Life, Love, Loss and the NFL Draft

I've been going relatively light, for me, on the Patriots coverage this draft season. I admit that. Whereas in years past I'd have done about 50 posts and like 200,000 words about likely prospects and the Pats strategy going into this thing, was probably closer to a dozen and 5,000 words. And by now I'd already be way out over my skis excited about their Day 2 picks and cueing Duckboats or whatever. 

But this morning I'll just settle for saying I'm glad Mike Vrabel has used all four picks on offense. Two guys who can block for Drake May, and two guys who can catch Drake Maye passes. That's our version of a balanced approach this draft, and I'm here for it. 

--In the case of TreVeyon Henderson, they got a guy who can block and catch. Both of which are mission critical skills if you expect to see the field on 3rd downs on Josh McDaniels' watch:

After watching Antonio Gibson make every effot to pass protect, only to get thrown like a crash test dummy time and time again, Henderson is a welcome addition. And you can definitely see a Rhamondre Stevenson-Gibson-Henderson backfield rotation working out the way it did in the last Super Bowl season when it was Sony Michel-Rex Burkhead-James White. I'll settle for that.

--As far as Kyle Williams, I want to be excited. I really do. But we've been burned too many times at wide receiver to get smitten again so soon. The heart needs time to heal. The Pats took him at 69. At 70, Detriot took WR Issac TeSlaa of Arkansas. Who not only has a name that will trigger the libs in Michigan, if recent history holds to form, he'll be an Offensive Rookie of the Year candidate, a perennial Pro Bowler, and someone the Patriots try, and fail, to sign in free agency four years from now. While Williams is getting released in training camp 2027. Which is totally unfair to Williams, but it's how things have been working out here for a long time. Still, you watch the absolute number he did on the best cornerback in the land last year, and it makes you want to fall in love again, the $100 Tyquan Thornton jersey gathering dust in my closet be damned:

--Finally there's Jared Wilson, who can snap the ball and block. And presumably fill the huge gap in the line left by his fellow UGA center, David Andrews. That's it. That's all I got:

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Overall, I appreciate the Patriots approach so far. Instead of reaching or making off-the-wall picks that are too cute for their own good (Cole Strange in the 1st, Tavon Wilson in the 2nd and so on), they're getting guys either at or later than they were projected. While adding picks through trading back. A sane, rational approach that doesn't work out is better than an overly clever approach that doesn't work out any day. I just got sick of Belichick constantly being the smartest guy in the War Room and appreciate a common sense approach for once, win or lose. 

So in the normal course of things, I'd be diving a lot deeper into this and trying desperately to impress everyone with my brilliant insight and clever analogies like the low grade narcissist I am. But the last few months haven't been the normal course of anything in the Kingdom of Thorntopia. 

Last fall I mentioned my brother Jim suddenly dying of heart failure. And our brother Jack being rushed to the hospital the day of Jim's wake with a heart attack of his own. One he never woke up from. Which his cardiac specialist confirmed was likely caused by grief. Which is a condition as real as it is tragically beautiful. 

I bring this up now not to belabor the point or try to engender sympathy. My family and I have received plenty. It's been sincerely comforting to hear so many people talk about how important my brothers were to them and how much they're missed. And I'm deeply appreciative. I mention this now, six months after losing two of the most important people in my life, because this draft process has taught me something I didn't fully grasp until these past few days:

I'm broken. 

For Jack and me especially, Jim to a lesser extent, the draft was our "thing." I mean, we had a lot of "things." Most of them ridiculous nonsense like TV and movies, Bigfoot, UFOs. Jimbo's preposterous philosophical questions he'd call you with in the middle of the day like "How many midgets [his word, not mine; take it up with him] would it take to kill an African lion with just their bare hands?" and so on. As Jack used to say, "How long have we been hanging out today? Four hours? And not one awkward pause." 

