I played golf yesterday with a friend, his “adult” son, and his “adult” son’s friend. The two “adult” kids were in their late 20s, thus putting them solidly in Gen Y. As we were standing by the 4th green, I turned to the son’s friend, let’s call him Genny Y, to make some small talk. I said, “So, Genny, are you on vacation this week or playing hooky from work?” I was doing a little of both, but I’ve also worked my arse off for 30 years to earn the privilege to play golf on a Monday afternoon.
Genny replied nonchalantly, “Well, I play fantasy sports for a living so I can pretty much play golf whenever I want.” I understand that every generation thinks they worked harder at more taxing jobs than their progeny. The dawn til dusk farmers of the early 19th century gave way to the manufacturing worker who toiled in the hot plant, who birthed the venture capitalist like me who works in an air conditioned office with a Keurig machine.
Seriously, I get all of that. But, playing fantasy sports for a living? I never saw that one coming.