Patience, Prevarication, and Points: A Shakespearean Fantasy League Tragedy

“How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?”

These words, spoken by Iago in Shakespeare’s Othello, seemed peculiarly apposite this weekend. Stung by the trauma of the auction, I had felt in need of urgent action to undo the harm I had caused. Whether due to design or inept prevarication, I did not make any transfers. I stuck with my 15, and they repaid my faith.

Saturday Highs

Due to the limited amount of transfers in our league I decided to stick with Guglielmo Vicario away at City, and he stunned me with an early clean sheet, and my unwanted Brennan Johnson popped up with another goal. (I have possibly underestimated his potential this season.) Igor Thiago’s half way flick-on gave him a manual assist in an otherwise flat performance. Then news came through that Ben White was injured and Jurrien Timber — who I had slated as a non-playing problem earlier in the week —was starting. Few could have predicted the momentous impact Timber would have in all teams that own him. Two goals —tripling his career tally for Arsenal in 22 minutes, an assist and a clean sheet makes11 points… until Arteta gets all trendy by replacing full backs with 25 minutes to go. Viktor Gyokeres also slams home two goals — including a penalty. From flop to fabulous.

Sunday’s Drama

Sunday brings more joy. Daniel Munoz bags an assist and James Tarkowski a clean sheet despite his best efforts again — thank you Jordan Pickford. Even Leny Yoro scores — downgraded to an assist-—with the referee ignoring his blatant foul.

I had achieved a fabled 30 point weekend. I still had two players to go on Monday. What could possibly go wrong?

Shakespearean Reckonings

It was whilst following the second half of Newcastle v Liverpool that I began to reflect on the true meaning of Iago’s words. Not when Gordon gets sent off leaving my Ibrahim Konate facing a 10 man Newcastle with no striker, leaving me sniffing the fragrance of another surely inevitable clean sheet. No, it was when somehow, Newcastle scored, and then Conor Bradley came on and Liverpool — now with two of my defenders — promptly conceded another from a long punt downfield. An unlikely 5 point swing in no time at all. Of course, in Othello while Iago is presenting himself as a wise ally offering the very best of advice, he is in fact the master manipulator, deceiving Roderigo and exploiting his trust to advance his own malevolent plan. It is dramatic irony, appropriately enough for the cruel mistress of Fantasy League.

Reality is beginning to strike me. News is filtering through. Ben White was being rested to ensure he is fit for Liverpool — so Timber remains back up choice. Ait Nouri was injured, and may lose his place. Bradley may be back but Liverpool’s defence looks a liability and I already have a £6million red lamppost in Konate. Watkins is past it, Thiago not very good and Forest in turmoil off the pitch, which can’t be good for Gibbs-White.

The patience Iago asks for is not to help Roderigo, but to ensure his downfall. My passive inaction was not the result of the wisdom of patience but the random luck of foolish prevarication. In his plays Shakespeare consistently urges action over inaction – “Nothing can come of nothing”, said King Lear. I need to use the bard to inspire decisiveness, not fall to the false flattery of fantasy football points.

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves”

The players in whom I was most certain in the auction — Watkins and Evanilson — have delivered nothing. My most expensive defender and midfielder are my lowest points scorers. The points I gained this weekend nearly all came from players I was on the verge of offloading. My successes are not down to good judgement, but mistakes. My failures, on the other hand, are surely of my own doing. I have been blinded by flashes of Fantasy League flukes. My auction picks are betraying me — by doing well when I thought they would be rubbish, and vice-versa.

So what now? The next two weeks promise to be exciting and perhaps decisive in the season ahead, and I can’t afford to be fooled time and time again. Dare I sell success in Timber and again trust my hitherto appalling judgement? Or do I remain passive and at the mercy of the ravages of time as others act and snatch the best players away? What fresh injury horrors will befall my team before the international break? What stars may blow in through the transfer window to tempt me — and my war chest of …checks bank … er, £0.3 million? What chaos and trouble will come? Shakespeare may, in retrospect, be wrong. I have no control over this.

“Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.” Act III, Scene 2, William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. Now, whatever happened to him?