This story was produced in partnership with Empowerment Avenue, a program that supports incarcerated writers.
When Week 3 of the NFL's preseason ended, the prison day room became a war room. Incarcerated individuals who would usually be engaged in card games, class work, and light-hearted conversations were engaged in serious study, hunched over notebooks, Sports Illustrated magazines, and Football Index Cheat Sheets. Everyone was getting ready to draft their players for our fantasy football league.
People enjoy fantasy football for lots of different reasons, whether it's a love of the game or the drive to put together a team that out-performs their competitors. But for those of us behind bars, fantasy football involves a specific kind of nostalgia, reminding us of the bonding experiences we shared with family and friends before prison.
Our league began when Stephen Marshall and Derrick Myers went door to door in the Washington Corrections Center living units, looking for football fans. Before the day was over, nine of us were eagerly standing around the prison tables, ready to select a card that would determine where we would land in the draft order. Then it became a chess match between nine individuals—who would pick which players first, and who would be available in the following round?
Joseph McClain, who's been incarcerated for over two decades, used his first pick to select running back Christian McCaffrey. Wide receiver Tyreek Hill was taken with the fifth pick by Marshall, the league co-commissioner. As the draft unfolded, people slapped the table and sucked their teeth in frustration when their dream players were taken before they had a shot.
Perhaps the most controversial pick in the draft was made by Dwuan Spraggins, who selected tight end Travis Kelce in the first round, ignoring quarterback Jalen Hurts. Spraggins defended his pick by arguing that Kelce put up wide receiver numbers last year and that there were very few good tight ends in the NFL. Once Kelce and Sam LaPorta were selected, Spraggins said the rest of us would be left with "bum picks" at that position. His reasoning was met by some with good-natured laughter and mockery, as a few joked that he didn't know how to play.
When Week 1 of the NFL season began, the prison day rooms were packed with smiling prisoners anticipating what teams would win, and whose players would perform the best. The steel tables were topped with sodas, snacks, and prison nachos—Doritos, refried beans, cheesy rice, jalapeño peppers, and squeezed cheese purchased from the prison's commissary. Throughout the day, incarcerated football fans shouted and clapped, while others winced and hung their heads as a sign of defeat. Prison can be bland and feel lifeless, which leaves many depressed and apathetic, but Sunday morning kickoff brought unity and excitement into the lives of folks who struggle with the daily adversities of being incarcerated.
"Everything about prison is tough, but being away from your family and losing loved ones is the hardest,” said McClain, who recently lost his mother to a sudden heart attack. “Playing fantasy football encourages me to pay attention to certain players and teams, which reminds me of what I would do with my family as a kid. For me, fantasy football is more than just keeping up with the stats and watching football games. It's more like bonding with the people I've gotten close to during my incarceration. These people are like my family."
Myers, the league’s other co-commissioner, agreed. "I enjoy playing fantasy football because of the sense of unity it creates among us who are incarcerated. Being able to bring people together and laugh, crack jokes, and watch football knowing that everyone is dealing with their own struggles is a breath of fresh air. As the person who calculates the scores at the end of the week, I also love watching the healthy drama around the person who wins the weekly prize.”
Brandon Thomas, who seems to be the most self-assured of the group, said, "Part of the fun is that everyone thinks they're a professional general manager." With a huge grin on his face, he continued, "But no one wants to admit that I'm the best!"
As the first week of the 18-week season ended, the points were tallied. Spraggins, who had been laughed at for selecting Kelce in the first round, had beaten half of the participants in our fantasy league, including myself. Every one of his players had performed well—except Kelce. But Spraggins grinned and brushed off those who asserted that his high score was luck. We were all competitive but in a friendly fashion.
Eager to continue, we made our way back to the steel table, the place we call our war room, ready to adjust our rosters. As a result of injuries and bad performances, we dropped some players and picked up others, all of us trying to increase their scores the following week.
Although we were all locked behind bars, struggling in our own ways with being in prison, fantasy football had given us a reason to laugh, crack jokes, and be human. It was an opportunity for us to breathe and have fun, until we could make it home again and create these types of bonding moments with our families.
