Draft Day: A MFNightmare Or A Dream Come True?

Instead of the normal links today (there's really nothing new out there), I have to share with everybody something that happened to me last night/early this morning.

*****

I returned home late last night, done with class for the week until Monday. I made a dramatic entrance into my apartment as if I was Bob Saget in Full House, simultaneously calling for my fiance. I was a bit miffed to see all the lights off and no fiance waiting for our Wednesday night business time. I reached for the light switch and flipped it on. What I saw before me, sitting cross-legged in my living room, nearly made me scream like Schrader in the movie 'Accepted.'

It was Cole Aldrich and he was wearing a Pistons jersey.

He was just sitting there, staring back and forth between a blank canvas the size of my big screen TV and a 16x20 of this picture. He acted as if he didn't know I was there. I tip-toed around the corner to get a knife from my kitchen, but as I was about to enter, I caught a glimpse of Joe Dumars spoon feeding a middle-aged man what looked like some Calcium Gummy Vitamins, but the only open jar on the counter read, "Grit and Toughness." I recognized the man, it was Keith Langlois.

They looked so loving and peaceful, I didn't want to disturb them, so I turned back to face the gumpy intruder in my living room. When I took one step toward Aldrich, his head snapped toward me, causing me to jump back. He gave me a shit-eating, toothless grin and stared without blinking for the longest five seconds of my life. And then he softly whispered:

"You will draft me with the seventh pick."

Scared out of my senses, I started to urinate myself.

The empty canvas turned out to actually be my TV because all of a sudden Stuart Scott, with his stink-eye, appeared out of nowhere. He started talking about the cool side of a pillow and other stuff in ebonics. He spoke for a few seconds before the screen suddenly turned to white noise.

An orange ring came into focus. It looked like a basketball rim, but I couldn't be sure. Meanwhile, Cole Aldrich kept repeating, "everyone will suffer," creepier each time. The ring on TV faded to black.

Once I completely finished pissing myself, I realized what this all meant. It was like that movie, The Ring, but not exactly. I thought my life was about to flash before my eyes, but instead, it was Joe Dumars' career as GM. I reached the grand conclusion: the 7th pick is going to kill us...

Next thing I know, I sprung up from my pillow in a nervous sweat, stripped of all hope and clothes. I gathered my bearings and let out a relieved, "phew!" It was just a Ekpe Udoh nightmare.

I got out of bed and put on my teal Pistons shorts. I searched for my new, lucky, draft day Jonas Jerebko t-shirt, but settled for a Walter Sharpe cut-off. I cautiously crept into the other room where I thought I saw Joe Dumars, Keith Langlois, and Cole Aldrich the night before. The room was empty.

I walked over to my computer area where my fiance usually leaves me a note when she leaves for work while I'm still asleep. There was a note, but it wasn't from my fiance. Strangely enough, it was from Bill Simmons and I knew this because there was a little picture of his stupid face next to his sportsguy33 screen name.

When I read the note, I ignored burning questions like "WTF was Bill Simmons doing in my apartment and why is he leaving me a note?" and began to feel my body fill up with a positive attitude:.

sportsguy33:
My bold prediction is that, somehow, some way, Detroit will end up with Demarcus Cousins in this draft.

I let out a half smile, kissed the tips of my forefinger and middle finger, and gently touched the note. I then went to the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of Cookie Crisp.

/Fin

It's Draft Day, DBB. May Jod have mercy on our souls and make this, or something else totally awesome, happen today. Otherwise, Mike Payne will make us all cry.

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