Thursday, April 23, 2009

Why We Like the NFL Draft in 2000 Words or Less

It's that special time of year again. The birds have returned from their migration. Grass is turning a lush green. We even have a beautiful, spontaneous red tulip that popped up in our backyard overnight. Yes, April is a blessed month.

It's also the month that features the one event that officially gets us banned from the house: the NFL Draft. Yes, nothing drives Mrs. Supercomputer crazier than the NFL Draft. Even thinking about it drives her insane. Even if we are nowhere in sight, if she knows we are watching it, she will feel a resentment that is instinctive.

She doesn't understand the thrill of names being read by the NFL Commissioner at 15 minute intervals. She doesn't understand why we get so excited, knowing full well that maybe half of the players picked in the first round of the draft will not be employed by the NFL within five years. She really doesn't understand why the volume has to be on in between picks. It drives her out of her gourd.

Maybe it's the name: draft. "Draft" never has a good connotation. Ever. It either means that someone's being forced to go to war, a big paper is due tomorrow, or that the house is too chilly.

But in truth, the event itself does seem unenjoyable to the outside viewer. Even a large swath of football fans don't enjoy the draft. It's too slow. No one knows who these guys are. And it's probably the most famous 95% of these players will ever get.

But we fucking love the NFL draft. Frankly we're not even sure why, so you can imagine why we get booted from the house every April. There we are, stammering for a reason why we want to spend the next six hours of our lives sitting in front of a TV watching what amounts to a glorified press conference. It's like watching C-SPAN for the NFL.

And just as C-SPAN attracts only the wonkiest of all political wonks, so too the NFL Draft attracts the most football starved.

So as we stand there struggling to come up with a comeback to, "it's just fucking names being read off a fucking card," we realize it's time to pack up and go. So why do we subject ourselves to a humiliation akin to that of Fabrage Eggs junkies? Here's why:

It's April. And there hasn't been any meaningful football in four months. And there won't be for another four. The NFL offseason is killer. It's forever and a day. We know that football season seems interminable when it's going on, but it's really not. It's condensed to every Sunday for 17 weeks (we've heard that some teams actually play past Week 17, but we're not too sure about that).

So this is our one gigantic orgy of football information that we consume like animals. That's what it is above all else: information. Information about teams, information about players. Just one non-stop stream of football-speak for hours and hours. And then a pick is made. And you go, "wow! I can't believe that took him!," and then it's back to football information.

We're begging you: give us this one day of total self-gratification in the midst of this barren football desert. That's all we ask. We work so hard. Please?




Fine. I'll be at the bar for the next six hours.

No comments: