So I got accidentally Rick-Rolled by my fifteen year old son.
I say "accidentally" because I totally doubt that he was aware of what he'd done.
And if you're not sure what getting "Rick-Rolled" means . . . it's either because you're old, or totally out of the loop, or you didn't have access to MTV in the early 80's, or you don't have access to the internet now.
Unfortunately, that pretty much sums up 90% of you, so I shall explain . . .
For starters it's an internet thing.
More like an internet prank.
See, you might be sent a link for something you were interested in, like, lets say, The Golden Girls having a pillow fight (Frank, you really gotta learn to clear your browser history), but instead of Betty White taking one to the face, you click the link and up comes the 1987 video of Rick Astley performing a song called "Never Gonna Give You Up."
The song is famous for several reasons. One, it's catchy. It's relatively inoffensive (unlike the repeal of the Fairness Act which happened a few days later and is directly responsible for the fate of our nation as it stands today, but I'll explain that in another paragraph) . . . anyway . . . what makes the song so pop culture special even before the internet is that the sound coming out of Rick Astley's voice box is frighteningly out of sync with what the man looks like.
It's as if a bassy, boomy, middle aged, soul singer died from consumption and was resurrected as a skinny, barely out of his teens, Englishman, with red hair and exactly one side step away from disappearing behind the microphone stand.
If you'd heard the song on the radio, like so many of us had, and then you watched the video, which so many of us had, you would've thought you were being pranked.
There's no way that that is his voice.
But it was . . . and he could prove it by playing live.
And that's probably were it should have been left for dead.
But then exactly twenty years later (The same year Ivanka Trump made her debut on The Apprentice) somebody dredged up the song and made it famous again by slipping the YouTube video link into just about everything you could possibly click on.
Like most things on the internet, it became a thing.
And every so often, it rears its catchy little head.
So . . . I was in the shower . . . which is just about how all my stories begin . . . and I noticed that I was humming "Never Gonna Give You Up."
Normally I'm humming something punk and cool like Bad Religion or The Beatles Sgt. Pepper, or more frequently than not, Def Leopard's Hysteria (which was also released in 1987, because that's how circles work).
It's such a good album.
Anyway, I couldn't figure out how "Never Gonna Give You Up." got stuck in my head while I was applying soap to my arm pits.
My first thought, dripping naked, was of Steve Burge . . . who is still . . . to this day . . . unsure if he wants to trade me Cam Newton for his choice of just about any of my Wide Receivers.
Even after Cam got the covid.
And he's not even in the line-up. Cam's just sitting on Burge's bench doing about as much as Rue McClanahan in a pillow fight (She incidentally won the Emmy for Golden Girls in . . . you guessed it . . . 1987)
That's how that song got stuck in my head . . . I thought . . . cause Steve is never gonna give him up.
And once you put those words together, it's impossible . . . impossible not to get that song stuck in your head. Even you, right now, reading this blog, have "Never Gonna Give You Up" in your head.
Unless you're Karen, who just has the theme music from John Carpenter's "Halloween" on a never-ending loop.
Unfortunately, John Carpenter's "They Live" came out in 1988 and I came here to chew bubble gum and talk about 1987 . . . and I'm all out of bubble gum.
Anyway, as it turns out, the real reason I had "Never Gonna Give You Up" stuck in my head is because my son has been playing parts of the melody on his clarinet at 8:15 every morning for the last month.
Why? You ask.
Because the song was added to the repertoire of his highschool marching band. And because of 1987's repeal of The Fairness Act, he's playing it with about a hundred kids synced up on the internet, because none of us can go outside.
The wrong air could kill us.
You know what won't kill us?
Trading in fantasy football.
(I mean . . . yeah . . . there's been a bit of drama as of late, but that doesn't mean the institution of trading has been marred forever, and this is the very last time I'm gonna reference that little episode, so you can all breathe easy.)
And yeah . . . I'm never getting Cam Newton . . . cause Steve is a little pissed that he now has Rick Astley playing in his head instead of the "Dylan and The Dead" Live album, not to mention the whole shower scene.
Can you guess which summer Bob Dylan and The Grateful Dead recorded that "Dylan and the Dead?"
1987 Mr. Gold. Keep up.
Anyway, the reason we as fantasy players are a little gun-shy about making trades is that the stakes are much higher than just pulling a rabbit off the waver wire. You got to give up a good player to get a good player. Plus, there's the possibility that you just gave the advantage to a player who you desperately want to see lose.
For instance, last year, I traded Mike Evans to Mr. Gold for Dak Prescot.
It was a great trade until two weeks later when Mike Evans went down. (Gold still won the league, because Lamar Jackson, but still, could've gone the other way.)
But if you're playing it safe all the time, then you're not having any fun. You're biting your nails and hoping your tight end has still got some gas left.
It's Jared Cook.
Who was born in 1987.
If you were wondering.
But . . . let say trading was as fun as I make it out to be. Which it is. Let's say, rather than crossing your fingers that Jared Cook (who couldn't have been conceived while Never Gonna Give You Up was playing on the radio because it was too late in the year) crossing your fingers that he has another good game left in him, lets say you go find some team who has two much better tight ends. Or someone who just lost their first round draft pick and needs an RB more than they need a solid TE.
