Dynasty, in Theory: Loving the Work

Back to school. ❤️

— Joseph Fasano (@Joseph_Fasano_) August 24, 2026

 In 800-1000 words, write a deconstructed version of the typical fantasy football column. Use multiple short sections so I can easily interleave my own thoughts in a clever counterpoint. Where possible, call attention to the genre's forms and their general function.

Thinking...

Thinking...

Thinking... 

The Cold Open

Every column needs an opening hook, usually a sentence that promises stakes it cannot possibly deliver. Something like: "Championships aren't won in Week 1 — but they can absolutely be lost there." This sentence has appeared, in some form, in roughly one hundred percent of fantasy columns ever published. It works because it sounds true, costs nothing to write, and lets the author stall for two more paragraphs before saying anything concrete.

The Bulleted "Quick Hits" Section

At some point, the columnist realizes actual analysis is hard, so they switch formats. This is the bullet-point section, and it exists to let you skim. Notice how each point is short, declarative, and slightly overconfident:

• A running back you've never heard of is "trending up." No specifics on why. Just vibes and a beat writer's tweet.
• A star wide receiver is "worth monitoring." This means nothing has actually happened, but the columnist needed a fourth bullet.
• "Buy low" on someone who is bad right now. The implicit bet is that mediocrity is temporary and your patience is not.
• "Sell high" on someone who is good right now. The implicit bet is that excellence is also temporary, which, to be fair, in the NFL, it usually is.

Bullet points let the writer cover five players in the space it would take to properly analyze one. That's not a criticism — it's the format's entire purpose. You're not here for depth. You're here for a fast scroll before your lunch break ends.

My oldest dynasty league is entering its 20th season, though I've been playing with some of the guys for 25. We've had three openings in the last decade: one because a leaguemate married a woman with young children and he needed to spend more time with his stepkids, and two because leaguemates unexpectedly passed away. Last week, my friend George casually informed me that his kids have graduated college; we started playing fantasy football together before they were born.

As we all grew old together and our non-fantasy-football lives took up a larger and larger share of our time and attention, I added a rule to the league: when setting your lineup, you can declare backups, and if a starter doesn't play that week, you get the backup's score instead. This rule quickly became my favorite, and most of my leaguemates agree. It goes a long way toward mitigating any advantage based on the order games are played in. It lets us set our lineups whenever we want, and with confidence.

This rule is also, for some, reproachable. My friend Dan suggests conditional lineups are like training wheels and we're all too experienced to complain about making early-week judgment calls or to not understand that sometimes bad luck happens and the ball doesn't bounce our way. This is correct.

I always reply that conditional lineups allow us to schedule our hobby around our lives rather than our lives around our hobby. This is also correct, and yet—despite having the appearance of a rejoinder—it is not a rejoinder. Dan is not saying that sometimes the order the games are scheduled doesn't disadvantage one manager over another, or that sometimes we aren't able to wait for the last minute to get all the information before making decisions.

Dan is calling on us to love the work.

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