The Year Was 1989
The year was 1989.
We were in New Port Richey, Florida, and to be clear, none of us were really from New Port Richey. When I say "we" im talking about our fantasy football league. Like a lot of people there at that time, our families had migrated down from the Northeast, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, chasing something. Sunshine, opportunity… maybe just a change of scenery.
What we got was old Florida. Humid Long Island.
Heat that sat on your shoulders.
A town full of retirees. Bugs as big as cell phones.
A handful of tired motels that had clearly seen better decades.
When we got a mall in the ’80s, we thought we had arrived. Chess King anyone?
When a Chili’s opened? That was a full-blown social event. Not even joking.
And at the time, fajitas weren’t just food, they were experiential dining.
Sizzling plates, smoke in the air… people turning their heads like something important was happening.
It felt like something important was happening.
We just didn’t realize what it was yet.
What was actually forming, quietly, underneath all of it, was something much bigger.
I had already built great friendships with a group of guys from school. Cut from the same cloth. Wild, fun, gritty, underneath it all kind. But what we were starting, without fully understanding it, was something that would become part of who I am… and more importantly, part of what I value most.
That was the beginning of our fantasy football league. The "Fanatics"
And what started as a simple idea has turned into one of the longest continuously running fantasy leagues you’ll find anywhere on planet earth, pushing 40 years now.
A common thread that’s kept us connected through every stage of life. Its been the social glue of our lives. (that will be it's own blog post)
So many stories over those years:
So much fun.
So many laughs. Laughing like when you were a kid, you know that type?
More inside jokes than anyone outside the league could possibly understand.
A few championships, no one has more than I do (shout out to Nick for being tied with me)
and, of course, a few absolute duds. Injuries are real.
But more than anything…
there’s the draft.
It started simple.
A couple hours on a picnic table behind Melon’s restaurant, now long gone, which, for those keeping score, was basically a Hooters knockoff, clever name, not a great operation (and yes, Hooters itself started just down the road in Clearwater).
No apps.
No internet.
No live scoring.
Information was scarce!
USA Today was our edge.
The Friday weekend section? Absolute gold!!
For scorekeeping, we’d wait for the Monday newspaper delivery at 4am like it was Christmas morning, grabbing legal pads and calculators, manually tallying stats like lunatics.
Lineups were called in over the phone.
Sometimes collect. (Richey Rebels, always keeping it classy.)
We listened to stats on the radio.
Or called hotlines to get catches and yardage updates.
And when Sunday night rolled around…
Man…
When you heard Chris Berman’s voice on ESPN Primetime, your heart rate changed.
That was the moment.
That was everything.
You would watch that back to back to back to back.
Over time, the draft evolved.
A few hours turned into a day.
The day turned into a golf outing.
The golf outing turned into a full weekend.
And now?
Now we rent a house every year.
The whole league. We stay together.
Three days
Some of us have moved away, myself included, but every year we come back to Florida. Same place. Same group. Same energy. No one misses. Ever. Under any circumstances.
It’s a three-day collision of:
Trash talk
Poker
Two drafts (auction and snake)
Custom gifts, a fanatic tradition (another blog post for another day)
And, occasionally, some questionable live entertainment in full costume by the league members
(Purple Rain has some high notes. I’ll leave it at that.)
I’m telling you right now:
Draft weekend is Christmas morning when you were a kid.
You wake up and your blood is already pumping.
There is nothing, and I mean nothing, like doing it live.
And here’s the thing most people miss:
It’s not just the game.
It’s the rituals.
Every league has them.
The way you draft.
The jokes you tell.
The way you announce picks.
The traditions that don’t make sense to anyone else.
That’s your league’s culture.
Just like your family.
Just like your workplace.
It’s how you show up when you’re together.
And that uniqueness, that’s the magic.
If I could give you a few pieces of advice:
Treasure the draft. That is your family Thanksgiving/Christmas holiday.
Document everything (within reason, dont get anyone arrested or fired).
Keep records. Keep data.
Because the trash talk is always better when it’s backed by facts.
And trust me, memories fade.
Especially after your 6th cocktail.
But pictures?
Pictures don’t forget.
They’re gold.
Review them. Add to them. Build your history. Share them each year to make y'all smile.
This blog is about that.
It’s about the sport that gives people a reason to gather…
to compete…
to laugh…
to stay connected, by a game that keeps the thread of friendship alive
Because fantasy football was never really about football.
It’s about the league.
The guys.
And the history you build together, one season at a time.