2020 was a year most will never forget. For the majority of us, there were indelible moments of heartache and pain that characterized the turn of the decade. The global pandemic spared no one. As we venture forward into a “New Normal,” I find myself showing more gratitude to an unlikely source, fantasy football.
I had long been a fantasy football fanatic. I got my first taste in 1994 (Yes, unbelievable to some, I am very old). When I got to college, I played with randoms online, not knowing who among my new friends played or even knew about fantasy football. Once I moved back to Hawai’i, I would come home after a night out, around 3 am, and catch the east coast feed for starts and sits to set my lineup before I fell asleep, usually missing the early slate of games.
Things escalated in the fantasy football world when I joined a league with my brother in 2008. The PPH (what the acronym stands for is not important) was a 14-team league that met every September in Las Vegas for the draft. As someone in his mid-20s, when my brother presented me with the chance to join, he barely got the words out before I booked my ticket for that year’s draft.
Our fantasy league is not much different than most. Then again, everything about it is different. It is the most diabolical league I have ever experienced. I’ve seen kickers added and dropped until no one was left to prevent an opponent from acquiring one to play that weekend. KICKERS. I’ve witnessed teams get dropped from the league by the commissioner for minor infractions. But most of all, the amount of trash talk that goes on here is unparalleled. Nothing was out of bounds. Most of the time, with content we would never utter in public. Not so much based on whether or not the content would be deemed offensive or problematic, but mostly because the comments would be deemed highly disrespectful to a stranger.
The chatter on the PPH message board (now What’sApp) never ended. And when I say it never ended, I mean, It. Never. Ended. Not when the football season was over, not on holidays, not on birthdays. For 365 (366 on leap year) days at any time of the night, someone might shoot one across the bow of another member for no other reason than it being Monday. We all loved it.
Then 2020 hit.
The bond already started to see some cracks in 2016. The presidential election had fractured our unit. Most choose not to enter the fray, but for those who did, it was hard to separate the views espoused from the person you knew pre-2016.
People left the league. Others took a break from the text chain. The arguments never ceasing, the pain–tangible. There were moments when I thought the league was done.
For me, the first half of 2020 was extremely difficult–like many people across the country. My 1-year-old business was forced to close. My wife lost her job. Our house had to be razed because it was causing health problems for my young children and wife. My brother died.
Then, George Floyd was murdered.
Everything that had been boiling under the surface not only personally and professionally, but in my fantasy football league finally reached maximum capacity. I left. In a way, I left everything. I ignored texts from the PPH. I deleted texts from mostly everyone. I was struggling day to day.
I wasn’t alone.
According to a Kaiser Family Foundation report, in 2020, 4 out 10 adults in the U.S. “reported symptoms of anxiety or depressive disorder.” That number was up from one in 10 adults in 2019.
I was experiencing all the tell-tale signs of depression: mood swings, the desire to eat more and sleep more, detach from a world I viewed as immoral and “unfair.” Each month brought me further and further down the dark abyss.
It all changed in a place I could have never expected. The Scott Fish Bowl.
An entry into a fantasy football tournament with strangers I had never met in person presented a form of ordinary I never knew I missed. I relished in the mundane, held on tight to strangers I had just met online. It also shed a new light on a fantasy football league I hadn’t realized I took for granted.
SFBX opened my eyes to a world I was unaware existed. I discovered a bunch of people who were grinding, speaking love and strength through their work–in all places, fantasy football. It all kickstarted falling back into love with fantasy football.
I rejoined the PPH chat. Ignored the bullshit, but spoke up when needed. Continued to give voice to the voiceless and represent my underrepresented background. It’s still ridiculous of me to say, but I found strength through fantasy football.
While the PPH was not able to meet in Vegas due to the pandemic, that league allowed me an avenue to get my mind off the world and the endless shithousery that littered my inbox and twitter feed every day.
The PPH made me laugh again. I made it all the way to the semifinal when this happened.
Two games. Less than 2 points combined separated winner from loser. The chat blew up. In the 18 years of the league’s existence, the final four had never been this close. My phone buzzed constantly, unending, for days.
It was December 2020. Los Angeles was in another lockdown. Yet, on the PPH chat, it was like any other year. And I was grateful. Grateful to have the distraction. Grateful for the PPH and the chats we have every day. Grateful fantasy football afforded me the opportunity to escape, and find balance at a time when people take for granted the smallest of privileges while also ignoring the biggest of privileges. I’m lucky.
As we head into Thanksgiving, over a year since the pandemic started, there is no end in sight. Thousands of people are still dying every day from COVID. Fantasy football helped put things into perspective.
I approach each day with a new look on everything. From my daily conversations at home, to my twitter interactions. I find myself checking in on people more often. I try to be more positive everywhere, while also reminding people that we still live in a society that disproportionately undervalues BIPOC. I’m eternally grateful.
2021 has ushered in “The New Normal,” but all I can be is grateful. And for me gratefulness is part of my “New Normal.” The doors to my business are open. My kids are thriving, back in school and sports. My wife and I celebrated 10 years in October.
And the PPH chat is alive and healthy. The toxicity is all but gone. Those who were the most toxic have disappeared into the abyss looking for John F. Kennedy Jr., I assume. I was unable to make it to Vegas this year because of the pandemic, but it was great to reconnect with those local and see people laughing and celebrating once again.
As for my 2021 team, Hawaiianado heads into week 12, 4-7. The “New Normal” isn’t perfect. But I’m still grateful.
