End of Part II, April 23rd

When it comes to pure, grand-standing hype, nothing tops the National Football League. And when it comes to all of those categories within the National Football League, nothing tops the draft. I love NFL football, and I love the NFL Draft, but let’s be serious: after two and a half to three months of planning, after every NFL pundit/commentator/writer/viewer has composed a mock draft and used the freedom of the internet to make said mock an item of public note, and after every NFL scout in the history of the world—the entire history of the whole world—has devised scouting reports on every backup walk-on Division III punter in the nation…even after all that, NFL teams still need fifteen minutes to make each selection in the first round.

This baffles me. How could they possibly need this much time to make a first round selection? These guys are the favorites. Teams fly through the late rounds at two minutes a pick, drafting guys who have, probably, a 5%[1] shot at making a final roster, and yet they masturbate for fifteen minutes over players who have been dissected in every possible way outside scalpel for the past three months. Unbelievable.

A true story: in 2000, the Cleveland Browns had the first pick in the Draft. The morning of the draft, they completed their negotiations with Penn State defensive end Courtney Brown, signing him to a seven year, 45 million dollar deal. And yet when the draft officially started and Cleveland was “on the clock,” it took them nine minutes to make their selection official. Nine minutes. Nine fucking minutes to draft a guy they’d already signed. Nobody on ESPN noted this delay, not to point it out as unnecessary posturing, bizarre ineptitude, or at the very least, odd and noteworthy. Just business as usual in Th’NATIONAL!…Football League.

So the hype for the NFL Draft is certainly amusing, and although I am a fan who feels that much of the importance placed on the draft is undeserved—(the draft is important, but not nearly as important as the overall direction and mindset of the franchise, personified by the decision-making of the coaching staff and general manager)—and although my enthusiasm for the draft has diminished over the past few seasons, I am still interested in watching, for the following reasons:

1. Regardless of the general uselessness of the draft on a whole, I will always be entirely interested in anything that greatly affects YOUR! Chicago Bears.

2. The top ten picks are always fun to watch, as the ESPN team goes absolutely loco in their efforts to properly capture THE THRILL of THE NFL DRAFT!!!

3. The fans-In all of the draft hype and mock drafts and contract negotiations and ultimately clueless and silly “Who’s Number 1?” debates and everything else that surrounds the draft, one very crucial and unique element of Draft Day that is, incredibly, all but ignored is the conglomeration of football fans from different cities. To get an idea of what it’s like, just picture a Presidential rally at one of the major conventions: all of those delegates and voters from different states showing up at one function to ferverently support the same candidate, each group represented by a giant sign declaring their state. Everyone in the whole place has their energy turned way up, shouting and cheering and even booing the absent opposition. The place is crazy. Now imagine that all of those groups are supporting a different candidate. That’s what the NFL Draft is like. All these fans, shoved together, screaming their heads off for their team, booing or cheering for their team’s pick, booing each other, talking trash, forming sudden bizarre alliances, fighting for camera exposure…and of course there is also the fact that these fans are in different mindsets as fans. The Patriots fans are confident and relaxed, the Saints, Bengals, and Vikings fans are twisted with fear and panic, the Raiders fans are trying to psyche out everyone in the building including Paul Tagliabue and the pictures on the wall, and the Jets and Eagles fans are so bitter and cynical that they’re guaranteed to boo regardless of the selection. It’s a zoo, a science experiment, a unique sports experience…and I’ve only seen it on TV.