Find that person and, you know, flatter them a bit. Tell them they're a good fantasy football player, yes they are, yes they are, and that you might be willing to give up Jerrick Mckinnon for Zach Ertz.
Or whatever.
It's tough, I know. I like my players more than I like large swaths my family.
My players are just much much much less disappointing.
And then there's the question of fairness.
To illustrate . . . let me take you back in time . . . to . . . oh . . . let us say . . . 1987.
Deep in the last rotting days of the Reagan Administration, while the Gipper was having trouble remembering if he'd sold weapons to Iran so he could pay for terrorists in Nicaragua (yes, was the answer), and probably having a hard time remembering the name of his second wife (Nancy), the government quietly repealed the Fairness Act.
In 1949 with radio and the newly minted television getting into everyone's homes, The Fairness Act was a pretty simple piece of legislation. It simply required Broadcasters to balance their political punditry. If they had a guy on to say that trickle down economics was awesome, then they also had to put on a guy who said trickle down economics was probably bad.
Seems fair and balanced.
Like a good trade.
Or any trade. Even a lopsided trade. You could give the trickle down economics guy a few extra minutes to make his case. Because no matter what, he's gonna sound stupid. And all the other guy has to do is say "You're Stupid." and that'd be that.
Anyhoo.
The Fairness Act was repealed to very little fanfare and nobody mentioned it. Nobody really cared. Because there wasn't money to be made by handing the microphone to the kind of people that think trickle down economics was a good idea. Even George H.W. Bush was backing the hell away from it, kind of shaking his head, and hoping that Ronnie's dementia wasn't contagious.
You know, like the corona virus.
But someone thought "Well . . . maybe if we find a drug addict on food stamps . . . I mean, someone with no moral compass . . . who hates woman and gay people . . . and won't drop an "N" bomb, but will act as quietly racist as a confederate flag . . . and put him in a room by himself . . . and let him pontificate about the moral dangers of a big government . . . how they'll take away your rights . . . how politicians fail you . . . how the only truth comes from Jesus . . . and then what if we broadcasted it . . . you know . . . now that we can?"
If you think I'm talking about Rush Limbaugh, you may be on to something.
With the Fairness Act gone the opportunity for those who read 1984 and thought it a lovely training manual opened the floodgates. From there we get the "Contract with America," Fox News, Dick Cheney (again), Breitbart, Megan Kelly, too many conspiracies to list, and finally the complete take over of people who think fairness only applies when they're winning.
And because of that, I have to worry if the hug I gave my dad on Sunday is going to kill him.
Now . . . how does this relate to fantasy football trading?
You ask.
Because trading is fair game. You get something, I get something. Maybe you didn't get all that you wanted. Maybe, there is in fact, a short end of the stick. Maybe, on paper, the trade is ugly, but hey, maybe you need a one week filler at the tight end position and you've got two top ten running backs and you're willing to part with one so that you don't have to give up on the week.
Sometimes you gotta send Hopkins to Arizona because he makes you feel bad.
Dose that make you a bad coach? Yes, yes it does.
Are you just trying to keep your head above water? Yes, yes you are.
You can alway reject the trade, but when you reject the idea of trading, when you refuse to think about the other side, when you begin to see all the other teams as your enemy, then it takes all the fun out of the rest of the season.
We're competitors . . . but we're also friends. There's only one or two weeks in the season when my winning requires your losing.
You get tax breaks for really really rich people. I get a climate change package so that really really rich people can enjoy their yachts for a few more years.
Who's the winner when we trade?
All of us.
WHAT TO WATCH:
So last week was "Baited Breath Week" All we needed was to watch some football, drink some beer, have a few good laughs, and onion dip.
Check, check, check, check, and Mmmmmmmm.
This week . . . This week is the quarter turning point of the fantasy football year. Now that we know our teams a little better, know each other a little better, what are we going to do to win?
The answer?
Come on Steve, send me that trade.
FANTASYLAND:
The Commish: 1-3 (10th Place)
Karen's Handful: 1-3 (9th Place)
So same old same old. Back to the darkness with my old friend . . . darkness. Now there is a silver lining. There is a very good chance I don't lose every single game from here on out. But between injuries and bad decisions I'm starting to think my outlooks this year are a little grim.
Doesn't matter.
Had Football.
CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS LAST WEEK:
No more Positive Covid tests:
I was so wrong The President of the United States got it. Yeah . . . blame me for that one.
I win one, I lose one:
Half right.
Drew Brees does me proud:
Please Steve, just . . . please.
Josh Gordon gets reinstated:
No . . . but CBS Fantasy Site says it's pretty unlikely. So at least there's hope. And Joshie isn't completely forgotten.
Frank Gore becomes the #7 Fantasy Running Back this week:
He was #42. Yeah. Just Yeah.
CRAZY STUPID PREDICTIONS FOR WEEK 5:
Joann's Team goes 3-2. And she screen shots the win and texts it to me.
Austin Ekeler's injury isn't that bad
Risk Astley becomes the new Texans Coach
The Washington Football Team Signs Colin Kaepernick (who, incidentally, was born in 1987)
We're all safe this week. Even you Mr. Gold. Even you.
All the love. Never gonna give you up.
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