dress up in a full clown suit and wear it for an entire weekend, including out in public. Commish Walker explains, “He was unable to give an explanation while at bars. When asked why he was in a clown suit, Pillar’s only allowed response was, ‘Don’t worry about it.’”
Clearly, this is a serious league. In addition to the “Panda Carta,” they have a roughly three-foot-tall, over-20-pound trophy. They sponsor two underprivileged children to attend the Russell Wilson Passing Academy in Richmond, Virginia. And they have a league where, in 2012 . . . the loser had to get his belly button pierced.
With . . . you guessed it . . . a Panda.
No words.
For hours, I stared at that picture, trying to top it. I couldn’t. No words.
So I’ll just say that happier times are ahead. Because for every league that has a loser, there is also a winner. And the rewards for that are just as fun.
19.
Trophies
or
“That, My Friend, Is the Rusty Tromboner”
One thing.
There might be only one thing more frustrating than being in a longtime league and never winning that league.
And that would be being in a longtime league and never winning the league that is named after you.
The members of Marsh’s Rotisserie League are all buddies from college who have been playing together for well over a decade. The league got its name from commissioner and league founder Ryan Marsh, who named it after himself. And it appeared the fantasy gods did not appreciate that hubris. Because, as league member Steve Sherman tells me, “Ryan had gone through 12 tough seasons without getting his name on the trophy.”
Sure, Ryan was aware he hadn’t won the league in 12 years, but his buddies wanted to make sure he remembered.
So Steve and a league-mate, Rob Cordle, made T-shirts with a picture of the league trophy on the front and a list of the champions on the back. However, Steve says, “instead of the actual champion, we put the year and NOT MARSH.”
Steve recalls: “When I walked into the draft that year, I remember Marsh pointing at me, laughing, and saying, ‘You son of a bitch!’” Marsh, to his credit, took it in good spirit. Steve continues: “That year in May, when Marsh decided to give up and essentially play for next year, he sent out an email saying, ‘You can add another “Not Marsh” to the shirt.’”
In fact, Marsh was not only a good sport but actually played along, adding NOT MARSH to his own shirt in 2009 and 2010 when he didn’t win those seasons. Properly appeased by his good humor and humility, the fantasy gods finally let him off the hook. In year 15 of Marsh’s Rotisserie League, Ryan Marsh finally won it all.
“So,” Steve explains, “now our league trophy shows 14 years of NOT MARSH and one year of RYAN MARSH.”
Good for those guys, and good for Ryan for hanging in there. I can relate to the story on many levels. Because at the start of 2008 at ESPN, I had become Ryan Marsh.
I had gotten my ass kicked from all directions since getting there, and I’m sure much of it was my own fault. But I didn’t quit. I kept working hard. I tried to learn from my mistakes and correct them when I could. And, it did get better.
I started to figure out how to be a manager. I don’t have a ton of skills, but I’ve always been able to identify talented people. The secret: hire smart folks from the outside and some good people within ESPN who were in other departments but wanted to get into fantasy. My job then: get the hell out of their way.
The tech guys kept improving the game, and many smart, hardworking people just kept kicking ass at their jobs, from marketing to technology to sales to integration to content to support, and so on. We were growing and growing.
And by late summer of 2008, ESPN Fantasy had grown so much and things had gone so well that we all agreed my job should become two separate jobs. We also all felt I was better at being an expert. So I happily put down the P&L to concentrate on writing, radio, and, uh, putting on makeup.
People started to get used to my style, I got better (not great, just better) at dealing with, well, everything that comes along with being on ESPN, and for every hate tweet and angry email, truthfully, I got 10 positive notes. I didn’t publish them because it always seemed self-serving, but I appreciated every one of them.
And as the fantasy football season started in 2008, I no longer had to be anyone’s boss, but rather just had to be the best I could be at my new title:
ESPN’s senior fantasy analyst.
