The Super Bowl went fairly well for me this year, and for my quest to be John Dunfee, fantasy expert. As luck would have it, my real job placed me in Chicago this week. Accordingly, I planned to arrive Sunday and take in the big game with real live Bears fans.

Of course, I forgot the time change and nearly missed the kickoff. The situation was made worse by the fact that my friend decided that giving me an address for the party would be too complicated. Instead, I was to tell the cabby to let me off at an underpass just off the exit from the highway, where someone would apparently meet me.

So of course I found myself standing alone under an underpass (or is it under an overpass). I don't know precisely how cold it was, but I did hear the following morning that the current temperature was negative nine, with a high expected that day of negative seven. I began to wheel my luggage back and forth in an effort to stay warm. When my friend finally met me, she said "I had no idea the underpass was so large." 

Anyway, I immediately asked whether I had missed the kickoff. When I was told that it hadn't happened yet, I came about as close to clairvoyance as I have at any point in my life. "Good. I wanted to be sure I got here in time to see Devin Hester return the opening kickoff for a touchdown." Two minutes later, I was a soothsayer and a hero.

I was asked to make further predictions, but I decided it was best to stay silent. I didn't do this to save the feelings of the assembled Bears fans; I did this because I don't really have any idea what I'm talking about.

The fun thing about the party was that these people would actually play the Bears' fight song after every score. It was a good time for a while. But once we got deep into the third quarter, the mood turned very somber.

For most of the room, it was the outcome of the game that was the problem. But for me, this is always a tough time of year. I don't really care for the NBA, so the period between the Super Bowl and the start of Spring Training is the one great dead period in my sports year. I get confused; I don't know what to do with myself.

Because my wife is a normal rational person, she finds my obsession with fantasy sports a little odd. However, my behavior during this part of the year frightens her most, as I briefly get obsessed with Ivy League college basketball. I don't know why. I need to focus my energies somewhere.

But there is hope just a few short weeks away. I won't be in Florida for any of spring training this year, but I think back to very good memories of this time of year. The old days when you could wander to the practice fields and meet the players for an autograph and a chat. When you could walk up to a Lonnie Smith and joke about the time he threw the ball backwards, or make subtle references to his past drug use. Or the time my son dropped his sippy cup into the bullpen.

Most of all, it's the time when the despair of the post Super Bowl period gives way to the brief moment where all thirty teams can view themselves as contenders. When the weather is always nice, pitchers throw nothing but fastballs, and jobs can be won and lost on the basis of forty at-bats against pitchers throwing nothing but fastballs.