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Article: The 2006 NFL Draft Write-Up
By: Alex Anderson

THE 2006 NFL DRAFT WRITE-UP

Every year for no apparent reason other than the draft, we get together on draft day and crazy shit goes down.  Real shitty!  I mean, real crazy!  Here is what happened this last year, as recorded by me, mostly.  What you see here is basically an annotated version of what can be found in the multimedia section.  Or more directly, right here (page 1) and here (page2).

Pre Draft

-          Myself (Alex), and Brady and Jordan all get ready for the NFL draft.  We get all of the necessities:  a shit-ton of beer, a shit-ton of cheese, relish, food to put the condiments on top of, and a really shitty grill via my parents.

-          While driving around we listen to the AM radio geniuses talk about how the draft will play out.  One thing is certain, the Vikings are looking at a deal to trade up for Reggie Bush.  That prediction along with a couple of left over jokes from the whole love boat Vikings scandal and we turn it the dial to FM to search for some Sheryl Crow and Kenny G….. TO STOP THE PAIN!!!

-          We settle in at Jordan’s apartment and attempt to get the grill in working order.  Our frustrations come to a peak when the fucker won’t light and Chris Berman talk simultaneously.  Again, we were reaching for the Kenny G.

11:29 AM

-         16 minutes into the draft P(aul) A(llen) and (Jeff) Dubay are already wrong.  The Vikings, (for reasons which were completely beyond me and Brady) did not fucking trade up in the draft for Reggie Bush.  Prediction:  With Chester Taylor instead of Reggie, the Vikings will have trouble going 16-0, but will earn a bye through the first round of the playoffs with a still respectable 15-1 season.

-         First beer down the hatch.  That means that I drank a beer.

11:37 AM

-         To keep us entertained during the repetitive commercials, we made sure that Jordan was nearby.  As was our unanimous assumption, he would not disappoint… After viewing a part movie trailer for Mission Impossible 3 slash part win a trip to Italy commercial, he commented, “Ethan Hunt won an all expense paid trip to Italy.”  When I stopped laughing I drank the gulp of beer that’d I’d been trying to keep out of my nasal passages for the entirety of my laugh attack.  Damnet Jordan.

-         What would happen next I could only label as a, “FIASCO.”  Don’t fucking ask me why.  Anyway, it appeared, that we left the relish, ketchup and cheese at the nearby Cashwise grocery store.  After checking my vehicle and finding nothing, I call the store and my worst fears are confirmed, I’ll have to back track 2 blocks in order to get the left behind food.  I maintain that the bag in question was the responsibility of anyone but me.  But that doesn’t change their minds any, and at this point I realized that I was going to have to do physical activity on Draft Day (called D-Day by many), which is something I swore I’d never do.

11:50 AM

-         I down my second beer and a commercial is here at last, and while I would have loved to have stayed and watched some television that didn’t include Chris Berman commentary, that seemed out of the question.  So I did the only logical thing, I stood up, I flipped off Jordan and anyone else in the living area and started walking to the store.  Now, take note that it may only be a couple of blocks away, so its not the Tour de France… then again, I wasn’t doped up in order to make the round trip seem possible either.  Things looked bleak for me and my _insert euphemism for dick_.

12:00 PM –ish

-         I’ve now retrieved the food and bought a pack of cigarettes.  It was time to head back for Jordan’s apartment.  On my way out of the store, a middle aged woman who looked like she had given a lot of head in her day says something like, “You behave during that party of yours now.”  Apparently, during the first trip to the store, we had talked to this same leather-skinned reptile of a Harley woman.  I manage to spit out, “Yeah, have a good day” or something, but it didn’t matter, because I said it as if I was in the middle of taking a really big shit that wasn’t supposed to physically fit through my asshole.  She saw the cringe on my face and I saw the hurt in her eyes.  I managed to break a feeble old heart on this trip… Yeah, I did break some skank’s heart.  I felt my second wind coming on!  I was ready for anything!

-         That’s when I lit up my cigarette and walked about 5 paces due south, before I saw Jordan’s white truck coming at me through a dark sky.  That God sure does have a sense of humor; I needed an angel dressed in white and in a way… well, I got one.

12:36 PM

-         I decide to take my first piss.  Why did I write this down?  No idea.

12:53 PM

-         I don’t remember who said it and for some strange reason, I didn’t record it on the draft log.  By default I’m going to have to attribute this little nugget of suck to Chris Berman, but don’t officially discount Mel Kiper Jr. or Tom Jackson from the list of suspects in this verbal crime against humanity:

“Jay Cutler… is a football player!”

