Soon the NFL draft will swallow whole two days of air time and an equal chunk of fans’ lives.
This article was written in April of 2003. Not surprisingly very little has changed for fans of the NFL Draft waiting game.
April 2003
It’s the weekend of April 26th and my gal pals have headed north to the Mendocino Coast. They have convinced their significant others, and themselves, that it’s critical that they indulge themselves and work off some of those extra lbs. Those pounds were strategically gained during the football season. And so it follows that the approaching warm weather dictates a trip to the fat farm. Lest we feel a twinge of compassion for them one should remember that the fat farm involves saunas, hot tubs, massages and lots of good gal pal time.
All my gal pals have left for the fat farm, I, however, am hanging with the guys.
I said no to the gals’ invitation, after all, what good is age if you can’t flaunt those love handles? I earned them fair and square and by golly I’m going to keep them intact.
There are lots of other things I can do on the weekend.
My first plan was to grab a blanket, my sunscreen, and James Patterson’s most recent book and spend the day at Stinson Beach.
That plan was quickly scrubbed due to current monsoon weather conditions.
Then I thought I might go see a good movie, but found that the only new flick of interest was Holes and that concept wasn’t the least bit appealing.
So I decided that a quiet weekend watching TV would do just fine.
And what could be better than watching the NFL draft with other NFL die-hard fans?
The “significant others” my pals left behind had their own plans for the weekend.
They were gathered at Hanky-Panky’s house. These were all my ultra-macho friends, Raider fans, who breathe football and live for anything Raider.
They tolerate me (ignore me) but they let me hang with them as long as I don’t try to compete with them or talk football like one of them. I know the ground rules and abide by them.
No Forty Niner Rah-Rah stuff, no “girlie” talk, no talking over the commentator (no matter how much of an idiot he is) it’s okay, however to talk over Suzy Kolber and leave the room when she’s on. They all seem to need another beer when she’s on camera. They ignore anything Andrea Kremer has to say and head in the direction of the “head” when she appears.
So the stage was set, five thirty-something Raider fans and one fifty-something female Forty Niner fan.
