I’m going to illustrate this little fantasy of mine, so that you can University-of-Southern-C it.
It’s gonna be a series, and I honestly wish I’d thought of it earlier. I’ll publish a bit of it today, then I’ll see if I’ll continue, or if I’ll just summarize. Please, feel free to enjoy thoroughly 🙂
4/25/13, New York
In a room–curtained off by black drapes, lightly lit by soft incandescent bulbs–sat thirty or forty collegiate athletes, soon to get paychecks they’d only dreamt of. Their faces betrayed their feelings; anxiety permeating everyone’s facial features. Because their lives were about to change, their faces, inevitably, were laced with excitement. Millions of dollars were soon to be theirs. The college athletes–soon to be professional athletes–sat around, and held their phones, squeezed mothers’, fathers’, and girlfriends’ hands, trying to keep some of the emotion down. Trying, but failing. This was the NFL draft! This doesn’t happen every other Thursday. They had a right to their excitement, and they were enjoying it. At least some of them were.
Some where praying, others just laughing. Still others cracked their knuckles, and more picked at their fingernails. Some leaned back in their chairs, like children (minus the dreadlocks some had, the incredible muscles all had, and the custom tailored designer suits again, that everyone was wearing) they fidgeted, and leaned their chairs onto only two legs. Some were stoic, too afraid to show emotion. They stared at the ceiling.
One stood out, though. It and it didn’t have anything to do with his hair. The flaxen blonde hair was neatly cropped, though it hinted at a certain unruliness. He had a face that alluded to wisdom; slight creases starting at the bridge of his nose, and slanted under his eyes, along with a mouth, drawn in a line, but relaxed.
Overall he looked calm, intelligent, and commanding. Which, in fact, Matt Barkley was.
It was quarter of eight, and Barkley sat, hands folded, at one of the middle tables in the room. With him, he had his family, and they were all silent, observing his every move, in a loving, supportive way. He fought the anxiety with a certain amount of certainty and apathy. There were two teams, back-to-back, that said they’d try to get him in the first round. He didn’t have ties to either, so he had the luxury of apathy.
The two teams were Arizona and Buffalo. Arizona had the 7th overall pick, followed by Buffalo in possession of the 8th pick overall.
Barkley showed his first sign of life when he sighed.
“This is it,” he breathed. “The draft.”