1:02 PM

-         Jordan learns how to use clock.  For the life of me, I can’t remember what in the hell that is supposed to mean or lay reference to.  So remember children, never split an infinitive or end a sentence with a preposition; that way you’ll be where the good sentence construction is at.

1:26 PM

-         Dennis Green reveals how his new training camp format will help choose a starting quarterback for their offense.  “Leinart and John Navarre will battle for #2”  We miss you Denny.  No wait, I was thinking of Denny’s.  Mmm, their meals are like grand slams to my tummy tums.  What the fuck?

1:34 PM

-         Crack open the fifth beer.  I didn’t record numbers 3 and 4.  I must have been busy watching the draft.

1:43 PM

-         With all of the losers on ESPN giving up to the minute statistics and insider information I was becoming nauseous; the draft segments that included draftees walking in weird clothing on a fake catwalk didn’t help anything.  Something had to spice it up.  Enter Michael Irvin.

“Daunte Culpepper has to worry about the ligament in his head.”

1:45 PM

-         It’s here.  The reason that I didn’t sleep the night before what-so-ever.  The moment that I knew could be the key to either a not so horrible winter of football or a horrible terrible ass licking shit in my cereal kind of winter of football.  The Minnesota Vikings’ First Round Draft Pick With Capital Letters On The Beginning Of All Of The Words Except For this One. 

-         I announce to the room:  “If they draft a receiver, a Frisbee will, I guarantee, fly from my ass.”  As time would show, the Vikings made the obvious selection of Chad Greenway at linebacker.  I was happy for my team and what was ultimately more important to me personally, my ass.

1:47 PM

-         Jordan has taken over grilling duties and he gets excited when he experiences something for which he’d been waiting way too long: he burns himself on the grill.  His immediate reaction (after taking hand away from fire quickly), “It was awesome!”

2:35 PM

-         I decide to shotgun my 6^th beer, because… why not?

2:40 PM

-         Say what you will about Berman, but he definitely earns that paycheck with all of the funky cool nicknames he comes up with for people.  At the time, this was his latest creation: Lawrence “Boney” Maroney.  And we were singing, “If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad. If it makes you happy, then why are you so sad.”  And I hope that if you don’t get that one you look it up, because I just spent like 10 minutes on Google looking for a fucking recognizable lyric to write there.

4:30 PM

-         I finish my 7^th beer.  Things have slowed down, including me.

4:52 PM

-         I make a poor decision.  I decide to eat two left-over brats.  Ugh, yeah I definitely began to slow down.

5:00 PM

-         Finish brats and realize while writing that statement that I need to take a piss.  Immediately.

5:05 PM

-         Get in argument with Brady over who is closer to heart attack.  Neither my speech or debate tactics are up to par for this argument.  It was a doomed endeavor.

Brady:  My cholesterol is really high.  Therefore, I am close to a heart attack.

Alex:  I’ve had heartburn for the past 4 years.

Room:  *hysterical laughing*

- 5 minutes later -

Room:  *hysterical laughing almost subsided*

5:19 PM

- Again, no known culprit, but some pretty obvious candidates for.. well, ESPN Retard.

“Being in the NFL will help him.” – Commenting on Lendale White

7:35 PM

-         I came up with a nickname for Albert Pujols: Albert “Winnie the Pooh” Jols.  Guess who inspired me!

Next few hours

-         I laid on the couch and watched television.  I think other people did the same, but being mostly asleep, I can’t be positive about the events that transgressed.  I do have what looks like a drunk 4 year old child’s attempt at writing like big people at the end of the actual Draft Log transcript.  It reads as follows:

10:15 PM

-         Passed out like a little girl.

11:21 PM

-         Brady’s ass on my face.

I wish I could have been awake for that 11:21 entry.  Who ever was writing had to be doing so with Brady’s ass on his face.  That would have been awkward to see if it was Jordan writing, but just imagine if it was Brady!  I don’t even think that’s possible!  Wait… something’s fishy here.

Conclusion:

It was the best of drafts, it was the worst of drafts.  Drafts, they make you chilly during winter and refreshed during summer.  Drafts, they call beers drafts.  Drafts, they put normal civilians into the army and make generations of crippled bums who want sympathy, because of the draft.  Drafts, they are for sports.  Drafts, they spell “Stfard” backwards, which looks a lot like Stafford.  Which is a type of loan, that a banker first came up with in a rough draft.  Drafts, they’re the copies of papers that don’t matter except for peer editing.  Drafts they, … drafts.