If I lived how I believed, I wouldn’t have drafted Ray Rice on my Fantasy Football team. But I didn’t do that. I do believe, however, in confession. So here’s convicted me trying to do something right and telling you that I messed up.
I didn’t need a TMZ video to tell me that Ray Rice hitting his wife unconscious was a bad thing. I knew it. I even disagreed with his lax 2-game suspension. But all of that was forgotten when I saw what was a top 5 player a year ago still available in the 6th round. So I pounced. “It was a bargain,” I said to myself. But even my friends knew I was in trouble.
A little later that night, I confessed to the feminist that is my wife. I immediately flashed back to when I confessed to my wife the animal lover after drafting Michael Vick in the year after his reinstatement. I got a talking-to.
Fantasy Football is a silly game, and it’s fun. But what my wife reminded me, the lesson that I had forgotten, was that Fantasy Football is a tool to boost public popularity in it’s players. It’s brilliant actually. Since playing fantasy I’ve been more interested in the sport beyond my Cleveland misery (good thing, too). It’s bad, however, when the player we’re lauding is a symbol for something atrocious.
We’re all consumers. Whether we’re conscientious about it is another story. This little convicting moment, while it may seem silly, makes me think about all the stuff I “buy”. Do my clothes indirectly support child labor? Is that fresh piece of fruit provided by the sweat and tears of an underpaid migrant worker? Do we even want to know?
You see, the problem with me and all of this isn’t ignorance (as if the video added any more flagrancy to open knowledge that Rice knocked his fiance out), it’s our preference for ignorance.