Freddy's Fantasy Flotsam

Freddy Baird
Fantasy Expert

Dear world,

For the last seven years of my life, my calling card has been the fantasy sports world. I have lived, breathed, drank, inhaled, been vaccinated with and applied fantasy sports to my life. It has provided an outlet for me, and a place where I can go to build community with friends, strategize and most of all, kick some ass.

It's provided me with plenty of memorable moments. The Stacey Mack Experience in 2001; owning Randy Moss in a keeper league from 1998 to 2003; confidently predicting the breakout of Tony Gonzalez in 2000; last year's fourth-round draft choice of Maurice Jones-Drew that was mocked by my league. I sure showed them, didn't I?

The 2007 regular season was a good one for me. As I've stated, I owned Braylon Edwards in 22 of my 24 leagues, and I stayed far away from Steven Jackson in my drafts. I made the moves I needed to make in order to acquire Jason Witten. I reached a round early on Wes Welker because I knew his potential. Because of these moves, I made the playoffs in every single league I am in.

And last week, I lost every semifinal game I played in. Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. The weather held down Tom Brady. Braylon Edwards struggled. Wes Welker struggled. Brian Westbrook's kneel-down at the one-year line cost me seven agonizingly close wins. Seven.

I have been shut out of the championship game in every league I play in. All of my calls were wrong and my usual dead-on predictions did not come to fruition.

Because of these failures, I plan to end my own life.

Scoff if you will, but fantasy sports is my livelihood and my identity. If something so sure, so consistent and so steady in my life disappears -- what can I count on?

Nothing, is the answer. I can't count on anything. Without fantasy sports in my life, and without the confidence that I am the most expert of all fantasy experts, I truly have no reason to go on. I haven't had sex in 42 months, I can't control my waistline, my friends don't return my calls and I really, really thought that Kevin Jones would perform better in Week 15.

After sending this column in, I will drive my car to the Terrence Bridge, take an entire bottle of aspirin, puncture my femoral artery with a steak knife, place a plastic bag over my head, and leap from the bridge into the ice-covered waters that will await me, 50 feet below. And my struggle will end.

Tell Brandon Jacobs that I'm sorry.