As I surf through these pages of pure fantasy the world becomes as it once was.

Within these dozen football magazines there are no stories of Waco, Texas or Columbine, Colorado. There are no reports of former offensive lineman overdosing on heroin or articles about overpaid football players who father four kids with three different women out of wedlock. Here there are no news items concerning pollution, prejudice, Unibombers, terrorists, fighter planes, starving children, scams, incurable diseases or deadbeat fathers.

Within this pretend pigskin paradise…fantasy exists as we wish reality could.

For me these publications are indeed magic. They incite the argument of Steve Young vs. Brett Favre much the same way we once discussed who got the better deal of trading a Willie Mays baseball card for a Mickey Mantle one. The magazines ignite my preseason hopes of netting Terrell Davis as my number one pick, reminiscent of that long ago tradition of the recess buck up which if won, netted a school’s best player. These preseason treasures get the pigskin juices flowing again. They represent the beginning of football season meaning back to the fun of browsing websites, rapping in chatrooms, scanning the wire services, reading the magazines and putting together a fantasy team. They’re about late summer turning to fall, two a day practices, overachieving free agents, roster moves, wide eyed rookies, screaming coaches, and a new football campaign.

Now I know the skeptics will arrogantly complain that these magazines present nothing more than a accumulation of outdated worthless amateur trash. Perhaps, but no matter how inaccurate or simplistic they are, the collective group signifies something far more meaningful and symbolic to me. They resurrect memories of how those overly romanticized "simpler times" used to feel. Step into these publications and instantly become that kid again. My fondest childhood memories involve shooting hoops in the driveway and pretending…"The ball goes to Russell, over to Cousy, out to Sam Jones at the foul line, cross court to Heinsohn, back to Cousy. He stops. He pops. Two!"…Or "Yaz going back, back, back. He’s up against the wall. He jumps. He’s got it! What a great play by Carl Yastrzemski in left field!" (Hey, I’m from Boston. You may fill in your own home town’s heroes.)

For me fantasy sports are now what reality sports used to be. Where once I could pretend that the athletic world represented a perfect universe that was a safe idealistic escape from the insanity of society around me, today I know better. Perhaps one reason I realize this is because I’m older and wiser, but the truth is the sport world has changed. Tragically, real life has infiltrated the sanctity of professional athletics too much. We used to loyally cheer hometown players from one year to the next, but today with athletes and their coaches routinely jumping to the competition, the makeup of a team is in a constant state of change. In essence, we no longer have a love affair with our favorite local performers, but instead are rooting for whomever is wearing the laundry of the franchise of our choice at that moment.

If you think the face of sports hasn’t changed ask the fans of the former Los Angeles Rams, Houston Oilers, or Cleveland Browns. Question New England Patriots followers who still haven’t gotten over the departure of Bill Parcells or the Green Bay Packers faithful now that Mike Holmgren jumped ship. Today even the coaches get arrested for drunken driving or carrying handguns. It seems a player is arrested every other week for possession of some illegal substance or soliciting a prostitute. The Super Bowl is tainted with one nasty story after another, be it about a participant approaching an undercover police officer for illicit activities or a head coach and owner fighting like spoiled children about who should "buy the groceries."

Fantasy football, however, still remains locked in the black and white section of the movie Pleasantville. It reminds me of those long gone days when a baseball shortstop awoke and after seeing the warm sunshine declared, "let’s play two." It brings back the era when pro football was played on the grass outdoors in the rain, sleet, cold or snow for coaches like Lombardi, Landry, Allen, Brown, and Grant. Remember the innocence of the National Football League when Pete Rozelle refused to shut down the games after JFK’s assassination? Of course the NFL was wrong, but that attitude speaks volumes on how the league viewed itself as the surreal escape I’m referring to. Remember the simplicity of the six-team NHL? How about the days of those old NBA doubleheaders? These lost items represent the flavor fantasy sports project into my life today, which the real thing has left behind.

In fantasy football I am able to live out whatever childhood dream of being a superstar athlete that might still go unresolved because, let’s face it, I wasn’t the greatest young talent. Too often I see frustrated little league coaches stroke their own ego by attempting to push their kids too hard to win. Fantasy sports is a safe harmless way to play out this peculiar drive many of us (including myself) still carry. The fantasy manager is in charge of which heroes are keyed into his spreadsheet. He is sole boss. There are no holdouts (except the ones instigated by real humans in the actual sport), no failed drug tests, nor any whining crybaby’s.

If during your life you are fortunate enough to find something which reminds you of your childhood and simpler times you are indeed lucky. These publications represent the onset of this year’s carefree journey for me. Surfing through it reminds me of the feeling when I received my first Sporting News Baseball or Football Guide over thirty five years ago. It arouses certain senses from childhood like the long June days when I was allowed by my parents to play outdoors until dark even though it was a school night. It recalls carefree times like kickball contests, endless whiffle ball games, family cookouts, Sunday afternoons at the beach, and sledding during a school snow day, It conjures up recollections of the 1963 Bears-Giants championship game, the Ice Bowl in Green Bay, Joe Willie’s big upset, Franco’s reception and countless other memories.

What more could this man/child ask for?

Todd Finestone is a staff writer for Fantasy Football Mastermind. His monthly column "FINE STUFF" can be found at several different fantasy football related sites on the Internet. Please click HERE to offer a "Thumbs Up" or "Thumbs Down" on this article. Thank you for taking the time to offer your valuable opinion.