The NFL Draft weekend is a unique set of circumstances. Similar to the school-yard pick-em, every fan hopes for the biggest, strongest, and fastest kid to come on board as the newest member of their team. From a player’s perspective, you’re just praying that somebody…ANYBODY calls you! The select few First-Rounders that are invited to New York get to strut their stuff in new tailored suits while the other 500 Draft hopefuls cling to TV sets in living rooms all over the country. Hopes and dreams from when you were a little boy are either cashed or crushed over that two day span. And all contingent on whether a phone rings or if it just stays silent.
Perhaps one of the best days of my life was April 24th, 2005 when around 11am PST, my phone lit up with a 716 area code number. I had played in the East-West Shrine Game, had a successful combine and pro-day and now I was finding out if my dream would become a reality. A little known fact about the draft process is that in the week leading up the draft, teams call players to make sure that they have the correct contact information for draft day. I had received calls from 24 of the 32 NFL Teams so I felt pretty good about the possibility of getting selected. Nonetheless, there was no party at my house. No relatives flown in or tailored suit pressed and starched. Wearing a torn up Illinois shirt and some Jordan sweats, I sat in an old beat up recliner with my Mom and Dad in the living room of the house that I had grown up in. It was the same living room that my Dad taught me how to snap a football in nearly 20 years earlier and the very same one that I used to watch VHS tapes of his old games. A successful High School career and Big 10 honors behind me, my fate was out of my hands. So you can imagine the sheer elation and cheers that exploded when my name was called at pick #121 in the 4th round.
The culmination of a dream is a sweet thing to behold. My Mom cried, my Dad high fived me and hugged me, nearly breaking my hand and knocking me to the ground. It all seemed like it wasn’t quite real. Now looking back, it still gives me goose bumps. My draft memories are full of smiles and congratulatory well wishes but there are many living rooms that are filled with tears and heartache. “What’d I do wrong?” they must ask. “Why not me?” must plague them. Some of these undrafted guys or low round selections never get over that hurt while others let it burn inside, propelling them to greatness. Because when the draft concludes, it’s time to go to work. Less than a week after that phone call came, I found myself on a field in Buffalo trying to not get embarrassed by 365 pound Pro-Bowler, Sam Adams. The time to celebrate was officially over!
So when you watch the draft this week, take a minute to imagine the joy and celebrate with these young men whose dreams are coming true. But at the same time, take a second to pause and feel some sympathy for the guy who still sits in his living room, staring at a phone that never rang. Drafted or not, in a short time, these guys will strap it up and go to work; which is where they really find out what they’re made of. Will discouragement linger? Or will they rise above and prove they’re worthy? On the flip side, do the First-Rounders coast? Or do they grind, knowing they haven’t earned anything yet? How would you react? Be honest. Your answer will show you a glimpse of your true character.
By Duke Preston
