Another Year Another Draft

     Another year and another successful draft has been committed to the annals of history.  It seems the hurdles are getting a little higher these days, but in the end 6 dedicated souls overcame what many would consider insurmountable odds.  There were 11th hour flights purchased, well thought out flights purchased, 10 hour round trip drives traversed, 10 minute round trip drives traversed, people's fate in the American judicial system put on hold, and even a human birth postponed.  It may have taken a little greater effort to officially kickoff the 2013 fantasy baseball season, but that is what makes it a just a little sweeter.



The below is a loosely based first hand encounter of a fantasy baseball draft seen through the eyes of one extraordinary man.  Although some of the experiences may be personal, they are meant to be tailored to the experience of the everyman.  


     There is something about the night before the draft when you realize things are finally coming together.  You put in your legwork calling other managers to see if you can get a feel for what may play out the following eve.  Everyone claims to have done even less work than you this year, "Ah, I bought a magazine back in January," they say.  You're not buying it.  No one has read a fantasy baseball periodical since the internet was invented, but still, you have no idea how things may unfold.  The next morning after you pull up your knee-highs and strap the ol' stars and bars across your forehead, the anticipation is ramped up for the first time of what will be many times throughout the day.  The next ramp is crossed when you first meet up with a fellow attendee.  You instantly exchange pleasantries and ask for the dirt on what the other guys may be thinking.  After notes are compared, 2 becomes 3 when a bearded vagabond is picked up from the airport and quickly schools his cronies on the intricacies of couch surfing.  You all quickly reminisce about how much cooler you could have been 10 years ago if only you all  knew what you know now, when really if that were truly to happen, even less girls would've been banged and even more dorky fantasy would've been played.  Finally, you arrive at the scene of the crime.  You know some crazy shit will go down here in mere hours, but besides somehow involving dicks and satchels, you have no idea exactly what it will be.  All of the sudden the hands of the clock seem to be on cocaine and redbull after what felt like it was an eternity away is now getting here faster than you're comfortable with.  The draft kicks off and as each pick is made you fight between the urge of dissecting every pick with the other attendees and doing last second decision making knowing your 1st pick looms near.  Then shit, here it is,  your pick.  Somehow the guy you would've wet your tip over if someone told you would fall to you is still on the board.  You can't believe it as you look around the room trying to figure out what you're missing.  Is he hurt?  Did someone else fall that shouldn't have?  Fuck it, stick with what you knew yesterday.  You make your pick and then lather, rinse, repeat for the next few rounds.  Then, this.  This is where an in-person draft becomes special.  There is something about having a group of guys sitting in a war room as you anxiously await your next mid-round pick.  Sitting, hoping the guy you have your eye on manages to fall 3 picks further so you can scoop him up.  You turn to your left and see a klansman pouring over leagues of data.  The sweat builds on your brow as you see him casually take a sip of ice cold Natty Light with 30 seconds still on the clock.  This man has ice water in his brains and a super computer for a brain.  Surely he sees what you're hoping he didn't.  His hands seem to move in slow motion as he makes his click of the mouse causing you to nervously look to your computer to see a nearly 40 year-old starting pitcher taken off the board as the room erupts in jeers and calls of "Reach!".  Fewf.  Your man is still available.  Only one more pick to be made.  This time, you peer across the room and see a man with a golden chin-dong protruding from his forehead.  He holds the fate of your team in his hands.  The other guys in the room are still talking about the pick made 4 rounds earlier, "What the fuck was he thinking, that guy is fighting to be a platoon player?" or "Holy shit, great pick, how did that guy fall that far?", but you aren't sucked in.  You just know your season can hinge on the acquisition of this one player.  Eventually, the golden-donged general manager makes his pick. "ASSHOLE, I'VE BEEN FUCKING WAITING FOR THAT GUY FOR THE LAST 7 FUCKING PICKS!!" you scream as Enrique Iglesias's "Bailamos" blares in the background.  Instantly, what was a look of extreme doubt on the other guys' face is transformed into a look of success.  Slowly, the available players have a much greater range between their rankings and the in-between-picks antics increase drastically as the rounds creep towards the twenties.  You half-heartedly look to see what reliever may fall into a closer role only to feel something tap on your shoulder as you turn to get a face full of beanbag.  Next you try to vulture some late round stolen base specialist as a 487 pound yellow lab eats peanut butter off a 96 pound man's strap on dildo.  Eventually, it's all over.  Everyone immediately starts comparing teams and claiming, "Look at this, y'all are fucked", "I may not lose strikeouts all year", or the annual comment of "Hey everyone, let's all eat disgusting jelly beans".

     Different years have brought on different post draft ceremonies.  Some have involved frisbees, some crawfish, and some liquor and tits.  All have involved puking.  But all that's just dessert.  The real main course is what happens when you wake up the morning of draft day until about 30 minutes after it ends.    I can't promise I'll be able to attend every draft from here on out, but I'm only cheating myself if I don't.  Who knows how my team will perform this year, but right now, I sleep just fine knowing that for one day, that one single day, we were champions........(If that was unclear I'm talking about me and my team, not you fucking homos)