Kentucky & Me

Today is this year's NFL draft. And, I could care less.

The Reasons:

1) I'm female. I don't give a crap about statistics, except for my team's W/L column.
2) I'm a Steelers fan.
3) I got asked to parties in high school, so I didn't spend my Friday and Saturday nights pretending to be some fierce elf on a quest to save the kingdom.

This is just my opinion, which is an obnoxious combination of my loud mouth and gut instinct. I don't think the draft has fuck-all to do with winning football games, much less Super Bowls, but American men across the land are losing their minds while NFL teams make new hires.

Why? Well, there are the degenerate gamblers who somehow use this exercise in that pursuit of fruitlessness, Fantasy Football. Throw in the geeks who have outgrown Dungeons & Dragons, and have used the FF abomination as a "manly" substitute. Finally, it's a boy thing. I've found that men have a thing about numbers. They like to count things, memorize those totals, and then extrapolate from that point. Whoever draws up the most arcane stat from the fount of blather, well, that boy is King For A Day. (This tendency comes up in musical discussions, too. My guys will devote themselves to acquiring obscure references about their favorite bands, while I just want to know if my ass moves or not. Who gives a crap if some studio engineer wore horn-rimmed or wire frames? Did I thrill to the sound, or no? Dumb asses.)

Pittsburgh usually has a post-season. For the uninitiated, the crappiest teams in the league go first during draft selection. For example, the Detroit Lions sucked for 16 games (entire season!) in a row, so they have the dubious honor of first pick. I can see the appeal for teams and fans who need a morale boost and some PR opportunities. I don't think the Steelers have been desperate for talent since 1969 and we landed #75.

The only people who should be twisting their knickers are the top picks and their agents. The lower the pick number, the bigger the paycheck. And, maybe some bragging rights. But, the draft doesn't mean bulldinky in determining the future of your career in professional football. Ryan Leaf, anyone?

Ben Roethlisberger, #7, was the 11th pick in 1998. Two Super Bowl rings. James Harrison, #92, wasn't even drafted. I can't stand Tom Brady (douche extraordinaire), but I'll admit he's a very good QB. His number was #199. Brett Favre? He is definitely one of the greatest that played, possibly THE greatest at that position(Unitas and my Bradshaw are in the running for that debate...oops, forgot about Montana). He didn't even get picked in the FIRST ROUND. Nope, his fantastic behind wasn't picked up until the second round, and then he was the 33rd pick.

However, I'm in the minority about what a special and amazing thing that is the NFL draft. ESPN.com ran a poll asking "What is the best non-athletic event in sports?" ESPN only provided five options. (Their poll graphics are awesome, by the way. I love the maps, and numbers breakdown--eesh, that seems statistical.)

Baseball Hall of Fame inductions
College football national signing day
NBA draft
NCAA tournament selection
NFL draft

Um, where's tailgating? The opening ceremonies for the Olympics? And, why is it the baseball HOF, and not Canton? W-H-A-T-E-V-E-R. Given these paltry options, I selected "NCAA tournament selection." It's fun to watch the bubble teams or first-timers go nuts when their invitation appears. Way more fun than watching some puffed-up jock smile smugly while holding a jersey because he just got paid. Ugh. Or, watch Philly fans act like jackals no matter what their team does because it's all they know. But, that's just me and the state of Kentucky. According to the poll results map, the rest of America and the world believes that the NFL Draft verges on the Second Coming.



I realize that there were quite a few stats and modest facts thrown around this entry. However, I didn't cull them from the dark depths of my memory. I Googled them...just like a proper girl. There is only one football stat I bother to burn into my my mind.

SIX. AS IN SIX RINGS.
Eat it, Belichick.