Goofy title, sure, but seeing that on a business card for the first time was heady stuff. All of it—my business card, my company ID, an ESPN Fantasy computer bag—none of it really meant anything in the grand scheme of things. But the symbolism wasn’t lost on me. They were objects. Solid, touchable objects that showed changing my life at 35 had been the right move, that it had paid off, that I had, well, won the league that mattered most to me.
The moment you twirl that card in your hands, hold it, look at it, hand it out . . . it’s a great moment. And everyone who has ever won a fantasy league has experienced a similar feeling. That card was my trophy.
There are few things more cherished than a fantasy sports trophy. It’s so hard to win a league. You’ve gone through a roller coaster of emotions over the course of a year. From injuries to pickups to trades to sweating out the standings and matchups . . . it’s a marathon, not a sprint. And when you finally finish and you are at the finish line as the last one standing, you are exhausted. Thrilled, joyful, ecstatic, overwhelmed, and exhausted. You want something to show for that other than a screen-shot that displays you had the higher score on the final week. You want something physical. Something you can cradle, take pictures with, hold above your head, or, in the case of the FX TV show The League, simulate sex with.
Think of the iconic “trophies” throughout the world of sports. The Lombardi Trophy. The Stanley Cup. The Green Jacket of the Masters. The Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiasie’s Million Dollar Championship Belt. A trophy in your fantasy league will inspire even more jokes, even more camaraderie, and an even greater sense of history in your league. And the “trophy” can be whatever you want, as long as it’s a symbol of excellence to display proudly.
The lack of something to display was an issue in Charles Clark’s TECH FFL League in Ann Arbor, Michigan. They’d played for 10 years, and the winner didn’t get a piece of hardware—just cold, hard cash. But after Jason Speer’s Kicking Ass Is My Forte took home the title in 2010, Jason wanted a little something to commemorate his win. Unfortunately, just three days after his victory, as he was mulling over what to buy, his wife Amy informed Jason that their washing machine had died. And so was born one of the greatest fantasy football trophies ever. (To see this, and all the other trophies in this section, flip to the photo insert.)
Don’t know if you can see it, but the inscription says, WASHING AWAY THE COMPETITION. Not sure how you top a washing machine trophy. Certainly, many leagues don’t try. Some leagues just have a solid, impressive, but fairly traditional trophy. I’ve taken the liberty of assuming you know what a traditional trophy looks like. So there aren’t any in here. Plus, it’s
no fun to look at traditional trophies. Which maybe explains why so many leagues go the extra mile, like the Drawing Guy Fantasy Football League from Pittsburgh. They’ve been around for 11 years and Jason Fickley loves his trophy from the 2010 season. “It’s actually a great representation of how I felt the night I finally broke through nine years of futility and two previous championship game losses.”
Naturally, many leagues make their trophies a replica of famous real-life trophies. I’ve seen exact replicas of the Lombardi Trophy, the Larry O’Brien Trophy, and the Stanley Cup. And it’s not just trophies. Lots of leagues do something uniquely their own. I’ve seen rings, mugs, championship jerseys, and belts. Not belts, mind you. Belts.
Dustin Williams and his Schaubshank Redemption is a back-to-back champion of the Chesterfield, Michigan, C-Town Fantasy League. The belt is attached to leather like a real WWE belt, and they have removable nameplates on either side so as to engrave each year’s winner in their league.
A lot of times, leagues will use a totally random object as a trophy. Like a 126-pound golden pelican. That’s right. Meet Nick Anthony, current champion of the seven-year-old Pelican Keeper League, a situation that the owner of “Whatever, Dude,” James Wickham, is not happy about. “Nick is definitely the guy you don’t want to win. If you lose, you lose, but to him it’s unbearable. The picture is him, his wife Patty Anthony, and her friend (the blonde) Jade McBride.” Yes, James tells me, the women had the pelican T-shirts made. “It wasn’t enough that the kids run around saying things like ‘The Pelican lives here, Daddy is never going to lose.’ No, they needed shirts to symbolize it. It’s an all-around terrible situation.” Nick agrees with you, James. “There will be no living with me in our league after this book comes out!” he laughs.
