Rarely will I greet a Gameweek deadline with such relief. As international breaks go, this has been torrid.
We’ve come to expect a rough ride. The mating season for misdemeanours, speculation and rumour, us Fantasy managers always seem forced to shuffle our way through a corridor of uncertainty.
Now, after probably the most tumultuous journey for many seasons, a chink of light is almost in sight.
Nobody can accuse us of being bored. I can barely remember a break that has served up such a string of events: Diego Costa’s groin, Eden Hazard’s knock, Philippe Coutinho’s scan amidst an examination of his bouffant, the fruit of Theo Walcott’s loins.
Even a now irrelevant Wayne Rooney has attempted to get in on the act and upset the Fantasy Football applecart. Nice try Wayne, but your hangover was the least of our worries.
Inwardly, I have laughed and cried in equal measure at the reactions to said events. The anguish and frustration, the humour in the face of adversity.
At times, I’ve had to resign to darkened rooms and put Enya on repeat, but I’ve emerged realising once again that the level of passion and obsession surrounding our own corner of the beautiful game is there to be admired.
It’s what drives us to be here at this moment in time. To be deliberating and weighing up options that would seem pointless and trivial to many, but life game changing to us.
I’ve already typed and spoken many many words on the Hazard scenario. So much so that the ScoutCast audience were baying for me to move on so they could get to Jonty’s goals imminent table. Things got that desperate.
I’m not content with how things went. How a minority were frustrated that a price rise was missed as a result of a kick on the calf.
I get it, and I will be lobbying for change, but I stand by my view: Hazard had a knock and nothing in yesterday’s press chat with Antonio Conte convinced me otherwise.
As I’ve mentioned, the flag in question is designed to signal caution to the masses but, in doing so, it trips the ambitions of a hardcore minority.
Sadly, the rise and fall of the Fantasy Premier League market remain, by choice, a dark art with unwritten rules and fluctuations.
Some almost have it nailed, and our expectations are based on their models but, in reality, the rules can be tweaked and warped at any time. There’s no service level agreement packaged with the FPL price rises and, for now, if we go forward with a sense of entitlement, we face further anguish.
But enough. I can almost see Jonty squirming once again, willing me to press on with business.
That business is Gameweek 12 and, ironically, it arrives with both Hazard and Coutinho newly installed in my squad.
This morning I’m left staring at two of my international break tormentors, while Walcott paces my virtual dressing room like an expectant Kenneth Connor in Carry on Matron.
I’m left pondering whether there will be a coup de grâce to come. I’m almost resigned to it; braced for a final blow.
I’m willing 11.30 to pass so that my hands are tied and the uncertainty, rumour and gossip end once and for all. Then everything is out of my control, and I’m dependent only on Melanie Walcott’s contractions. I’ll settle for that.
