Eliminating the competition and other fantasy football strategies
Pat walked into the draft room like he had a half dozen times before, his senses greeted with things oh-so-familiar: the sound of a preseason drowning out a guitar solo blasting from some unseen stereo, the sight of a delectable spread of luncheon meats, chips, and dips, and the subtle smell of cheap beer.
It was fantasy football draft day in all its glory — a day of reckoning for Pat and 11 people who had done bloody battle in the fake football trenches for nearly a decade.
Pat, like a degenerate kid on degenerate Christmas, burst into the draft room and screamed hello to the table full of fantasy footballers. Pat slapped Tony — that lug — on the back. Tony tilted forward, and with two hundred and eighty-eight pounds of dead weight, went face first into his laptop.
Pat stopped, his spine a line of ice, and surveyed the draft room. He dry heaved. There were slashes throats, knives sticking out of chests, eye sockets without eyes, frozen looks of horror. All dead. All except one.
"Hey man," Martin said with his eyes plastered to the computer screen. "Draft starts in five."