Spoiler alert: It's all downhill from here

You had your draft. You've named your team. Now Clubber Lang has the prediction. Pain.

Fantasy football is a powerless, vulnerable mind job. There are times you'd rather take a cheese grater to your head. Others when you'll have less control than the woman in the "Oops I Crapped My Pants" commercial.

It reminds me of my youth. (Read, two weeks ago.) Handing my brother the second Nintendo controller while I stood behind him with the first finishing out my Tecmo Super Bowl game. He's thinking he's calling passing plays while QB Eagles is running circles around the field.

And that's fantasy: you've got the team; someone else has the controller. And he's laughing at you.

I know, I know, this year is different. You have a new system. You drafted 'best available' every pick. No two players share a bye week. You don't believe in the Curse of 370. You eat tapas, reclining on a secluded beach, and once had an awkward moment just to feel what it's like. I've heard about you. You're The Most Interesting Fantasy Owner In The World. We're all talking about you in Stat Kingdom.

Your team is the best. Until Brian Westbrook decides to take a seat at the 1. Or DeSean Jackson releases the ball before he crosses the goal line. Or Chris Cooley scores 3 TDs in the last week to knock you out the playoffs. (Didn't happen to me, happened to Chris Cooley in the league he runs for the Redskins. Actually screwed himself over.)

So if we're all doomed for torture, why play? 

Because there's nothing in the world like a Monday Nighter when you're down 18 but have the Bears D. Because there's no Shiancoe like a Visanthe Shiancoe scoring 2 TDs in a spot start. Because there's no going back to Seahawks-Texans unless you've got T.J. Houshmandzadeh/Steve Slaton/Andre Johnson making it interesting.

Last year I got a fourth-quarter score from DeAngelo Williams while my opponent simultaneously had his Peyton Manning TD challenged and taken off the scoreboard. I went from down 10 to up 12 in two minutes. It was the best feeling you can have wearing pants.

Welcome to Fantasy Club. First rule: never talk about fantasy. Second rule: never talk about fantasy. (Seriously, your friends/wives/baby mamas would rather take an ice pick to the ear than hear about your team.)

Third rule: There are only two rules.