Draft Time!

The tension is building. My palms are sweaty, waiting for the time to come. My phone, as usual, will be far away from me to avoid distractions. Laptop? Check. Various snackies? Check (Oh, how I heart you, Tostitos Nacho Cheese Dip).

Friends will be shunned, family will be left to burn, should they set themselves afire. Don't bother me. From 4 p.m. PST until 10:00 p.m. PST I shall not be bothered, cajoled, goaded or otherwise provoked to move out of my chair's ass-groove until I have had my fill of surprises, Jay Bilas' upside talks and numerous cutaways to Dick Vitale by phone screaming about how foreign players should be killed and that only players from Dook should be drafted.

This is how I foresee the joyous event playing out.

3:00 p.m. - I will turn to ESPNews to watch Around the Horn and PTI, and will grow uncommonly impatient that after seemingly hours of watching Bill Plaschke lisp his way through sloppily founded arguments and bad jokes it's only 3:06.

3:13 p.m. - Fuck. Is Plaschke still fucking going? Stop talking about how everyone who plays in L.A. is God, mmmkay?

3:30 p.m. - Blah blah blah Kornheiser hair joke blah blah blah Wilbon doesn't like American Idol blah blah blah penguin dance blah blah blah Victoria Beckham is hot blah blah fuck me this is stupid blah blah blah Stat Boy blah blah blah Goodnight Canada aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand scene.

4:00 p.m. - Here we go. It's time, bitches. The TV told me it starts at 4 p.m. so here I am. Laptop, snackies and expectations in tow. I have long since thrown my cell phone in a drawer and shut out the world so I can achieve nirvana in my self-imposed vegetative state. Wait a...

What the creamed corn hell is this shit? Why am I looking at Stuart Scott and Stephen Asshole Smith? What circle of hell have I just stumbled into? I check the guide. The draft starts at FIVE, this is just an hour more of bullshit pre-draft coverage. Gee, I wonder if they'll talk about Oden and Durant. Maybe throw in some 'Who will go No. 3?' talk and the inherent risks/rewards of a 7-foot chinaman.

4:02 p.m. - I am playing Madden Franchise mode. I'm in year five with the Texans. I have time to do some training camp drills and try to build my second-string ROLB from a 78 overall into an 83, cuz, well, that shit's important. I am a GM, dammit! Besides, I'll only play for a few minutes anyway.

4:58 p.m. - I am irritated beyond words as I am at a spot in the game where saving isn't an option and I'm glancing at the clock every 8 seconds weighing the option of turning off the game and sacrificing these 56 precious minutes that I have spent turning a 10-6 team into an 11-5 one or keep playing and hope that I can save very soon.

5:01 p.m. - All is well. I paused he game and simply switched TVs. Beautiful.

5:22 p.m. - Still no one has picked. What the dong panties is going on? Why are they still talking about this like it's happening tomorrow? Get to the picks! Jesus. No, NO Stephen A. You shall not shout until spoken to.

5:36 p.m. - With the first pick in the 2007 NBA Draft, the Portland Trailblazers select...Josh McRoberts, Duke. Somewhere Dickie V. is jacking off until he ejects dust from his old balls. But seriously, the first two picks are Oden first, Durant second.

6:23 p.m. - Are we seriously only at pick 7? I see players I want the Kings get disappear one by one. Horford - gone at No. 3, Brewer - gone at 6 or 7. But what about Mike Conley, Jr? Noah's still on the board too.

6:41 p.m. - Pssh, fuck Noah. I didn't want him anyway. Sweet, Brandan Wright is still there along with Julian Wright, maybe Jeff Green. Al Thornton would be a tits pick too. Awesomeness.

6:46 p.m. - With the ninth pick, the Chicago Bulls select Spencer Hawes, Washington. YES! Brandan Wright is ours! I am dancing with a fervor rarely seen and even rarer duplicated. I frantically IM my Kings fan friends that he's ours. WOOOOO!!!! We are trying to get standing room tickets for the home opener. Fucking ticketmaster. More like ASSmaster! Way to not have what I'm looking for.

6:56 p.m. - With the 10th pick, the Sacramento Kings select Tiago Splitter. OH MY ANALLY RAPED FETUS FUCK! Who the FUCK is Tiago Splitter? Tiago? Oh Geoff Petrie, you better hide yourself away. I will kill you so hard Yoda will sense it.

6:57 p.m. - The gun is loaded, I just need an address. I get some people on it.

7:00 p.m. - Scrubs reruns, nice. I really need to calm down. Shit, I saw this one eight times last week. I begin drinking the Tostitos nacho cheese dip and fantasizing about what Sarah Chalke feels like on the inside.

8:00 p.m. - I am lying down now, trying to pretend that my team didn't just take some unknown cock blanket from Brazil. I got shit planned out though, it's okay.

8:00 - 9:00 p.m. - Anything but ESPN, I must stay away from the rage-promoter.

9:00 - 10:00 p.m. - Baseball Tonight. Shit, the crawl at the bottom is showing draft updates. I get duct tape to cover the bottom inch of the screen. Woot.

10:00 - 11:00 p.m. - Not SportsCenter. Anything but. Maybe there's a good softcore on one of the 50 HBO channels I get. YES! 'Alabama Jones and the Busty Crusade'! My favorite.

11:00p.m. - 1 a.m. - Probably watching Buffy episodes on DVD, letting Xander tickle my funny bone in ways that are strange and confusing.

1 a.m. - Bedtime. I may or may not have brushed my teeth. It doesn't matter. I have never been close enough to a girl for it to matter. See? Depression and self-loathing have permeated this day that I was so excited for. Fuck sports. I hate basketball. I'm gonna become a NASCAR fan. HAHAHA. Oh man can you imagine? I drift to sleep after laughing myself stupid thinking about actually enjoying cars driving in circles. I might as well go find one of my cousins and impregnate her and start listening to Rascal Flatts.

5:54 a.m. - Oh my God...I didn't turn the PlayStation off on the other TV. Well, no use checking now, it has certainly burst into flame by now. My life sucks.



Or, I dunno, maybe Oden falls to 10th and I die of a joy attack. You don't know.

See you all tomorrow at FIVE p.m. Don't try to reach me.