I'm about to head into New York City to immerse myself in maximum draft hoopla. This afternoon there will be some pretty special stuff -- details to come, but I can promise you the opportunity to pose some questions to top, and I mean top, draft prospects.
In the meantime, I'm going to be in transit for a while, so bear with me. If you need something to do in the interim, read the final chapter of Rolling With Leandro! That'll get you through the morning.
Also, as you may have noticed (Kevin Garnett, Amare Stoudemire, the 8th pick, oh my!) this feels like it is about to be two of the craziest couple of days in NBA history. Should be fun.
UPDATE: I'm in New York, and I just attended the big ol' event where top draft picks are thrown like chum to the media sharks. Actually, everyone was very nice. But as I was walking in, I thought to myself: is there any chance anyone here says anything interesting? Should I just to to some Starbucks instead and do some blogging?
Two hours later, it is clear I should have gone to Starbucks. This is how the whole thing went, essentially, regardless of whether it was Corey Brewer, Greg Oden, Mike Conley, Al Horford, Rodney Stuckey, or anyone else:
Journalist: How does it feel to know that you're about to be drafted?
Player: It's crazy. It's something I have been dreaming about my whole life, and now it's almost here.
Journalist: Do you have any idea where you'll be drafted?
Player: No, man, I leave all that kind of stuff to my agent. I'll be happy to play anywhere in the NBA.
[That last answer is actually two lies, but both are totally forgivable. OF COURSE the player is OBSESSED with where he'll go, and of course he can't go trashing Milwaukee right now in front of these microphones ... he might end up there.]
Journalist: Do you follow all those mock drafts?
Player: You just can't keep up with all that stuff. It's too much, and they all say different things. Maybe I'll check it out tomorrow.
I think to myself: how could this be better? Is this leading to any interesting journalism? And then I realize that the real reason these things are so stiff and formulaic is because no one knows anybody else. These journalists and these players are, by and large, meeting for the first time. All the microphones and reporter's notebooks don't change the fact that there's some getting-to-know-you small talk that has to happen. These players are guests at a wedding where they hardly know any other guests, and there's no booze.
