The game of fantasy football is a combination of skill and luck. Even if you are an expert player who has deftly outmaneuvered your opponents and won your league three straight years (like, oh, say… ME), you cannot ignore the role luck plays in this great game of ours.

In fantasy football, even a perfect draft, savvy trading, and flawless lineup moves do not guarantee success. Although you exercise complete control over the creation and management of your team, you are powerless when it comes to controlling its fate on Sundays. When the Wheel of FFL Fortune stops on an ACL injury to your best player, there's not much you can do. This capricious element is part of the game's charm. It also happens to be the part of the game that makes grown men cry for their mommies.

There are numerous humbling, and seemingly random, ways of losing a fantasy football game. Here are a few of Lady Luck's whimsical fantasy football tricks.

THE MONDAY NIGHT MELTDOWN

It is early December. Fantasy football crunchtime. You and your arch-nemesis, Bob, are tied in the standings. Bob's team, the Mighty Bombjacks, have scratched their way to a 9-3 mark. Your squad, the Meatball Heroes, has also cruised to the same record. The winner will make the playoffs. The loser is out.

Included in your three previous losses is the indignity of a loss to Bob back in September. And indignity is the right word. You see, Bob doesn't do anything with dignity, least of all winning at fantasy football. Let's just say that if the Mighty Bombjacks were an NFL team, they'd be kicking off from the 15 yard line a whole lot. Picture the most horrid, inappropriate, taunting, flag-worthy touchdown dance you've ever witnessed. Now picture it being performed by a man with a beer gut and no sense of rhythm. Now change the venue from an end zone to your local sports bar. That's Bob.

Anyway, back to your matchup with Bob. After Sunday's games, Bob holds a slim 2 point lead over your team. But Monday Night Football, where slim fantasy leads go to die, awaits. The matchup is Chiefs at Broncos. You are starting Jason Elam. Bob is starting. . . no one. You need one measly field goal from Elam, or perhaps three extra points, to send Bob packing. Lock city. The last time Elam couldn't manage 3 points at home, he was kicking for Hawaii's Mighty Rainbows. You invite the whole league over to witness the carnage. Many leaguemates accept the invite (free beer!). Bob is conspicuously absent.

On the opening drive of the game, the Broncos score a touchdown. Elam knocks the PAT through. Ahhh. You allow a small smile to crease your lips. No, the fat lady hasn't even warmed up yet, but you find yourself imagining the pain Bob is feeling. Your smile gets bigger. Early in the second quarter, a Broncos drive stalls deep in Chiefs territory. You assume the posture of a king at his coronation. You sit back and relax, arms folded, as the Broncos line up for a 32 yard FG. The eyes of all five of your guests are upon you, their new division champion. Then the action is focused on your TV screen. Snap is good. Placement good. Kick is up… he pushed it wide right? What? Did that really just happen? How can you do me like that, Jason-missing a chippie? The Broncos are not heard from for the rest of the first half, but your stomach is. If you listen closely, you can hear it saying "WTF is going on here?"

Fast forward to late in the third quarter. The Broncos still have that single touchdown, and are trailing 12-7. They drive into Chiefs territory again. All the way down to the five yard line. It's third and goal. Plummer back to pass, but a blitzing corner takes him down. And the ball is loose? What? Chiefs have it? Ummm… Your guests all begin to mumble in unison. Losing to Bob has now become a genuine possibility. And your stomach rises above the din, clearer this time: WTF?!

It is now halfway through the fourth quarter. You no longer feel like a king awaiting his coronation. You feel like someone in the waiting room at the proctologist's office. The Broncos have yet again pushed the ball deep into Chiefs territory. Third and goal again. Plummer gives to Portis, who cruises in. Fine. You'll take the tie for now. You receive a couple of pats on the back and a high five or two. You look up at the screen and see . . . Plummer under center? Where is Elam? They're going for two?! There's a collective groan in the room. Your stomach chimes in. The Broncos conversion attempt fails. They're leading 13-12. You don't care that the move makes real-life sense. All you want is a fantasy-life win. You give Shanahan your version of the Mile High Salute: your middle finger.

The game effectively ends when KC turns it over on downs a few minutes later. The Broncos take over in Chiefs territory, but KC doesn't have enough time-outs left to stop Shanny's crew from kneeling away the game clock. There will be no more Elam. As ABC cuts to commercial, they show the obligatory cold-weather sideline shot. A Broncos lineman's head is steaming. So is yours.