4. Mel Kiper, Jr.-This guy cracks me up, and not for the obvious reasons, most notably the hair and the fact that he doesn’t appear to have aged since 1992. No, I find Mel Kiper, Jr. to be extraordinarily comedic and satisfying because his life amazes me. More than anyone other than Don King, Kiper epitomizes the overblown world of American sports. Consider: the NFL Draft is no more important than any other draft of the Big Four, and yet, remarkably, here is a man who has found a way to set up his professional life as a Draft Guru. This is all he does. My dad always wonders why everything in sports is specialized…why pitchers can’t throw complete games anymore, why closers can only pitch in save situations, why a guy can’t play receiver and corner…and is there anything more specialized than a man whose sole responsibilities in professional life center around two days of player selection that doesn’t involve him? I’m not knocking Mel Kiper; he found his niche and played it brilliantly. I’m just amused by his existence, that’s all. If ever there were an animal born entirely out of America’s knack for blowing up the unimportant, it’s Mel Kiper. The best part is that behind his glare and his gel and his 800 mock drafts, I can see a man thinking to himself, “I can’t believe I’ve gotten away with this!”

Mel really shines on Day Two, when Berman and Tagliabue have each relegated their respective positions to the Unders. ESPN has emptied its bench…and there’s Kiper, hammering away at his “Top 5 Available,” in round 7, and legitimately breaking down the prospects of two D-II linemen that even the coaches don’t know. You can just tell that he knows he’s created the ultimate sportscaster hustle, and he’s loving it. And you know what? More power to him. This man is opportunism, capitalism, and competativeness unleashed on an area of life so specific and specialized that most people don’t even realize how absurd it is. Only in America. Here’s to you, Mel. My hat…is off.

The Bears hold the fourth pick this year, and so I am up early to watch as it all unfolds. The word on the Bears is that they will be going offense, probably a receiver to team with Muhsin Muhammad, as Thomas Jones was just signed a year ago, but with the release of Anthony Thomas, it’s possible that Jerry Angelo will look to one of the three running backs: Ronnie Brown, Cadillac Williams, and Cedric Benson. Popular opinion around Chicago says that the Bears should go with USC receiver Mike Williams, a big, physical wideout who despite missing the 2004 season is still a top ten draft pick. Williams is my pick.

With the first pick in the draft, the 49ers take Utah quarterback Alex Smith. As is usually the case with the NFL Draft, this first pick has come down to a bunch of numbers that won’t matter in three months. The Niners have been going back and forth between Smith and Cal QB Aaron Rogers, finally settling on Smith because, well, he was more willing to sign.

The Dolphins then take one of the three RB’s off the board, choosing Auburn’s Brown. Cleveland takes Michigan receiver Braylon Edwards, and finally the Bears are On The Clock. Kiper and Berman are going back and forth about the Bears’ selection, and as they do, I begin to better recognize Kiper’s technique for making predictions. He is rather cryptic; his strategy seems to entail discussing each potential player as an inevitable selection, so invariably he ends up seeming correct regardless of who the team picks. As the commissioner gets ready to read the card, both Berman and Kiper seem settled on either Cadillac Williams or Mike Williams, with Cedric Benson being a possibility. They’re like Vince Vaughn in Swingers leaving the message for Mikey that he and the guys will be at one of four places, and if they’re not there they’ll be someplace else, or someplace else.[2] As for me, I’m going for Williams, the big receiever from USC. This guy was forced to miss last season due to a ridiculous NCAA bait and switch job that briefly allowed him to enter the ’04 Draft after his sophomore year, only to pull the rug by changing their mind and disallowing his return to college. Yet he worked out, remarkably keeping himself in game shape, and now a year later he is still a projected top six draft pick. Imagine Muhammad and Williams catching balls for this team, with Gage and Wade and Berrian filling out the receiver corps. Thomas Jones darting around, Rex getting everybody the ball. Could be great. Yup, it’s safe to say that I’m pumped for Mike Williams.

“With the fourth selection in the 2005 NFL Draft, the Chicago Bears select Cedric Benson, running back, Texas.”

Berman’s confident response, as the cameras zoom in to capture Benson weeping with his family in celebration: “This has been out there…and why not?” Berman then reads off Benson’s rushing numbers in four years at Texas, focusing on his massive number of carries, and Kiper follows that up by proving once again that he knows way—WAAAYYY—more about these prospects than any other sane human as he proceeds to drop Benson’s high school stats…8,423 yards and 127 touchdowns, incidentally.

