Oh good – another long season of pretending fantasy football is interesting

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for fun. Ask anyone, in fact, and they’ll say: “Sure, Will’s quite a fun guy” – or words vaguely to that effect. What’s more, I get that we don’t all derive joy from the same things. I don’t begrudge anyone for somehow seeing thrills in Formula 1 or even chuckling out loud to Mrs Brown’s Boys. Each, as they say, to their own.

But then there is fantasy football. Last year more than four and half million “managers” entered the Premier League’s official game, with a chap called Ben Crabtree topping the leader board come May. Bravo Ben. #winner.

Fantasy sports, in which ordinary punters place themselves in charge of an imaginary team selected from real players, pre-date the internet. But they have exploded since the web took over our lives, to the extent that in 2015 it was estimated that more than 50 million people across the US and Canada were participating in season-long competitions. That’s about 15 per cent of the population.

Needless to say, the vast majority of those who play these games are men. Estimates in North America put the proportion at 80 per cent, although it may be even higher given that it’s not unknown for men to set up an additional account in the name of their girlfriend or wife. This enables men to imagine that they are involved in a joyful shared endeavour – but also, crucially, to test players they’re not sure about without undermining their first XI.

Fantasy football indeed fulfils many men’s ultimate fantasy: achieving footballing success despite having little to no actual talent for the game. While supporting a club and watching one’s heroes in the flesh provides a visceral buzz, there is an absence of control. Playing fantasy football, being in charge of a team, means taking on the role of the gaffer, moulding the team in your own image.

And if all this were idly done, taken lightly as a bit of a laugh, I’d be all for it. But it’s not. It becomes as serious as if these pretend managers were actually responsible for the performance of their players. There are leagues within leagues as friends battle it out against each other. And worst of all, there is the chat.

I cannot recall anyone ever coming into the office on a Monday morning and announcing proudly: “Hey everyone, I had an absolutely amazing weekend on Sonic the Hedgehog: perfect tactics, most points ever!” Yet when it comes to fantasy football teams, earnest discussion of how the latest real matches have affected the fortunes of roleplaying managers is virtually de rigueur. You’ll have heard the kind of thing:

Manager 1 – “Yeah, so I made quite a big decision to bring in Marcus Rashford last week; he looked so good in training and I just knew he’d do the business on Saturday. Sure enough, he bagged me a hat-trick.”

Manager 2 – “Ah wow, good shout. I’m having a bit of trouble with Olivier Giroud to be honest. I think I’m going to have to let him go; he just seems so lethargic on the ball.”

Lads, here’s the thing. You’re not actually managing these players! When you line up Nick Pope in goal rather than David de Gea, Pope isn’t motivated to pull off a series of blinding saves because he knows he has the backing of John Smith from Aylesbury. Picking Mo Salah as captain isn’t canny, it’s bleeding obvious.

And just think of the time wasted on this posturing. While economists apparently spend every waking hour wondering why the productivity of the British workforce is going down the swanny, the answer is staring them in the face – perhaps literally, since they may well be so busy worrying about whether to partner Harry Maguire with Kurt Zouma or Virgil van Dijk in their “FFL” that they aren’t actually doing any proper work.

In case you’re wondering, yes I have played fantasy football – I’m not immune to the charms of a computer game (though given the choice I prefer Chuckie Egg). I have a vague recollection that Clayton Blackmore was in my team towards the end of his time with Middlesbrough – naturally therefore that might be one source of what fans of FFL might interpret as my apparent bitterness. Of course the truth is I’m not bitter at all – because it’s not real!

So good luck for the season ahead, you fantasists, you. But please don’t bang on about your magic touch in the transfer market when you’re filling up your actual cup, at the actual water cooler, in your actual office, in the real world.