9:05 a.m: the first beer is cracked open... 9:12 a.m: a buddy Skypes in from overseas (also drinking)... 10:00 a.m: two more hours until the actual draft starts.
Preseason football is winding down across the NFL, and that means one thing— Fantasy Football Draft season is finally upon us. It's a time for friendly competition among old high school friends, distant coworkers, and your girlfriend's dad. It's a rite of cultural passage, and it all centers around one singular day of trash talking, beer drinking, and wildly inaccurate prophesying. We breakdown typical draft day debauchery, minute by minute, for either your nostalgic pleasure or your studious preparation.
8:00 a.m: Your phone alarm blares. It's Saturday. You've waited all month for this. Snooze button.
8:06 a.m: Your second phone alarm blares. It's still Saturday. You've waited all month for this.
8:26 a.m: You're finally done looking up last-minute Fantasy Football tips and mindlessly double-tapping @LiveLaughLoverXoxo summer beach photos on Instagram. You get out of bed.
8:30 a.m: The first beer of the Fantasy Football Season is cracked open.
8:42 a.m: The living room table is cleared of GI Joes and old issues of Popular Science from a subscription that the old tenant apparently never canceled.
8:56 a.m: An extravagant mise en place is set on the living room table: Fritos Bean Dip, Doritos, a bag of sunflower seeds, and a box of oatmeal cream pies. Mike was supposed to bring the food, and you know he won't.
9:00 a.m: The email/Facebook invite said for people to get here around 9. So that means we have one hour until people show up.
9:32 a.m: Mike's here. He brought plastic cups?? He grabs a beer from the fridge and rants to you about how this is the year he wins the fantasy league. Mike's your best friend from high school. He has lost 12 years in a row.
9:46 a.m: Six Other dudes waltz in together. Three of them you know, the other three are somebody's brother-in-law and a couple coworkers or some sh*t. You weren't really listening, but they brought a couple 30 racks of Miller Lite. Everyone has a beer in hand except for the "brother-in-law" who keeps making the same joke about drafting a kicker in the first round. Hmm.
9:52 a.m: Marcus, your oldest friend, Skype calls into the draft. He's on base in Oki, and it's like 3 a.m. or something over there. He's talking more trash than anyone, but it's lagging 5 seconds late, and the timing forces everyone to try and force small windows of silence for his jokes. Eight minutes until draft time.
9:56 a.m: The rest of the 12 person league files in. Except for Johnny (he goes by "Jonathan" now). He said he's gonna be late because one of his twins peed on his expensive throw pillow and he has to pick up dry cleaning and—you stop reading the text. You read half it aloud, everyone laughs, and you all agree to put him on auto-draft.
9:57 a.m: Brother-in-law asks what "auto-draft" means.
9:58 a.m: The food is all gone.
10:00 a.m: At long last... The draft begins.
10:01 a.m: Barkley goes first overall to Mike. He calls him a "steal" for some reason.
10:03 a.m: Marcus reaches for Todd Gurley in the first round. He hasn't watched football in 2 years, and everyone gives him sh*t.
10:06 a.m: Jonathan (Johnny) auto drafts Ezekiel Elliot at eight after everyone avoided him. Hopefully, he doesn't play a single snap this year.
10:09 a.m: Brother-in-law just drafted Mahomes in the first round. One less person to worry about.
10:11 a.m: Everyone agrees it's time to order pizza, but nobody wants to pay when Dominos is called. You bite the bullet. Again.
10:18 a.m: Everyone is on Miller Lite #3. You're in your happy place.
10:20 a.m: One of those three random dudes just wasted a pick on Amari Cooper. Some men never learn.
10:25 a.m: Johnny (Jonathan) walks through the door wearing a full suit. While he's yapping about how he has to head to the office soon, and he can't stay for long Mike throws him a beer and it jams his thumb and falls to the floor. Everyone laughs, then Johnny laughs, and then 5 seconds later, Marcus' laugh can be heard through the laptop speakers.
10:31 a.m: Text from girlfriend: "Who is @LiveLaughLoverXoxo ???"
10:41 a.m: Brother-in-law drafts Andrew Luck as a joke. Nobody is quite drunk enough (yet) to think it's actually funny, but everyone forces some laughs.
10:45 a.m: Somehow, Mark Ingram falls to you in the draft, and you distract the guy picking right before you with some stupid meme on your phone. It works, and he drafts LeSean McCoy.
10:52 a.m: The first defense is taken by, you guessed it, brother-in-law.
10:54 a.m: For some reason, everyone gets anxious and also drafts a defense.
11:06 a.m: The pizzas show up.
11:12 a.m: The pizzas are gone, and so is AJ Green. Damnit.
11:17 a.m: The ending rounds are coming soon. Everyone is pretty buzzed, and only five people are actually focused on the draft at this point.
11:21 a.m: Mike shotguns a beer in celebration of drafting Baker Mayfield. He has 3 QBs.
11:33 a.m: The draft comes to an end. You scroll through your team, smiling proudly upon your selections, completely unaware that 4 of them will have massive injuries in week 12, one will be suspended for eight games for smoking a joint, and you will trade one away before having a historic record-breaking rushing streak. But it doesn't matter. You look over at your friends. You realize this is the only time you'll all be in the same room until this time next year. Johnny's tie seems loose around his neck. Mike didn't pay a cent, but he's currently doing a bad Chris Farley impression that is absolutely killing and is well worth the price of admission. Marcus has fallen asleep and can be heard snoring through the laptop. All is right with the world, and you are happy.
11:35 a.m: Text from girlfriend: "Seriously, who is @LiveLaughLoverXoxo."
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