So now Cedric Benson is a Chicago Bear. In a way, that’s all it takes. This man has yet to sign a contract with the Bears, and he has yet to step onto Soldier Field on a Sunday, and the only Bears gear he has ever worn (as far as we know) is the hat that he was just handed by some anonymous man on his way to the podium, and yet this man, Cedric Benson, this man is now considered to be nearly as important to the team as Brian Urlacher, Mike Brown, Olin Kreutz, Thomas Jones, or even Rex Grossman. Amazing, ain’t it?

We’re getting dressed. People are meeting at my parents’ house at 5:30, with dinner starting around six. I want to be there shortly after 5:30.

She’s wearing jeans and a beige v-neck shirt. I love her in jeans. Her hair is washed and dried, with one or two strands coming down over her eyes. She looks beautiful. “You look beautiful.” 5:06. “Come on, Meg, let’s go.”

Since I was little, two holidays have maintained high status in my family as the Gathering Holidays: Thanksgiving and Passover. We get together for birthdays, but there are a lot, and of course the High Holidays are important, but they’re not ideal for visiting. Chanukah used to be a lot bigger in our family, as we would all get together for one big present night—usually Night 6 or 7—but that was years ago, and now Chanukah is a low-key affair, with candles lit and a few presents exchanged. Thanksgiving and Passover…that’s where our bread is buttered. During my four years at IU, I never missed a Passover. This will be, as far as my mother knows, the first one I’ve ever missed.

It will be a nice group tonight. Along with my parents, Nana, and our “Uncle” Larry—Larry and Margie were Nana and Papa’s two best friends since their 20’s—our good friends Michael and Cathy O’Hara will be here, along with Cathy’s sister Jill and her daughter Allie. Also coming is another couple, Phil and Sue Singerman, whose son Noah went to Tamarak Day Camp and then North Star with me and Swiryn. The Singermans and the O’Haras have become Passover staples, and though it used to bother me that other family members were no longer in attendance for one reason or another, I’ve now taken so much to our close family friends that, frankly, it’s not a holiday without them.

Meg and I pull onto 17^th at 5:21, and as we’re turning onto my street, a familiar car passes by. It’s Dad.

He laughs. “Happy Pesach to you. When did you guys get in?” I haven’t seen Dad this excited and happy and bewildered in quite some time. He’s a rather poker-faced man, happy and jokey, but with a straight-faced demeanor and a sense of humor so subtle that until we were in high school, Luke was positive my dad did not like him. Luke and I have known each other since we were 4. Dad is a very organized person, always in control, the very definition of Ducks In A Row…so to really get him, and see him knocked back, well, it’s kind of thrilling.

We live on a cul-de-sac, and our house is the last one on the right before the curve starts. We pull up slow as I watch the front yard, just to make sure nobody is walking outside to bring things in. Nana is already here, so it’s unlikely that anyone else would have food or appetizers or anything that would require multiple car trips. Meg and I pull into the driveway, right behind Nana’s car, and as soon as we do I turn the car off and run inside. Dad did not lock the door, which works out well for us, because as soon as we get to the door I pop it open and charge into the kitchen, where Mom is filling all of the little dishes with saltwater for the parsley. She is talking to Nana. Nobody else is here yet.

Meghan is standing behind me, watching. Nana is sitting in the family room, enjoying her Dewars.

Mom is still silent, speechless, crying slightly. She smiles, the biggest, most loving smile you’ve ever seen.

Those are the words that start every Passover. Papa used to read them; now Dad does. We sit, all twelve of us, and go around the table taking turns reading the service. Mom drops a disclaimer before we start:

“A word about this Haggadah. It’s for kids.” Everyone laughs. “I guess the Pierce family never grew up.”

