I Need To Vent....and a Beer

I love the NFL draft. Back in the pre-internet days, I used to watch the entire draft and track all of the picks in my notebook. (I'd then throw my notes away the next day when all the picks were available in this form of antiquated media known in those days as a "newspaper"; but for some reason, it was important that I have all those picks in front of me for the 12 hours until the paper arrived). The draft has been my Christmas. But in the same way that by the end of Christmas season, I'm ready to go on a shooting spree after the 3,450th Christmas carol, I'm now one more mock draft away from walking over to my tv and punching Mel Kiper in the face. Ever since the Senior Bowl back in the end of January, the coverage of the upcoming draft has been so incessant and exhaustive that it's sucked the joy out of the actual event for me. This horse has been beaten to death. Actually, it's been beaten, butchered, processed into dog food, served to the family mutt, and then pooped out onto the lawn- and now I've stepped in that poop and am trying to scrape it off of my shoe.

Of course, I'll still waste the weekend watching the entire draft, rather than go out and enjoy the day. (This becomes especially pathetic once you realize where I'm staying this weekend. For once, I'm glad that the forecast is 60's and cloudy). I clearly have an unhealthy addiciton to all things football. Either that, or I like poop.