Preseason Fantasy Football: 2026-2027 League: Oberlin Heisman Club Team: Weetabix Warriors

August 30th, 2026, 1pm, Chipped Cup Outdoor Seating Area, Hamilton Heights, NYC

Beginning in the fall of 2024, my Oberlin XCTF teammates and I began a fantasy football league. Monetary incentives were not introduced, although the punishment was severe: an all day Stevie marathon (the main dining hall), from open to close. Piers lost the first season, and upheld the punishment well enough, although he was scolded by the AVI employees for attempting to hook up his HDMI to one of the plasma screen TVs so he could play Fortnite.

I didn’t expect the first season to be as enthralling as it was; I caught myself watching games I would never have even checked the score of, and the interesting dynamics of fantasy football altered my viewing habits quite a bit. I would be rooting for very precise game developments, regardless of score or team affiliation. If I had a kicker on one team, and a WR on the other, I would be actively rooting for my kicker team to push to the 40 yard line but fail on 3rd down to force a field goal. Then, I would only want my WR team to pass him the ball. I shouted, I screamed, I cried. I actively wished for my opponent’s players to suffer violent head trauma and be forced out, and if one of my players underperformed (namely Brian Thomas Jr., which we’ll get to later), I would be calling for the electric chair the following morning. The first season, I did reasonably well, but most of my players conveniently forgot that they are paid a living to play good football once I was in the postseason. Last year, my team showed even more promise, except for the fact that out of my entire starting line up, only my kicker and CMC (bless that injury prone soul) remain uninjured. I made it to the playoffs, and suffered an agonizing defeat in the semi finals; if I had only put in Trevor Lawrence for one of the two games, I would have advanced to the finals and won against Jerry’s anemic team, but alas, my gut feeling betrayed me.

This year is different. It will be glorious, magnificent, orgasmic even. Well, I hope so, because unlike last year, I went for players I actually like, versus probably more intelligent picks. I made sure to nab Lamar Jackson this time, as his pirouettes and scrambles make him the most visually interesting athlete alive, Charlie Kirk twitter reposts aside. I also grabbed De’Von Achane, a Miami Dolphin (my favorite team) who is perhaps the only saving grace to what will probably be the most appalling NFL team we’ve seen since Nixon’s resignation. I made sure to get Tetairoa MacMillan, a former Arizona Wildcat who has what seems to be a 40 foot vertical, and Trey McBride, an Arizona Cardinal that embodies almost everything I hate about Arizona (Phoenix, muscle headed MAGA meatballic men, Phoenix, Arizona Cardinals), but he does remain a Zonie. Outside of these core, things get dicey, and will determine whether I spend from now until February in a state of ecstatic hunger, or a wallowing maelstrom of despair. Jadarian Price and Terry McLaurin are my RB2 and WR2, respectively, and are a gamble; Terry is a veteran of the game, so it will be up to his knee cartilage and Jayden Daniel’s left elbow to make him a viable outlet for points, while Jadarian is a rookie, supposedly heading the Seahawk running game as they try to pursue a repeat championship. I have the Broncos defense, like last year, and Cam Little, the runt of the litter whose leg could probably power NYC’s electric grid for a week.

Season starts next Sunday, opponent Jerry. Jerry represents a bit of a wild card in our league; he is open about his lack of football knowledge, and seems to careen between absolutely shocking performances of 150+ points to miserable displays of athleticism, bleeding down to the 70s. So, my prayer rites this week will be a combination of hoping for Lamar to return to godlike form, and for Jahmyr Gibbs to be hospitalized within the first snap. So, reader, if you have no stake in the outcome, pray for the meteoric rise of the Weetabix Warriors, and for the tragic demise of everyone else. Then you can just Venmo me.

—JB, 8/30/2026