Ain’t that the truth. This is what makes Passover one of my top six holidays.[3] In my opinion, (who else’s would it be?), the brilliance of our service is the Hagaddah, which makes for a fun-loving, easy to understand, yet still traditional seder. Like the ever-dependable flake in a bowl of Raisin Bran, our Hagaddah is anchored by short passages and prayers, both in English and Hebrew, and like the tasty raisin that brightens up the bowl, we are given a few songs here and there, all of which are fun. MJ has not been able to get in for Passover during his four years at Kansas, so to keep him a part of the night, I call him to sing along on the songs. It’s a good time. Nearly every song is an upbeat number, and over the years we’ve developed singing parts. Take the Passover classic “Let My People Go,” for example. Rather than simply a straight forward performance, our family employs the people on the family room side of the table as backup singers on the chorus, while those on the living room side of the table sing lead. Observe:

We finish the first half of the seder, and now it’s dinner time. Larry is excited to finally be eating, as it has been a “long time to get this whole deal moving.” Mom has made broiled chicken, and it is delicious. Goes well with Matzah, of course. After dinner, we search for the Afikomen, and though that used to be an activity “for the kids,” it is now open to anyone willing to participate…the catch being, of course, that no adults ever want to do it, leaving the “kids,” all of whom are in their twenties, forced to search for the Afikomen for The Good Of The Service. My dad usually announces that the Afikomen is open for “anyone under 30.” Ah well.

We continue the service after dinner. There are a few more songs—again, I call Mike for the good ones—and along with the good ones, we have one boring song that is the center of one of our oddest family traditions. Every year we get to this song, and we stumble and mumble our ways through it. We then give up, only to have Nana make an attempt to jumpstart the group’s enthusiasm for this lost song, at which point we give it another go…before, once again, bailing out. Every year. The second half of the service also features my personal favorite moment, known as the Game of Numbers.

The leader poses the question, “Who knows one?” and in a race to answer the question, everyone runs through this sentence: “One is the lord our God alone!” Two are the tablets made of stone, three are the fathers or our race, and we build all the way up until we get to seven. By the end, MJ (on the phone again) and I are dominating as we absolutely refuse to listen to Mom, who is begging us to “go easy on the new people,” which tonight is Meghan. We race all the way to the finish, being sure to enunciate, and all the while my mom goes along with us, slurring her words until the final line, at which point she shouts the words “God alone!” hoping that by beng the loudest, we’ll declare her the winner. Foolish.

“Sevenarethedaysoftheweek—sixarethebooksoftheMishnah—fivearethebooksoftheTorah—fourarethemothersrichingrace—threearethefathersofourrace—twoarethetabletsmadeofstone—oneisthelordourGodALONE!”

Finally we come to the end of the service. We read a passage about family, and I’m amazed at how much meaning we can pack into this 50-year-old text. We raise our glasses for a final toast. My mother speaks.

“This is to everyone with us here tonight, and it is also for all of those who are not here, for whatever reason. May we all always, in some way, be together.”

The closing song is The Four Sons, sung in our Hagaddah to the tune of “Clementine.”

[1] Estimated by management; not recognized by the Elias Sports Bureau as an official statistic.

[2] That scene has always struck me as being one of the most overlooked funny scenes in the movie. Mikey’s just bricked out insanely on Nikki’s answering machine, and now he’s a lump on the floor, unshaven, blanket wrapped around him, very sad and looking through pictures of him and his ex-girlfriend. You focus is elsewhere…but then here comes this great bit from Trent, and you can hear in his voice that he’s just trying to be helpful and caring, but of course he’s just given Mikey like eight different “sure-fire” options. It’s glorious.

[3] In chronological order: New Years, Super Bowl Sunday, Passover, Fourth of July, my birthday, Thanksgiving.

GO TO PREVIOUS SECTION: April 17-April 22

The end of PART II

April 23rd