The guys in the league live in St. Petersburg, Florida, where the city logo has a pelican on it, so the trophy makes some sense. But there’s nothing to really explain the trophy in Ricky Garcia’s Backyard Ballhawks league from Naperville, Illinois, except, er, past high school “glory”? All of Ricky’s best friends from Neuqua Valley high school are in the league, and the winner gets the Brothel Bowl.
Why “the Brothel Bowl,” Ricky?
“Because around the ring of the bowl are the initials of all our past girlfriends, none of whom we are dating anymore.”
So I guess there are other ways besides winning the league to get your name on the trophy. Matt Hoefle’s 12-team PPR Manly League of Manliness had this bad boy custom-made.
From custom-made to, uh, nature-made. Drew Diehl sent along this picture, as Andy Joseph holds what is given to the winner of the James Chapman Fantasy Football League.
Brad DeBoer’s Des Moines, Iowa–based League of All Leagues has been around for 25 years, so you know they needed something sturdy.
Jordan Skelton’s Tuesday and Company Football League in Little Rock gives out a bronze bust of former president Jimmy Carter to whoever finishes third. Why Jimmy Carter? “Because you were good enough to get into the playoffs but really sucked once you got there,” Jordan explains.
There is no good transition from former presidents to a stuffed rooster, but is there ever an elegant way to get to a giant stuffed rooster? Here’s the El Gallo of Brent Barnett’s College Station, Texas–based Wings League. League champs are listed on one side and Vince Lombardi’s “What It Takes to Be Number One” speech is on the other.
Speaking of stuffed animals, Nate Butcher’s “Rowdy Group Brings Danger to the Hood” league from Derry, New Hampshire, awards this rare armadillo to the total-season-points winner.
Many, many leagues like draft beer. But most don’t use it as a trophy. The 10-team PPR TX Football Rules League that Corbin Miles is in with a bunch of fellow bartenders, however, is unlike most leagues.
Some prefer beer from a tap and some prefer it from a keg, including DJ Calligaro and Ryan Sula of the Men of Steel League from, naturally, Pittsburgh. Ryan explains: “The trophy is made of an Iron City keg, Midget football trophy, Steeler helmet, and a beer bong. The keg has inscribed plaques with each year’s champion.”
And oh yeah . . . it actually works.
That’s Shane Ball holding it and Darren Watt is the one drinking. The defending champ of the Men of Steel has to do an honorary beer bong before the draft. Meanwhile, I think it’s safe to assume that Brian Chamberlain’s Power Thirst League likes something a little stronger than beer.
The members of Kevin Sparkman’s Claywell Cougar Den League have known one another since their time at Claywell Elementary School in Tampa. As a result, he and Ryan Trainor (on the right) want to make sure there is no confusion whatsoever about who won.
I’m guessing they didn’t buy that off the shelf. They’re not alone. Many creative leagues take matters into their own hands to design a trophy. In Detroit, Eric Sadowski’s Rusty Football League trophy features, as he describes it, “the Legendary Rusty Tromboner and Rusty Trombone Football League insignia, all made of 100 percent copper, slated on a half-inch thick of aged and fully rusted steel.” Apparently it weighs nearly six pounds.
Eric adds, “Wish I had a dollar for every guest who went to the trophy owner’s house and asked, ‘What the hell is that thing?’ . . . To which we simply reply, with a satisfying grin, ‘That, my friend, is the Rusty Tromboner.’”
You’re damn right it is. As Eric opines, “It’s not a trophy unless you get your hands dirty.”
Tom Hergert knows about getting his hands dirty. Tom runs a classic car restoration shop. And his League of Extraordinary Gentlemen has been around since they were all at Gonzaga University 10 years ago. So he took matters into his own hands for their trophy. Tom explains that he “welded all the parts together from parts I found around the shop. The base is a ring gear, the top is a pinion, the football is made out of pushrods with rubber control arm stops for the ends. LOEG is also spelled out with pushrods around the ammo box. It weighs about 25 pounds.”
