The stats are in, verified and etched in digital stone. You can’t blame injuries. You can’t blame the umpires. And you can't blame Stephen Dank, no matter how much Thymosin beta-4 he shot you up with.
Below lies the SportsMaster historical statistics — a beautifully preserved record of dominance, delusion, and the occasional statistical miracle. Some of you built legacies. Some of you built character. Some of you built an impressive streak of almost getting it right.
And some of you are Nathan.
As always, the numbers don’t care about your feelings.
Scroll responsibly.
A beautiful, brutal summary of every bold call and catastrophic brain fade.
Proof that, at least once in your life, you were statistically competent.
A running tally of every time you said, “Lock it in,” just before the universe politely disagreed.
Proof that sometimes recklessness pays off… and sometimes you just accidentally guessed correctly with extreme confidence.
Stripping away one-hit wonders and exposing whether you’re a consistent tactician… or just riding that one miracle year like it’s folklore.
The solid citizen stat. Not flashy, not legendary — just steady little reminders that you occasionally knew what you were doing.
The mythical beast. Rare, glorious, and immediately brought up in every future argument. One of these buys you credibility. Two makes you insufferable.
Some call it dedication. Others call it the ultimate form of self-flagellation — a proud, public display of being a glutton for punishment. Either way, the commitment is admirable.
Ocho levels of irrelevant statistics. The participation ribbon, the coaches award. If you end up on here, it's because you're not in the record books, you're in the appendix.