Chicago Bears placekicker Robbie Gould, right, practices on Saturday.
Associated Press photo
Published: Saturday, August 18, 2012 at 7:28 p.m.
Last Modified: Saturday, August 18, 2012 at 7:28 p.m.
Really, really hate him.
Nothing personal, mind you. For all I know, the former NFL running back who announced his retirement in March is a fine young fellow, a pillar of the community, a noble gent who helps the elderly cross the street and always leaves a 20 percent tip.
If you ask me, Barber hung up his cleats three months too late.
Back in December, the Bears and Broncos were locked in an overtime duel at Denver when Barber took a hand-off on third-and-7 and coughed up the ball as Chicago was driving into field-goal position.
Barber's fumble inside the 35 cost Bears kicker Robbie Gould the opportunity to boot the game-winning field goal.
Gould happened to be my fantasy team's kicker. And without those three points Gould presumably would have made, my fantasy season was ruined.
Denver took over and drove in position to kick the game-winning field goal ? thus keeping the ball away from Gould's foot, giving the NFL another week of Tebomania and, most important, allowing my opponent to squeeze out a narrow two-point victory that knocked me out of the first round of the fantasy football playoffs and prevented me from eventually claiming the championship.
Please, no nonsense about the possibility of Gould hooking one wide left, or a high snap throwing off his timing. Don't give me any what ifs about a blocked kick, or a snowball flying out of the stands and distracting the Bears' kicker.
In that situation ? overtime, game on the line, a chance for Chicago to remain in playoff contention ? Gould was as good as ... well, gold. In 2011 Gould was 28-of-32 on field-goal attempts, including 6-of-6 from 50 yards or beyond. Against the Broncos he had already nailed a 57-yarder, and in the rarefied air of Denver's Mile High, he was a lock to again split the uprights.
Just hang on to the freakin' ball, Marion!
Instead, Barber blunders, Broncos win, Bears lose, I'm bounced. And sure enough, the next two playoff rounds I'm forced to watch from the sidelines as my fantasy team outscores all others still alive, including the eventual Super Bowl champ. (Advice: Once your season's done, don't torment yourself by pretending you're still playing.)
The championship trophy and the ? ahem ? rewards that came with it should have been mine.
But all I'm left with is this column, bellyaching about the fantasy title that got away.
Jim E. Mora said it best: Coulda, woulda, shoulda.
Such is the state of mind for the fantasy football owner.
You walk a delicate line between euphoria and despair: Your top running back breaks one for a 50-yard touchdown; minutes later he breaks a leg.
Your life is consumed by too many hours on the computer as you peruse the waiver wire for a suitable replacement and reject silly trade offers from fellow owners. (Donald Brown and Felix Jones for Jimmy Graham? Uh ... no.)
You spend Sunday with one eye on the game and the other fixated on the TV crawler at the bottom of the screen awaiting your players' stats. A twisted gut results because your quarterback threw for zero touchdowns, 123 yards and three interceptions.
You submerge into a deeper funk when you realize you benched a receiver who caught 10 passes for 134 yards and two TDs.
But nothing compares with the one boneheaded play that defines your season, the one you can't let go, the one that stays with you like a festering boil and keeps you muttering through the offseason until the teenagers in your house tell you to shut up already, dad.
I hate Marion Barber.
Doug Amador can be reached at doug.amador@pressdemocrat.com.
Source: http://www.pressdemocrat.com/article/20120818/sports/120819535
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