For those of us who are diehard football fans -- as opposed to, you know, communist pederasts -- the NFL Draft looms as a wonderful oasis in the middle of the desert of the long, painful offseason.
The first day certainly didn't disappoint. Lots of interesting picks -- and I'm not just talking about Keyshawn Johnson's decision to let the Brooklyn School for the Blind dress him for the ESPN coverage. The Falcons turned the page on their glory days of dogfighting by taking a bland new quarterback, the Titans and Raiders continued their race to see who can put a dozen mediocre running backs on their roster at one time, and the Vikings managed to make it to the podium when their time was called.
Most important, my beloved Chiefs used their record-setting 84 picks well. I'm thrilled to have Glenn Dorsey on the squad, as I've always believed that a D-lineman whose names come from big band leaders of the 1940s is an unstoppable force. And the other picks are looking so solid, I'm convinced that Herm Edwards has been taken over by some sort of space alien. And I'm fine with that. Although, in the end, I'm confused by the new feeling I have. What's the opposite of a sense of impending doom?
What about the rest of you? Any thoughts?