I’m sure there’s a statute of limitations. But if not, I think I could have been a part of this story I saw the other day.

Now, I should have written something about it last week when I first saw it. It’s a pretty cool deal, especially for someone like me who’s been involved with fantasy football for close to 20 years.

See, back in the day, and by the day I mean some time around 1994, I used to live and breathe fantasy football. Even more than I do now. Way more. Like psychotic more. Like creating team logos, draft guides, charting player stats by hand. Pretty much think of what you can do today when you sign up for an ESPN.com fantasy team, then do it by hand. That was me, that was our league.

I’ve mentioned here how we had to use regular freaking mail to get our results, which usually didn’t get to us until like Thursday. Which actually meant that it wasn’t official until the Commissioner sent it, but we could either call him–on a regular phone; no one I know had even held a cell phone at this point in my life–or we could just write up the points ourselves.

So, each Monday morning, I’d actually get a newspaper and read the box scores and total the points and hope I didn’t screw it up. And if his total didn’t match mine, then he’d get an actual call on an actual phone from an actually pissed off team owner.

But things changed when I “mutually left” a job I had as a sales rep.

It was at this point that I made my first move, which as of six weeks ago turned into like the 13,044th move of my life. I went from suburban Chicago to the metropolis of Fayette, Iowa. Population: 500 (at best).

Living there had it’s perks. I worked third shift as a janitor, so in reality I got paid to stay up all night and sleep half the day. It was nearly like college, except for the getting paid part.

And I was living in the same town as the Commissioner. This is where fantasy football molded my life.

Since I lived there, I knew before everyone else who “officially” won and lost and what players were “officially” kicking ass or blowing. At some point, I figured since I had all the knowledge and the resource of practically living in the Commissioner’s office, I might as well write a weekly newsletter about the league.

So it started. I started making shit up about sports for people to read, and here, roughly 16 years later, I’m still doing it. Pretty sweet.

Which brings me back to the story I saw last week.

If I had continued that newsletter and kept working at it, I may have had a chance to join this inaugural class, which would, in one word, be fucking awesome. But alas, I took my janitorial skills, followed by my security guard skills, and instead went into sports information.

It’s worked out well for me, but until last night I always wondered if I could have joined those guys like Matthew Berry. Then Karma, that stupid bitch, showed back up and I was again reminded of my place in the cosmic order. See, I AM THE CHAMPION in case you hadn’t heard and I will continue to be the champion until next August when I have to give up the trophy.

But last night, while the GD Chiefs were actually winning a Monday Night Football game in a stadium where I could have been sitting, WR Dwayne Bowe didn’t bother to hold on to two passes that could have won my first FFL game of the year. Instead, he finished with just 13 yards, giving me one point. I needed two to win after Anquan Boldin held up his part in the first game and got me 11 points.

But by Bowe only getting one point, Karma screwed me as I was stuck in a tie with the worst team in the conference. Didn’t matter that we both scored more points than any other team in the conference, we were tied and had to use a tiebreaker. Of course, that shithead had a Bear, a Bear QB even, as his backup and even though my backups’ 17 points was tremendous (in our league, 12 points is an average game for a QB), freaking Jay Cutler scored 20 points and I lost.

So, to the Commissioner, piss off. I could have left this whole part about losing out of today’s blog, but I publicly stated my loss without mentioning that I had two other players who ended one yard short of another point each, or that my QB Aaron Rodgers took three kneel downs and lost one yard each of rushing, dropping him from the 12 yards he actually gained to nine yards, and thus taking away another point simply because the NFL rules committee doesn’t think that’s a team rush. (It fuckin is if you ask me) And I didn’t mention that I could have used ANY of the three RB on my bench in place of the starting RB not named Chris Johnson, my third-round pick his rookie year and the guy who will likely be with me longer than I had Emmitt Smith after what has become known as “The Trade of 1997.” I think that single trade may have set in place four separate rule changes. It was a doozy.

Whatever. I lost. It’s over. And if I remember correctly–and I do–two of my first three games last year were losses before coming back and winning the trophy. So it’s fine. But I’m glad after that one I don’t have a newsletter anymore to have to write about it.