The End of the Big Wait has Begun

The 2015 NFL Draft – our pigskin winter of discontent made glorious summer – is tomorrow night. Whatever Belichick does in the draft, whether he trades down or trades up or sticks and picks I know one thing for certain.

No wait.

I don't.

My bad.

So anyway…

 

I feel like this is one of those years where I stay up to 11:30ish (I would anyway. I'm going to miss Talk Show Jon.) and watch and blink as Belichick trades down for more picks and then some other team (Tampa Bay? Tennessee? Washington? Kansas City?) picks a player who has more red flags than a lumber truck but more upside than K2. Maybe Dorial Green-Beckham, who might be the next Dez Bryant. Todd Gurley? How about the last Top 5 offensive lineman or defensive tackle available? A player who was mocked to the Patriots by 9 out of 10 dentists. A name that makes me question my inner child sternly, confiscate his cell phone and send him to bed without dessert.

I'll be wrong, of course.

Belichick could trade down, use the #32 pick or move up. The man is nothing if unpredictable. He knows something I don't know, that you don't know, that nobody seemingly knows. No GM in the NFL should ever pick up the phone to call the Patriots to trade draft picks and yet desperation is a sly and seductive temptress. Belichick has been deep in his titanium steel-encased bunker, miles below Gillette Stadium, running predictive analytics, Monte Carlo simulations, big data mash ups, preparing patiently for the moment Thursday night when that phone will ring. It will be someone who's fallen in love and people in love are prone to impulsive, irrational, delusional decisions. Belichick will be there for you. He'll understand how much in love you are. Deep in love. Crazy in love. You want to prove your love by throwing in a 2nd rounder in next year's draft, don't you?

Belichick didn't sign a deal with the Devil. The Devil signed a deal with Belichick.

Really, I should be looking forward to Belichick trading down. 

Or whatever.