The Patriots were central to our relationship from the time he taught me what they were. This was us at recent Gillette tailgates with Jim and our other brother Bill:

And Barstool legend and one my best friends, Uncle Buck:

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While the NFL Draft - the Patriots role in it especially - was something we shared. One of the bonds that connected us. A personal language we spoke. Going back for as long as I can remember. Certainly from the moment ESPN started covering it live, and probably sooner than that. I have too many specific memories to possibly fit them in a blog. One that jumps to mind is from that glorious period before the NFL and Ginger Satan realized if they moved the first round from Saturday at noon to prime time on Thursday, they could make more money off it. Thus costing every suburban husband a weekend day where he could blow off doing spring cleanup yardwork. Anyway, Jack ran a cable cord out to his deck, fired up a space heater, and we watched outside. I told this to my work buddy on Monday and he said, "Don't tell me you actually sat there and watched that."  "Just the first … eight hours," I replied. 

There was the time in 2005 when the Pats took Logan Mankins in the first round. I never anticipated they'd be looking for a guard, so I did no research on the position. And when the pick came in I said, "I have never heard this name before." To which Jack said, "I had them picking him in the second round." 

But the one I'll be dining out on for the rest of my life was last year. After a good half dozen, hour-long calls leading up to Draft Day, Jack made a pact with me. If the pick was, in fact, Drake Maye, we'd each get out the best highball glass we have, pour two fingers of the finest whiskey in our liquor cabinets, and toast to the return of the Dynasty. And when Maye's name was announced, I broke the seal on that unopened bottle I got for Christmas. I've only touched it once since, which was the day Jack went to God. I've considered not touching it again, just holding onto it as a keepsake. But then again, James Bond would consider that a waste of good Scotch. So would my brother.

So yeah, I've been light on the draft analysis because the man who inspired me to care about a middle aged man standing at podium reading the names of 22 year old men so they can hug him and put on a hat - the most absurd, random, inexact process in all of American sports - hasn't been there for me to talk to about it. You can watch all the college games and highlight videos, listen to podcasts, read the scouting reports and keep up with the mock drafts, but it's not the same. It's a "If the Patriots draft the left tackle from LSU I want and Jack's not there to hear it, does it make a sound?" situation. I don't think I'm betraying any confidences to say his beloved wife is going through the same thing. She's been missing the mountain of information her husband would carry around in his head this time of year. Try as I might, I haven't been all that much help trying to bring her up to speed on Will Campbell and the rest.

There's a common piece of advice that says when you lose your significant other, it's best to wait a year before you make any life changing decisions, like selling your house or whatever. And I've come to realize why that is. Because the year is filled with so many reminders of them. Holidays, traditions, rituals, habits, routines. And it's best to experience all of them at least once before you're sure you need to turn your life upside down, or whether you'll be OK. As it turn out, this draft season has been the toughest time for missing my brother. I thought I was prepared for the way it would affect me, but I underestimated it. 

I mentioned the brokeness. The Japanese have a process called Kintsugi, where they take a broken piece of pottery and put it back together using molten gold. Not hiding the cracks, but emphasizing them. Drawing attention to them. Turning them into art. 

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Baltimore Sun. Getty Images.

Which is kind of what metaphorically I'm doing here. Along with a lot of prayer. Just owning the sense of grief and loss in a way that I hope works. And that maybe posting about it might somehow help people who are dealing with something similar. The guy who lost the dad he always golfed with. Your mother who'd come by to visit you and her grandkids and it was always a blessing. The friend you had a million beers with at your go-to townie bar. The birthdays and special occasions that always remind you of what you once had but do no longer. 

If that's you, let me offer a trite piece of perspective that the Instagram algorithm spat at me the other day. One that might sound a little artificial sweetner-y, but that doesn't make it any less true. Two Australian guys were doing a man-in-the-street interview were one says, "If I offered you $10 million right now, would you take it?" Of course. "Now what if I told you in order to get the money, you have to not wake up tomorrow?" No. Of course not. The point being that this means tomorrow is worth more to you than the money. I know I'd give up 10 million bucks to have my brother slowing shake his head while I state my opinion on the Pats draft while waiting for me to stop talking so he can tell me how wrong I am.

So greet each day with that in mind. Be grateful for each one you get while they last. And appreciate the time you get to spend with the people who make life worth living. Thanks for reading. I appreciate you and Barstool for letting me work out my pathetic emotional issues in this way, and I hope it does some good. 

Now please get Jack, my sister-in-law, and me some more talent for this Patriots roster. Then call the people you love and celebrate.