I signed up for a Fantasy Baseball league because an automated email invited me and I thought it meant I was popular. I was wrong. I am now trapped in a mathematical prison of my own making, forced to check starting pitching probable lineups every day at 3:00 PM or risk public humiliation in a chat room full of strangers.
What Even is a WHIP?
I don’t understand the statistics. What is a WHIP? Is it a good thing? I drafted a bunch of relief pitchers because their ERA was low, and now the message board is calling me a “taco.” I don’t know what a taco means in this context, but it hurts my feelings.
162 Games of Agony
Fantasy football is 17 weeks. Fantasy baseball is 162 games. It is a daily, relentless grind that requires the kind of commitment I usually reserve for avoiding eye contact with my landlord. I want to quit, but I don’t know how to find the “Leave League” button. I am doomed.
