#zach_dunn

Thursday, April 28, 2016

7:30 AM: I hurry to LAX and get the first ticket to O’Hare. I’ve got to make it before the first round starts at 8 PM. It‘s pretty expensive, but when I consider the money that’s about to be coming in from the whole NFL thing (not to mention endorsements), I just smile and put down my credit card.  

9:04 AM: My flight takes off and I begin chatting with the man next to me. He is sweaty and his tie is on backwards. He tells me his name is Vance, and he tries to sell me his old savings bonds. He has a bag filled with hundreds of them. I say no thanks. He starts saying he knows everybody in Chicago and if I need anything, he’s my guy. Vance is weird.

I start to listen to The Beatles on my iPod. They are one of the most influential bands on how I live my life, and I love all of their albums and songs equally. I hope my new teammates will feel the same way.

3:49 PM: We touch down in the Windy City. Vance follows me out of the airport -- he really wants me to buy these damn bonds. I tell him I’m low on money, but I’ll take his number so we can get in touch once I’m rolling in dough. He gives me his number and runs in the other direction, yelling, “I’m your guy in Chicago! I’m your Chi-Guy!” Vance is truly weird.

5:01 PM: I arrive at the venue, and ask the check-in person where football players are supposed to go. She laughs, which is rude. But then I realize, I don’t need to be in some fancy football player area. The real deals go down in the lobby. I begin handing out my business cards to everyone I possibly can. They read “Football Player – All Positions – Pick Me For Your Team,” and they are entirely written on ripped up pieces of the Hemispheres Magazine that I found in my seatback pocket. People seem blown away by my presence – it’s hard to imagine I won’t be picked in the first round.

7:38 PM: I take my seat, after purchasing two tubs of popcorn to give my body the nutrients it needs. It occurs to me that I should have probably put my name on my business cards. But everybody makes mistakes. I try not to dwell in the past (I learned that from the therapist whose mail I steal).

8:10 PM: Round 1, Pick 1. The draft begins! The Los Angeles Rams have the first pick of the night. I’m stoked, because if I get picked by them, I won’t have to move or anything. Unfortunately, they pick some wad named Jared Goff. I’ve never heard of this guy, but he looks like my 9th grade science teacher who all the girls had a crush on. I try to start a “More Like Jared Scoff” chant, but it doesn’t catch on due to people being too dumb to get it.

9:06 PM: Round 1, Pick 9. Eight picks in, and I’m still not on the board, but I’m doing breathing exercises to stay calm (two breaths in, twenty-two breaths out). The Chicago Bears are up – the hometown team. I have a really good feeling about this because I have seen every single “Da Bears” sketch from SNL, and I’ve written upwards of forty of my own. I begin to fantasize about me and my team all gathered around, acting out all these sketches and having so much fun. But my fantasy ends: they decide to pick some idiot named Leonard Floyd.

10:20 PM: Round 1, Pick 24. I sit in the stands, unpicked and alone. I watch my fellow players down below, chatting with their families at beautiful oaken tables. All of them wearing beautiful silk suits, while I wear three child-sized ponchos sewn together to make one adult-sized poncho.  Enough is enough.

11:05 PM: I walk the streets of Chicago, furious. A quick check of my ESPN app reveals that I wasn’t picked with any of the last eight picks of the first round. It would be so easy to give up. But I don’t do easy. Round 2 and 3 are tomorrow. If I’m going to get a chance in this league, I need to make some changes to my physique. I pull a crumpled phone number out of my pocket.

“Hey Vance, do you know anywhere I could get some Human Growth Hormone?”