I Get No Respect

*Note- this article pays tribute to legendary comedian Rodney Dangerfield. This shtick is his. It’s too good to be forgotten. I tweaked a few things and gave it my own fantasy football touch. I hope you like it.

I tell you I get no respect. It started when I was born and followed me as an adult. Here are just a few of the things I’ve gone through.

I knew from the start it wasn’t going to be easy. When I was born my parents gave me up for adoption. The adoption agency gave me back.

When I was a kid I had a parrot. Instead of her saying Polly wants a cracker mine said, “Polly wants a hitman.”

I tell you nothing comes easy for me. Some parents teach their kids how to swim by throwing them in the middle of a lake. Mine threw me in the middle of the lake with an anchor tied to my leg.

In high school, my friend was voted most likely to succeed. I was voted most likely to get tarred and feathered.

Even when I played football I got no respect. In practice, my teammates got chewed out by the coaches for jumping offside. I got chewed out for not jumping in front of a bus.

I tell you even my followers give me a hard time. Most analysts get their followers on Twitter.  They get comments and likes.  I get my followers when I go for a walk in the park. I get pitchforks and torches.

Even wild animals don’t give me any respect. I came across a skunk during my walk. A few minutes later he was the one taking a bath in tomato juice.

Even at a work seminar, I get no respect. Last month I gave a presentation in Hawaii about my fantasy picks.  The virgins volunteered to jump into the volcano.

How bad was my article?  I left it near some dental floss and the roaches hung themselves.

Even with the NFL referees, I get no respect.  Bill Belichick threw a challenge flag arguing I couldn’t possibly be that stupid.  The referees overruled him.

It’s not easy being me.  Even when I go to the zoo, I get no respect. I went to the chimpanzees’ section. They tried to teach me sign language.

I tell you I don’t get respect from anyone. ESPN called me last week. They said, “We want to make you an offer. We pay Matthew Berry $500,000 a year to write fantasy articles for us. We’ll pay you twice that not to write any.”

How bad were some of my fantasy picks this year? I went to church to seek forgiveness. The priest refused. He said my QB sleeper was so terrible; ten Hail Marys still wouldn’t be enough to help his fantasy team win.

I tell you, even when I play fantasy football I get no respect. One of the other fantasy writers invited me to participate in an auction draft. Normally there’s a bidding war to acquire the star players. Well, at the one I went to, there was a bidding war not to sit next to me.

I was so depressed over my picks not working out I called a suicide hotline. They tried to talk me into it.

So then I decided to jump off a tall building.  My followers called a priest to talk to me.  He said, “Make sure to use your arms when you spring forward.”

On my way home I was hit by a cab driven by one of my followers.  I yelled out, “Are you blind?” He responded, “I hit you didn’t I?”

After I was hit by the cab I had to go to the hospital.   The doctor told my followers, “I tried my best, but he pulled through anyway.”

I tell you people aren’t nice. How much do my followers hate me? When other analysts get blocked on Twitter, their followers press a button. When I get blocked on Twitter, mine use the Cowboys’ offensive line.

Even in Texas, I get no respect. A few of my followers invited me to hang out with them. They said just climb up the steps and put my neck in the noose.

I tell you it’s not easy being me. When other fantasy analysts recommend a kicker, the worst thing that happens when he misses a field goal is the football hits the crossbar. When my kicker misses a field goal, my followers hit me with a crossbar.

How bad was my kicker this year? I picked up Charlie Brown and Lucy Van Pelt from Peanuts and they were an improvement.

I tell you it’s not easy being me. One of my followers invited me to go skydiving. I said, “Hey, don’t I need a parachute?” He responded, “That would take all the fun out of it.”

How much do my followers hate me? One of them suggested a good restaurant. I figured at worst, if I was unlucky, my soup might have a fly in it. Mine had a python in it.

So then the owner apologized and gave me a complimentary dessert. He said it was the specialty of the house. I mean how can pie make a ticking sound?

I tell you, even in the criminal justice system I get no respect.  The judge gave the convicted murderer his choice of punishment, death or life in prison on the condition he’d have to read my articles.  The murderer chose death.  So the judge sentenced him to death by my articles.

I went to the Cubs game last week.  During the 7th inning stretch, instead of singing, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame, they sang, “Take Me Out Permanently.”

How ugly was my top sleeper pick this past year?  I took him to a dog show and he won.

What a bunch of followers I’ve got. I told them my favorite sleepers and busts this year. They told me their favorite methods of torture and revenge this year.

How bad was my pick, Kyle Pitts, this year? I got more fantasy juice out of the pit from the orange I ate than from the former All-American TE.

I tell you, people aren’t nice.  I went to the sportsbook and asked, “What’s the line on the USC-UCLA game?”  They said, “USUCK -10,000.”

Even in a pandemic, I get no respect. After I got infected, I went to the hospital. The doctor put the Covid virus on a ventilator.

It’s not easy being me. One of my followers sent me a chair as a birthday gift. He wrote in the note all I have to do is plug it in.

One of my junior followers sent me a kite for my birthday. He wrote in the note that it works best in thunderstorms.

Last week I saw my doctor. I said, “Doc, every morning when I get up I feel like throwing up. What's wrong with me?' He said, “Stop reading your articles.”

I just got a new fantasy football website. I asked my followers for ideas on a logo. They suggested a dog with fleas.

I tell you people aren’t nice. One of my followers is a travel agent. She gave me an all-expenses-paid vacation as a gift. I said “That’s great. Where to?” She said, “Afghanistan.”

I tell you, even in the fantasy industry I get no respect. No respect at all. The FSWA created a new category named after me. I said, “That’s great. What’s it called?” They said, “Article Most Likely to Make Someone Vomit.”

My dog doesn’t like me either.  Last night he went to the bathroom five times on my article.  Four of those times I was still writing it. My followers chimed in, “Don’t worry.  It’s an improvement.”

Most dogs beg for a treat. Mine begs for me to leave.

Even from my peers, I get no respect. Last year I decided I needed a break so I took the year off. They voted me Fantasy Writer of the Year.

And now here is the final joke of this article. I see you cheering over there. (Me shaking my head) I tell you, even with this article, I get no respect. No respect at all. So anyway, here it is.

Even in my love life, I get no respect. It took some convincing, but I had sex with my girlfriend last night. Afterward, she seemed surprised that she enjoyed it. I asked, “Why are you surprised?” She said, “I thought it would be as bad as your fantasy articles.”