In the spirit of the season, I’ll forgo the usual mentions of Jeff and. Lipstick. And. Brazilian waxes. In the. Same. Sentence. And I certainly won’t mention his penchant for getting nogged-up, donning apparel from Vickie’s Secret and a Santa suit, and caroling in the near-buff.
This week’s column focuses on promoting peace and harmony in the world by making the best out of a less than perfect situation.
Don’t forget that Quinn-mas is coming up (February 2nd); cheques should be made payable to Quinn Almighty, and for those of you wanting to honor me with clothes, my collar-size is 16.5, my sleeve is 36, my inseam is 34, and my waist-size is 33.
When Good Things Come To An End
A new job, a new baby, a new relationship, waning interest in football, life’s craziness… There are numerous reasons to leave a fantasy league, and lets face it, since fantasy football is supposed to be fun, when it stops being fun, that’s justification enough for dropping a league.
My wife and I are expecting our first child in April, so I’ll be bowing out of a few leagues, and while the impending birth of my son strikes me as a sound reason for leaving, things often get messy when you’re dealing with human beings; having a perfectly valid reason for withdrawing from a league doesn’t prevent hurt feelings, anger, and/or general unpleasantness. It’s entirely possible that a man withdrawing from a league because he’s moving to a third-world country to provide medical care to blind, starving, and crippled retarded children, and won’t have internet access, could draw the ire and resentment of an ex-league mate. Like so much in life, people’s reactions are beyond your control; ultimately, all you can do is make your best attempt to exit with class and dignity.
Recognizing the inherent messiness of human interaction, it seems to me that you should assess both the efficacy of your final words, and the impression of you they’ll leave behind before announcing your departure. For instance, if you’re in a poorly run league with high fees, owners that consistently send you Mason-Crosby-and-Tim-Tebow-for-Calvin-Johnson-and-RG3 trade offers, and a thread that consists primarily of owner X calling owner Y a megalomaniacal butt-nugget, you have to ask yourself if it’s likely that your explaining to the league why it chows on rancid rat testicles will have any effect. My guess is that it won’t. What is much more likely to happen, is that your ex-league mates will scan your screed, identify it as an attack on their persons, America, mom, apple pie, marriage, and the Constitution, and that the league thread will then turn into a forum for people who believe that (your name here) is a Stalin-loving, fascist, jack-hole.
Coming-to-Jesus moments in which you tell an anal-dwelling butt-monkey that he’s an anal-dwelling butt-monkey, and he falls to his knees in teary contrition are like threesomes, friends-with-benefits offers from the hottie next door, and winning the lottery: they happen somewhere to somebody, but not to you. If your league-mates don’t already understand that the league is a soup-sandwich wrapped in a turd and served with zit-juice, you won’t be able to convince them of the fact. Thank the barely-literate simians in your league for “all the good times they afforded you,” and move on. No one ever said, “That guy was a total butt-sprout, he said ‘thank you and good luck’ before he left.”
Fantasy football is a small world; we visit the same websites, post in the same forums, argue in the same chat rooms, and if we stick around long enough, end up playing in the same leagues. There’s little to gain by burning bridges, and you invite unnecessary aggravation and conflict into your life when you do. This is true ten-fold if you’re playing in an office league, family league, with friends, or in a small-town league. The fact that fantasy footballers represent the next stage of human evolution notwithstanding, there’s no need to create real-world bad juju over virtual hobbies. Always leave a league quietly, with grace and poise, and as early in the off-season as possible.
There are, of course ways to demonstrate class as you leave a league that extend beyond basic courtesy and decorum. You’re under no obligation to defend your decision to leave a league to anyone, however, offering a succinct explanation, even if it is only a canned explanation, is a simple and easy way to communicate to the other owners in your league that you’ve given them some thought, and you’re aware your actions affect them.
Finding someone to replace you is another thoughtful and classy move, and though you’d be hard pressed to argue that a departing owner is required to do so, it’d be something of a clown-statement to say doing so isn’t recommended. The minimal effort you expend in finding a replacement goes a long way toward leaving your former league-mates with a favorable impression of you, and you never know what doors (fantasy football and otherwise) those impressions might open in the future.
 Nota bene: I didn’t say they’d “read” or understand it.
 A part of my soul died as I wrote that—I RECANT! FANTASY FOOTBALL IS LIFE! LONG LIVE QUINNISM!
 Verily, I say unto thee, there is a special place in hell for people who leave leagues in the weeks prior to, or during the season, and while I don’t want to spoil the surprise, it involves blasting an Ethel Merman album on a loop, a simultaneous, eternal Richard Simmons marathon showing at max-volume, and a hirsute, naked gentleman with halitosis slowly sawing at your man-parts with the serrated edge of an old grapefruit spoon.
 Thank you, Bryce Harper.