Fantasy baseball is one of them. Fantasy league is even worse. There's something essentially emasculated about these terms, and to use them in the form of an admission --"I am in a fantasy league"-- seems somehow shameful. I've no doubt that a first-rate thesis could be written on the homoerotics of fantasy league baseball, but I'm not about to be the man to muck about in the subject. I'm not that desperate to be a pioneer.
I also can't deny that I have, in fact, been in a fantasy league, participated in just such a fantasy, but I am unable to feel proud of this fact.
I certainly have nothing against those who continue to derive enjoyment from such unwholesome activities, but I think the whole thing requires too much explaining to sane people to be truly healthy. I just can't bring myself to say those words with a straight face anymore.
It's like going up to the counter at Wendy's and having to order a "Biggie" fries. I refuse to do it. Get a more dignified phrase, I say.
I went into a Wendy's the other day and tried to order a chicken sandwich and a large fries.
"Biggie fries?" the woman asked.
"Large," I said.
"Large or Biggie?" she asked.
"I want the largest you have," I said.
"The Biggie?"
"Is that the largest?"
"The Biggie is the largest."
"Look," I said, "I'm not going to play this game. Why don't you just call it a large like everyone else?"
The woman was clearly exasperated. "Do you want the large or the Biggie?"
"Fine," I said, "Just give me the large."
Nice blog man - first time here.
I personally prefer the term "rotisserie" league, since generally only old-school gamers tend to know what the hell that is. Like the guys that used to track the stats by hand from the box scores.
My hangup of this variety is the coffee size terms at Starbucks, and the conversation is often much like what you describe:
"I'll have a medium."
"A grande?"
"A medium."
"We have (something), grande, and venti."
"I'll have the middle one."
Moons over My Hammy? Umm, yeah, I think I'd just point.
I have a similar hang-up about ordering the "Moons Over My Hammy" at Denny's. It's my favorite item on the menu, and I get it 9 out of 10 times I eat there, but I can't say its name to the waitress without straining myself and feeling a little demeaned. Usually I'll either say "Miami" or just point to the picture and say, "I'll have that."
Hey, Blarney Boy, I'm not the guy who has a shirtless photo of Cecil Fielder taped above my desk.
Methinks you're still bitter that your idol, Chuck Knoblauch, was forced into an early retirement.