Picked Last in Gym Class

Did anyone else watch the NFL draft this weekend? Yes, even all the way over here in Kenya, I too was lucky enough to tune into the ESPN extravaganza. What I enjoy about the show isn’t watching all these young men who dropped out of college so they could earn a few dollars playing a singularly stupid sport sitting around like ten year olds waiting to be picked to be on the popular kid’s team. No, I love the loser fans who show up at the event and who scream their approval, or better yet, their loathing of their team’s selection. “How could you chose that college dropout over the *other* college dropout?!”

I realize that part of the problem is that I simply don’t understand the game of football. I bought a book by Holly Robinson (of 21 Jump Street fame), which taught me that the cute guy in the middle is not called the “throwy guy” but should instead be called a “quarterback.” Shortly after that page I got bored and started reading a romance instead. Next season, I will pick it up again. Probably.

My biggest disappointment about the event this year was Brady Quinn. When we first tuned into the live event, he was expected to go in the top five and looked very proud of his cute self. Heck he had a leg up on most of the competition: he actually had a degree from the university he attended! He even had a translucent girlfriend sitting next to him who looked very pretty and proud to be Mr. Top Five Draft Pick’s arm candy.

Only the Notre Dame alum didn’t go to the Cleveland Browns as their first round pick as everyone had predicted. In fact, every time one of the commentators suggested Quinn would be a good pick for a team, the cameras would pan to his increasingly sad face. By the time pick ten rolled around, even Miss Pretty was starting to look unkempt and embarrassed to be with the poor boy whom no one wanted on their team.

The draft had arrived at the point where I was booing every team that didn’t pick the poor sweet loser. Finally, the 22nd overall selection of the draft rolled around and we found out that Dallas had traded their pick to the turncoat Browns. After watching them ‘dis my boy the first time around, I refused to watch them hurt Quinn again – so I went to bed and asked Hubby to fill me in on the outcome of the draft later.

It turns out that Cleveland felt bad for insulting the cutie pie the first time around and wanted to show him some love twenty picks later. If I were him, I would have said no and used my degree to find myself a job that required more from me than 4 hours of work once a week for six months a year. Although when you put it like that…

Any way you look at it, my personal first round draft pick Brady Quinn is a winner. Cleveland is just lucky they realized it before it was too late.