If there’s nothing manlier than making a trophy out of car parts, then there’s nothing girlier than a trophy bedazzled in glitter. Here’s the trophy for Sarah Garner’s all-female Balldazzler’s Fantasy League out of Denver.
Football Jesus? Football Jesus.
Chad Spinks explains the trophy for the 12-team PPR the 760 League:
“A common theme permeated the boards of our league—that of an omnipotent Football Jesus. Suggestions of a higher fantasy power were scoffed at but soon became embraced after countless unexplained events took place. Acts or words against the Football Jesus received the harshest penance. The worst offender ended his season with a 3–10 record.”
After learning about www.catholicshopper.com, where statues depicting Jesus in various sports activities are sold, Commissioner Ryan T. Kirk knew this would make the perfect trophy for his Vista, California–based league. Once it showed up, Chad went to work. “The base was made with a Dremel tool, miter box, and a six-pack by the league rookie.” “Not completely square but at least structurally sound, ‘the FJ’ serves as an homage to the divine power that makes the game of fantasy football so unpredictable, improbable, and irrational. The FJ is not only an object to be desired, but feared.”
Around Albany, New York, in 2007, Steve Lawton and his buddy Rob Matt set up the PorkChopSandwiches League after an old GI Joe Internet video they all made fun of. After looking and finding nothing, they approached a friend from high school to build a trophy for them.
As Steve notes, “What’s better than a 10-pound concrete pig in a sandwich?”
The answer, of course, is absolutely nothing.
From a fake sandwich as a trophy to . . . a real sandwich? Yes. Nelson Johnson explains: “This sandwich is packed with turkey, ham, and American cheese. It was made three years ago by the top chef at the local diner and is considered prestigious around these parts. The winner gets to take one delicious bite and then has to store it in his freezer until another victo
r is crowned.”
I thought it was made up, but, no, Nelson insists it’s real. It’s a two-QB league out of Butler, Pennsylvania, started by a bunch of high school friends. The sandwich, Nelson relays, “came about when multiple people wanted the same sandwich at the draft, which was at a diner, and there was only enough meat in the kitchen for one.” There is, however, concern in the league. Current champ Jennings Graham explains that his mom is starting to complain. “It makes the freezer stink.” Jennings is trying to hold tough, but they may need to get a new trophy.
Speaking of smells . . . trophies in fantasy leagues aren’t just given for first place. No, many leagues also give out trophies to the last-place finisher. And perhaps none are as creative—or as stinky—as the one for Commish Kevin Leary’s Beer Boy League. The Charlotte, North Carolina–based league has been around for 19 years, and since 2002 the last-place team has had to sign this shirt, retire its team name, and then wear the shirt during the draft. While serving everyone drinks.
It’s never been washed. NEVER. 2002. Just saying.
Speaking of wearing smelly things that have never been washed, at least Nathan Baker-Lutz and his West Side Football Club had theirs bronzed. As Chicago fans know all too well, nothing says last place like Curtis Enis.
It seems that almost all the last-place trophies have to do with smells, specifically from the toilet. And more on point, the toilet itself. Lots of leagues have a small bronze toilet trophy for last place. But it’s not just toilets. It’s also toilet-seat-shaped objects. Like a mug.
The loser of the Leavenworth Correctional Conference out of Wellington, Kansas (16 years and going strong!), has to drink all beverages from this “trophy” on draft day and whenever at least four members of the league are watching football together. GM of The Moose, Heath Freeman adds, “And a picture of the person drinking from the mug is the league’s home-page picture for the first week.”
From the toilet-shaped objects to an actual toilet seat. I’ve seen many versions of this, but the one in Brian Cook’s GLITW (Greatest League in the World) was my favorite.
Fantasy Life: The Outrageous, Uplifting, and Heartbreaking World of Fantasy Sports from the Guy Who's Lived It Page 24