Your friends file out of your apartment. After a two second pause on the other side of the door, you hear them burst out laughing in the hallway. You click the television off and lay on the couch. You feel worse than you did the day you found out that Santa Claus does not exist. The phone rings. You know who it is. You let it ring. The answering machine picks up. Your apartment is filled with the sound of Bob's screaming "Who's ya daddy?!?!" He's out of breath. He's been dancing.

The next day, you trudge into your office. Your head is still steaming like an NFL lineman's. You turn on the computer and check the league website. Bob has posted a picture of Jake Plummer's futile attempt to recover his own fumble. Your head spontaneously combusts.

GETTING "SPIKED"

In redraft leagues, draftable football players generally fall into three categories. First there are studs, who generally post nice games, with occasional clunkers. Then you have the second tier players, who somewhat consistently produce solid numbers. The other category is your typical player. Imagine the typical player's yearly performance as a chart. The X axis has 16 slots, one for each week in the season. The Y axis is the player's point output. The chart for these players is a series of low outputs, with one or two spikes-games where he inexplicably went nuts. These spikes cannot be predicted with any accuracy, but they win fantasy football games.

Imagine the Meatball Heroes are playing a middling team with an unimpressive lineup. Among the unimpressive players in your opponent's unimpressive lineup is Corey Bradford. You've just cracked your first beer and have settled in to watch Sunday's games when Fox cuts to a Game Break. James Brown pops onto your TV screen, closely followed by the image of Corey Bradford streaking down the sideline, finishing off an 82-yard catch-and-run for a touchdown. "But… Corey Bradford hasn't done anything all year," you say to yourself. "Why now?" Because he's playing you now, that's why.

You still haven't finished that first beer when Fox cuts away again. This time Bradford's flying down the other sideline with the ball. No, it's not an inverted version of the same highlight. This one went for 61 yards. Bradford prances in and spikes the ball. How appropriate. You've been spiked too.

LOSING TO LARRY

Every league has a Larry. He shows up for the draft armed only with Cliff Charpentier's magazine. He drafts players just because he's heard of them-they were stars back when he last followed the NFL in 1997. He makes two free agent moves a year-he picks up Fred Lane and Rae Carruth--"just to have them on my roster." In short, this guy is clueless and has no chance. But, as the saying goes, on any given Sunday. . .

And the fantasy gods have given us this particular Sunday, which happens to be the Sunday that the Meatball Heroes play Larry's team. It is also the Sunday on which the stars are properly aligned for Larry's 1-8 team. His collection of garbage miraculously posts a respectable week when Favre, Emmitt Smith and Terrence Mathis have big games, knocking off the Heroes. Of course, Larry has no idea that he's pulled off this upset (he goes shopping with his wife on Sundays), but that just makes it sting even more. You are a laughingstock, at least for one week. Curse you and your given Sundays, fantasy gods.

HEY, THOSE ARE MY POINTS!

Shaun Alexander is the Heroes' workhorse. He reports to work every week and has been clocking in with about 100 yards and at least a touch or two, very reliably. Your main man Shaun. The Seahawks have the 49ers this week and you're expecting typical production from Mr. Lunchpail. The game kicks off and Shaun reports for duty, ripping off a 14 yard run on the first play from scrimmage. At the end of the Seahawks first drive, he's got 27 yards in the bank. Right on schedule, workhorse.

But on the second drive, lined up behind Hasselbeck, your workhorse looks astonishingly small. Shaun? Hello? That's not Shaun, that's Mo Morris. The camera shows your meal ticket sitting on the sidelines, not looking very happy. He's wearing a baseball cap and his hamstring is wrapped in ice. There is no Santa.

Making matters much, much worse, this little twirp MoMo is gashing the Rams D every time he touches the ball. Ugh, make it stop! It's tortuous. But it's like a car wreck, you just have to watch. My Little Pony finishes the game with 27 carries, 184 yards and three TDs Those are my points!

PAGING AL ROKER…

This Sunday figures to be a good one for the Meatball Heroes. The Saints are at Pittsburgh and your squad has Brooks, McAllister, Burress, Horn and Kris Brown. Yep, it's going to be raining points at Heinz Field today, and 90% of them will be Meatball points. You flip your TV on, and it's raining all right--Pittsburgh is engulfed by a monsoon. The field is barely visible on TV. Everyone is sloshing around like kids at a water park. Gaining more than two yards is virtually impossible. The goal of each play from scrimmage is not turning the ball over.

