Dear Proton League

Dear Proton Fantasy Football League,

Is he coming down with a cold, or is that coughing I hear the sound of Brett choking his fantasy football season away?

It's the most wonderful time of the year for a three game skid.

Now, to makes matters worse, I'll undoubtedly have my hat handed to me by a team starting half its players. Oh bollix.

This is all I have, people. This league is all I have in life. Please let me make the playoffs. Take pity. I beg of thee. Truly, I do.

Sniffle.

Listen, I don't really care if I make the playoffs, but there's this other guy who none of you know who follows the progress of my team, and, I don't know how to put this so I'll just write it, he's dying. It's IDS. He could go at any moment. His last wish is to see my team make the playoffs and win the fantasy championship this season-- if he can bear to live that long through all the pain and suffering and torment. Last night, I visited him in the hospital.

He curled his forefinger, gesturing me to come closer.

So I did.

His voice was pained and weak, so weak--barely a whisper, like a whistle on the wind--and when I finally nestled my ear just above his mouth, I wondered if he would even have the strength to utter what might amount to his final words.

"Get--"

"Yes?" I said, in a frantic whisper, praying he could clutch upon the purchase of consciousness long enough to speak his mind.

Face ashen, skin alabaster pale (much like my own, except due to sickliness, not Irish heritage), he struggled to say, the words crackling out, "Get off my arm. You're sitting on my arm."

"Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry. Your arm is so waif-thin because of the, you know, IDS, that I couldn't even feel it."

Um, where was I? Oh right. Later, a few hours later, actually (or was this a couple weeks prior? I can't remember), he told me the only purpose left in his life was to see me hoist the Proton league's fantasy football trophy above my head. I didn't have the heart to tell him we don't actually hand out a trophy, but the long and short of it is that my friend, suffering from Imminent Death Syndrome, would truly love to see me win this thing.

I couldn't care less, frankly.

But my friend, oh my friend he cares so much about this trifling league of ours. I think we owe it to him to make his wish come true.

What say you, folks?

Will you make my--err, my friend's--dream come to fruition?

p.s. I think everyone else in the league should pony up the dough for a trophy, too. You know, just for some physical evidence of my glorious triumph. My friend would so very much love to see me hoist a trophy is all...