Drafting Dreams

Remember when watching the NBA Draft still left a feeling of "one day, that could be me"? Those days before the spirit crushing of 'cuts' in high school sports, or a time before 'playing time' became an issue. A simpler time when playing was just playing; not trying to impressive or prove your manhood on every single posession. With the NBA Draft taking place this morning (or night for those lucky few in the Pacific Time Zone,...not GMT+2) I had a profound sensation of years past, and the wonder and awe that came with seeming giants walk on to a stage, hold a randomly colored jersey and an ill fitting hat. The mystery and allure it created was enough to get any kid away from SNES and in the drive way shooting jump shots until his arms went numb. Of course, the sheer reality of poor genetics, ashtma, or just plain lousy athletic ability squashed many of these dreams right around the time when you started to notice girls. But this morning, seeing flashbacks to previous drafts, even highlights of Charles Barkley walking to the podium in a burdandy suit, or big Shaq Diesel looking like the happiest kid, and even the rain man, Shawn Kemp...it was like being 8 again, thinking that one day that could be me.

And then Stuart Scott had to say this: "Number 5 pick, Rick Rubio is the first player to be selected who was born after 1990"

Well, thanks Stu. I don't feel old at all.

And in a completely unrealted topic, I've told all the kids I coach in basketball to only refer to me as "Coach Bombay" and we repeatedly chant "2018 is our time to shine"