Why did nobody tell you about this? How does a monsoon manage to evade the attention of the Weather Channel, ESPN Countdown, all internet outlets, and even Jillian Barberie? Jillian said it was partly freakin' cloudy in Pittsburgh just 45 minutes ago! This must be the handiwork of the same FFL gods who handed Larry a victory. You manage a combined four points in Pittsburgh and lose to Bob. Bob then ridicules you for not checking the forecast.

GETTING SHAKESPEARED

TD or not TD, that is the question. . .

You're entrenched in a very tense, close game, which you are agonizingly following on your league page's live scoring and your television, which is showing the Saints game. You erupt like a fist-pumping Vesuvius when Brooks lobs one to your man Horn in the back of the end zone. Touchdown Heroes! Ahh, the touchdown, sweet nectar of FFL life--six hard earned points.

But as the Saints line up for the PAT, the ref runs onto the TV screen waving his arms. The little red hanky is on the carpet. You know what that means. Replay time. And with it, the possibility that six points will be snatched from your dirty little touchdown-grubbing hands. The replays show that Horn could have been bobbling the rock as he went out of bounds. And Markbright is taking his time in the peepshow contraption. Not good. Now he's sprinting to the middle of the field. He flips the mic on. "After further review, I have determined that the Meatball Heroes and their sorry putz of an owner do not deserve that touchdown. The ball will be placed at the 18 yard line, and the Meatball Heroes will lose by 4 points." Thanks a lot, Markbright. Go back to Foot Locker.

SO CLOSE, YET SO FAR. . .

You're trailing in a close game, but not by much. You could use a touchdown. Preferably a long one. The moment you finish thinking this thought and turn your attention to your TV screen, Brunell hits Jimmy Smith, a Meatball Hero, on a short crossing pattern. Then the opposing safety collides with the cornerback, and Smith has no one between him and the promised land. Divine intervention! Take it to the house Jimmy!

Smith crosses midfield and kicks it into (his version of) overdrive. You jump off your couch and start whooping like a guy at the track whose $50 exacta is about to come in. But as Smith crosses the 30, your jubilation fades as you discover how slow he is. Ugh. Run Jimmy, run! As Smith crosses the 20, there are still no defenders on the screen, but you know they're lurking. When leadfoot gets to the 15, a defensive back appears. Jimmy, realizing a straight line route isn't gonna cut it, turns and heads for the right pylon. The defender does the same. C'mon Jimmy! Doesn't he know that your fantasy football game hangs in the balance?

As they approach the goal line, Jimmy Smith and the defender look like they're in one of those Discovery Channel specials filmed on the African plains. Jimmy Smith is the gazelle. The defender is the lion. And we all know who wins that battle. The defender takes down his prey at the one yard line. No touchdown. Even in a yardage scoring league, we all know how devastating this is. It feels even worse when the Jags stuff it in on first and goal. Hey, those are my points! You lose your weekly matchup by a few points.

FANTASY FOOTBALL LOSERS ANONYMOUS?

In the aftermath of Jimmy Smith's failed end zone dash, you begin to examine your addiction to fantasy football. The game is largely luck, you reason. If the goal line was 3 feet closer, you'd be in a chipper mood right now. But you're not; you're miserable. "If fantasy football results are this fickle, why do I put myself through this torture every week?" you ask. And you can't come up with an answer.

Okay, that's it. Starting next week, you vow not to let football games, the outcomes of which you can't control, run your life. You start to feel a little better. You skip the Sunday night game and watch a rented movie. You don't even check the score. You find your head is remarkably clear. You don't consider a single free agent pickup. When the movie ends, you actually think about your Monday workload.

Perhaps you've turned a new leaf? You get into bed, fall asleep . . . and in your dreams. . . begin breaking down next week's matchups. You're hooked. Face it.

Famed gambler and admitted addict Nick "the Greek" Dandalos once said that "the next best thing to playing and winning is playing and losing." Fantasy football addicts know this statement applies to them as well. Why do we subject ourselves to the torture of losing fantasy football games in evil, unfair ways?

Because we love it. Enjoy the season, fellow addicts.