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Every year my dad talks me into managing a Fantasy Football team.
I’m pretty sure he does it to ensure that he’ll have at least a few easy wins. I call my team, “Pastor Disaster,” partially because I find the rhyme amusing and mostly because that accurately describes my team’s performance.
Regardless, I subject myself to an annual series of beatings as a display of sacrificial love for my father.
That, and the off chance that I’ll actually beat him and get to rub it in his face.
Love ya, Dad!
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