Of all the fantasy formats, dynasty is my favorite. It scratches a deep, childlike itch — the joy of building something all your own, like Legos or friendship bracelets or a glorious, slightly disturbing Potato Head chimera made from the mismatched limbs of various members of the Potato Head family.
I’ve always loved accessorizing this impulse to create with the dramatics and ornaments of football. I’m grateful dynasty fantasy football gives grown men in their forties a socially acceptable way to do it.
I don’t know. I may be overstating that.
But we can agree it is better than shopping for a new sheet rock saw at Home Depot while wearing shoulder pads and eye black, am I right?
THE EVOLUTION OF A LIFELONG COMPULSION
When I was a kid, I’d sprint around my yard like a caffeinated squirrel, narrating highlights from fictional football games I made up as I went. I’d launch a football over my head, dive for dramatic fingertip grabs, and juke phantom defenders (who, frankly, were terrible at tackling, IMO). After sunset, the game didn’t die; the yard gave way to a felt banner designed to look like a football field laid across the top of a closed toy box: a perfect surface for my G.I. Joes to continue with epic comebacks, invisible pylon dives, and making the crowd — my warm whispering breath — go nutballs.
As a teen and young adult, I digitized my obsession through dynasty and franchise modes in video games. I’m almost embarrassed by how many hours I poured into that phase. Eventually, I sold my game system, much like an addict dumping his stash. I needed to be present in real life with my wife and eventual family and couldn’t be trusted not to burn entire weekends turning the Arizona Cardinals into the team of the 2000s. And, no. It couldn’t stay in the attic, tucked away in some banker’s box; that would be like Chris MacNeil putting Regan’s Ouija board in the top shelf of the coat closet and bubbling to herself, “That ought to do it.” No, it had to be gone — like, exorcism gone.
To ease the transition, I started a home dynasty league to fill the void. I recruited my wife and fourteen others — the best fantasy players I’d ever played with (and in case you are wondering, yes — that includes the Ivy League-educated Mrs. Irby, who is tied for the most championships in league history). We called it Champion of Champions, and it’s still my absolute favorite league, even if last year I blew it in the finals and Shaun K. finally had his Steve Young moment at my expense.
A LITTLE CONTEXT
Today, this league is something of a relic, though the very gangster elder millennials and Gen-Xers in it (all of whom still have full, luxurious heads of hair) would like you to know that the fashions you treasure are all things we already did decades ago and later turned our backs on. But proceed with your giant pants.
We only just abandoned standard scoring — standard scoring! — in favor of quarter-point PPR, with a bold leap to half-PPR scheduled for next year, assuming we all remember our league passwords.
The format is . . . unique? One QB, one RB, two WRs, one TE, a kicker, and one flex. The idea was to mirror real-life NFL formations — six skill guys, with a kicker bravely stepping in as the seventh offensive starter. This balances out our seven IDPs, which nobody pretends to fully understand but everyone agrees makes us feel as if we know ball.
It’s technically not even a dynasty league as much as it is a 15-keeper league with a non-snaking, 10-round draft that includes both rookies and cut veterans. Keepers are held indefinitely, without cost or penalty. The draft runs in reverse order of finish, and picks can be traded up to three years out, which is great for everyone but the commissioner who tracks all of this in a running word file.
For years, under standard scoring, the ideal flex was a second great RB. You could reliably win the flex by merging two RBs from well above the trendline; the closer to the positional apex, the better. I once had Ezekiel Elliott and Le’Veon Bell, and later Christian McCaffrey and Jonathan Taylor. These were the fantasy equivalents of driving a Lamborghini while eating lobster.
But as we shift toward half-PPR, that calculus may change a little. The edge for high-volume backs will shrink, and I may start favoring elite WRs at the flex instead. At the very least, they’ve drawn closer to even.
In standard leagues, flexing a second good RB is a distinct edge — the Lamborghini and lobster combo. But as scoring moves closer to full PPR, WRs begin to gain footing, especially if you can plug in one from above the pictured “flex zone.” Of course, that requires rostering no less than three great WRs, and I only have two: Brian Thomas Jr. and Rashee Rice. If I were to want to take advantage of this paradigm shift, I would need to acquire at least one more from above the flex zone.
ONE OF THE MANY TIMES SHAWN CHANGED MY LIFE FOREVER
Before I ever wrote a word for RotoViz, I was a longtime subscriber and loyal podcast listener — the kind who emailed questions to Shawn and Colm and then combed through each ensuing episode with the intensity of the King James translators, hoping my heroes might say my name.
Spoiler: they did. Like, three times. Total. Probably by accident.
Like many of you, I became a much better dynasty player thanks to the mystical teachings of RotoViz oracles like Shawn, Blair, and my current boss over at Legendary Upside, Pat Kerrane. By 2020, I was fully converted to the church of Zero RB and had made it my mission to win the flex in every draft. I thought I had RotoViz pretty well figured out. But then, as Shawn tends to do, he lobbed another truth grenade into my cozy dynasty bunker.
