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18 years ago, I was just a kid posting on a video game message board when a guy named Tom asked if I knew what fantasy football was and if I’d like to join a league with him.
I’d never heard of it. I didn’t even watch football. I joined anyway because he was my friend.
I’d never heard of it. I didn’t even watch football. I joined anyway because he was my friend.
He even paid my entry fee for me because I didn’t have a credit card. (This was years before the words “free league host” would be combined in that particular order.)
I was not very good. But he helped. And I got better.
In 2007, I started my first dynasty league with him.
I was not very good. But he helped. And I got better.
In 2007, I started my first dynasty league with him.
In 2007 I got engaged. I was just a kid delivering pizzas at night. He bought me an XBox 360 as an engagement gift so I could hang out with most of the other leaguemates, who all played COD4 together.
I invited him to my wedding. He came. We met for the first time.
I invited him to my wedding. He came. We met for the first time.
He’s always been my toughest competitor. I track historical performance and we’re the clear two most successful teams in our league history.
He tracks historical performance, too. The numbers he emphasizes make his team look better. :)
He tracks historical performance, too. The numbers he emphasizes make his team look better. :)
In a happy bit of serendipity, we faced each other in the championship on the weekend of my wedding.
I got married on a cruise ship. We were out to sea with no internet access. We watched some games together that Sunday, but wouldn’t find out who won until days later.
(I won.)
I got married on a cruise ship. We were out to sea with no internet access. We watched some games together that Sunday, but wouldn’t find out who won until days later.
(I won.)
This has always been my favorite fantasy football memory. Watching games in a cruise ship bar with the stakes at their highest and neither of us having any idea where we stood.
And neither of us caring in the slightest.
And neither of us caring in the slightest.
Two weeks ago, we faced each other for another championship. Tom took home this one. I told myself I’d get him next year.
His team made a run at my all-time single-season scoring record. He came up 2 points short. He told himself he’d get me next year.
His team made a run at my all-time single-season scoring record. He came up 2 points short. He told himself he’d get me next year.
Last week we compared notes on the season, as we do after every season.
He talked about his off-season plans to revisit the game whose message board brought us together in the first place. He inspired me to fire it up as well.
I can play it on my phone now. Technology is wild.
He talked about his off-season plans to revisit the game whose message board brought us together in the first place. He inspired me to fire it up as well.
I can play it on my phone now. Technology is wild.
He won’t get me next year, though. And I won’t get him, either. We won’t get a chance to revisit those memories together again. We’ve played our last series, there will be no best-2-out-of-3.
Yesterday morning, Tom passed away.
Yesterday morning, Tom passed away.
Fantasy football has given me an opportunity to take care of my family. This last year especially, when my family has needed someone to be there, fantasy football has allowed me to be there for them. It has altered the trajectory of my life.
I wouldn’t be the fantasy football player I am today if not for Tom. This fact is not in dispute.
But more than that, I would not play fantasy football today— at all, period, full stop— if not for Tom, who was kind when I was young and self-centered and overall rather an ass.
But more than that, I would not play fantasy football today— at all, period, full stop— if not for Tom, who was kind when I was young and self-centered and overall rather an ass.
I think about this fact often, but especially today. This idea that one small gesture of kindness can have ripples that are still felt decades later.
Most gestures don’t. But you can never tell in advance which ones will.
Most gestures don’t. But you can never tell in advance which ones will.
Certainly no one would have put money on “inviting the annoying kid on the video game message board who doesn’t even watch football to join a league” on being one of those small gestures that would change the course of a life.
Or, rather, of two lives.
Or, rather, of two lives.
I was thinking about all this history earlier. And I was hung up on one random event on that message board all those years ago, but the precise details eluded me. So I thought, as I always do, “I’ll just ask Tom when we talk next”. Because of course the mind is slow to adjust.
It’s a weird sensation, this realization that 20 years of shared memories are suddenly mine and mine alone to preserve. No more seeking help remembering small details.
They exist as I remember them to exist from now until forever, able only to lose fidelity, never to regain it.
They exist as I remember them to exist from now until forever, able only to lose fidelity, never to regain it.
And faced with that unsettling thought, my first instinct was to share some of them.
But especially the memory of my friend, who was kind and changed my life. If I’m not an ass anymore, thank Tom. I follow his example.
You should, too. Be kind to strangers. Especially kids.
But especially the memory of my friend, who was kind and changed my life. If I’m not an ass anymore, thank Tom. I follow his example.
You should, too. Be kind to strangers. Especially kids.
Postscript: I’m reminded of the saying that strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.
This is trite. Most aren’t. But some are. And it’s hard to tell in advance which ones are which, so it’s perhaps best to err on the side of caution.
This is trite. Most aren’t. But some are. And it’s hard to tell in advance which ones are which, so it’s perhaps best to err on the side of caution.
