The Draft was as wide open as it ever is — meaning, okay, technically no one knew exactly whom the Jacksonville Jaguars would pick, but people were pretty sure it was one of two guys, and the pundits correctly nailed the pendulum swing every step of the way. So it was a “mystery” in the same way that on Scooby Doo you know the culprit is the crabby old dude, and it’s just a question of which mask he’ll be wearing when they catch him.
The top pick, Trayvon Walker (DE, Georgia), decided to stay home in the Peach State with his family, so ESPN doubled down on coverage of their favorite: Michigan’s Aidan Hutchinson, whom they profiled at length the other day online, centering it on his belief in manifesting his football dreams by writing them in journals provided by (and then returned to, when full) his mother. Steve Levy must have said at least three times that America “fell in love with this family” during “Michigan’s magic carpet ride of a season,” and when he fell to No. 2, the Detroit Lions turned in their pick about 5 seconds after the clock started and his family probably wept with joy that he’s on a team that’s close to home and at least SLIGHTLY less dysfunctional right now than the Jags.
If you’re a fan of skill players, then you had to weight until pick eight — he went to the Giants, which means his skills will likely go unused for a while — and then things picked up historically for the WRs. Six were picked in the top 18 for the first time ever; no running backs got picked in round one, and a QB didn’t go until pick 20, which hasn’t happened since 1997. That quarterback? Pittsburgh’s Kenny Pickett, who put his head down and SOBBED when the Steelers called to tell him he’d be competing for Big Ben’s old job. Sincerely, I don’t think they got a shot of his face at all, he was crying so hard — and THAT shit right there why I watch the NFL Draft. I don’t want the guys who already pretty much know where they’re going. I want people losing their minds with joy and relief.
