At 2:12pm on September 1, 2012, in a flagrant display of my dominance over this league, I chose to forgo my first round pick in the draft. As you all consulted your spreadsheets and cross-referenced them against what you thought I would do in your situation, I was busy reflecting on the character development resulting from the bathroom scene in Trading Places over a spoon of chocolate butter and a salted Modelo.
With my first selection of the draft, I took no top-tier running back. No blue-chip quarterback. No coveted receiver. I took only your dignity. Your will to pursue silver. The governor that holds your fear in check. You have all transcended what is generally thought to be the lowest form of competition and can now only be categorized as witnesses. Witnesses to the greatest fantasy footballer in the history of pretend sports. Witnesses to my sheer disregard of and indifference to the capacity for which others can manage the onslaught of emotions that flood an already disheartened soul after losing to a man who declines his first round pick and scoffs at your Ray Rices and Calvin Johnsons.
And now is the point at which you all contribute to the legend that is my first round-less championship. After one week my team is 1-0, defeating an opponent who used every one of his allotted draft picks. Though each of you will be referenced as no more than a number in grade school curriculum, you may be lucky enough to appear alongside me in a textbook photo as "a witness to God's austere display of arrogance in his historical one-handed championship."
I will win this season without a first round draft pick and your grandchildren will ask how it felt to get slapped across the face with the cock of a golden god.
-Team "God One-Handed," circa 2000 A.D.
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