If I've said this once, I've said it a million times. My favorite day of the year is the NBA Draft. Screw you Christmas morning! Shut up birthday! Know your role New Year's Eve! There is just something about the NBA Draft that usurps all other drafts and all other days. As many of you also know, I am a Knicks fan. There was a time where when I said that statement, I would get trash talked and I could fire back. It eventually got to the point where I ran out of ammunition and just had to eat each incoming verbal bullet. Now, the haters have even run out of ammo and I get more pity than punches. The Knicks actually had control of their pick (what a novel concept!) last night with the opportunity to select first overall for the first time since the lottery's inception in 1985. Frozen envelopes aside, the lottery hasn't been too kind to the Knickerbockers ever since. As you can see from the title of this piece, last night was no different. Let me take you through a blow by blow of the excruciatingly painful hour known as the NBA Draft Lottery.
8:08 PM- The last customer checks out. I still have one hour of work to go, plus about half an hour to lottery time, but the mall is dead. They can feel the tension exuding outward from my soul and know that coming in right now and asking me if we carry chemistry kits, while they stare right at one, is not going to end well for them.
8:09 PM- The music goes off. I need to be one with my thoughts as I prepare for the impending doom that shall befall my beloved Knicks. I keep trying to convince myself that there is no possible way to rig this in New York's favor. I remind myself of the good old days when David Stern cared about storylines and putting the right pieces in the right places. I can't have these inner monologues with 28 minute long trance songs playing in the background.
8:14 PM- Vacuuming will take my mind off things. Then the cord gets caught on something and I jerk back into a shelf. As my shoulder throbs, I start rattling through prospect injuries in my head. I swear cords are sentient beings whose main goal on Earth is to make both my body and brain hurt. Job well done cords.
8:17 PM- Planning out scenarios for if the Knicks pick in the top three. They can't possibly fall out of it right? I profess my desire for Duke's Jahlil Okafor a number one, and for Ohio State's D'Angelo Russell at the other two spots. Needless to say, I am not the biggest supporter of Karl-Anthony Towns.
8:24 PM- After another three laps looking for more potential beacons of good fortune, I sit back down and start combing through tweets with the #NBADraftLottery hashtag. After thirteen Lakers "We're Totally Going To Pick #1!" pieces of internet trash, I come across this gem. I now hope even more so that Emmanuel Mudiay doesn't get drafted by the Knicks because I don't want to collect any autographs that look like this.
8:32 PM- I make some astute observations about the reps on either side of the bottom and top rows respectively.
8:37 PM- The negative part of my brain realizes it has been off for far too long and clicks back on mid-tweet.
8:48 PM- It begins. Nothing shocking from the opening lot. No team will be making that Orlando Magic-esque plunge from the bottom of the odds pool to the top. Somehow though, worry is starting to set in.
Trevor Utley hopes to not recreate the events of the Danilo Gallinari drafting in which he kicked a telephone pole and nearly broke his foot. He doesn't make any promises though if the first name out of Adam Silver's mouth at pick four on June 25th is Kristaps.
Image Credits: Draft tumbler (nba.com), All tweets (twitter.com)