This is about as dark and freaky as our sanitized modern American mainstream culture ever openly admits to being. These are bloodless corporate enterprises using advanced scientific and economic metrics to measure the material worth of human flesh down to the half-pound, the 16th of an inch. Which would be horrifying and morally repulsive under normal circumstances, but when added to a strong rooting interest in your home team, can become for certain people one of those guilty pleasures you just can’t give up because you enjoy it so much, like jerking off while hanging yourself in the shower.
Which, uh, brings me to the point I was eventually going to make about my own relationship with the draft…
So my Men’s Journal piece on the NFL draft is out. I take the NFL draft very seriously. Nobody is allowed to talk to me during what is now the three days of the draft. My only food during this time is saltines and pure rain water. When it is over — and this part is true — my eyes literally sting from looking at YouTube clips of obscure running backs from the WAC and the PAC-10.
The article leaves out a description of my near-foolproof system for guessing Bill Belichick picks. I get at least one and usually two right every year. The actual system, however, is too nerdly for me to disclose publicly.
Anyway, I return to earth on Sunday.