The original name for this blog was ' A crazy person's chronicles of Christmas in April'.
But I scrapped it.
The doomed blog was an hourly updated diary of giddy anticipation and weirdness starting last Friday at Noon, and ending with the Browns' 3rd round pick on Saturday.
It was a wide array of tom foolery, like the idea for an advent calendar with a draft motif for grown men. Instead of little chocolates or cutesy prizes it would be chalk full of sample size Scotch, Beef Jerky, Smoked Kielbasa, and the last day (draft day) would reveal the final piece to the easy-assemble Jessica Biel Robot.
I wanted Joe "The Fish" Thomas if Russell wasn't there.
We got him.
But alas, something precarious happened soon after. The blog was not to be, it blew up in my face.
As the ashes of seamlessly threaded analogies mending Brady Quinn's good looks to the followers of Notretology & L. Ron Hubbard (who sat in a cupboard) cleared, humility was revealed.
I was shocked, amazed and time-release ecstatic.
Savage traded back in. You know the rest.
Cleveland was the talk of the nation.
Every sportstalk channel had something good to say about what Savage did day one. I live in New York City, but for the weekend it felt like good old local Cleveland news. I half expected Dick Goddard to update me on the weather in the snow belt.
There were no funny quips/sarcastic anecdotes to be had from this lifelong cynic.
The Cavs had quietly and expectantly swept the depleted Wizards.
The Tribe is still in first place and the Yankees are crumbling.
The Browns had potentially the greatest draft in franchise history.
And on a personal note, I came within 10 feet of Christopher Walkin (Wowwee!) at a Tribeca Film Fest. after party on Fri.
Pure euphoria.
Would it end?
Probably, but things became even more satisfying Tuesday afternoon in the cafeteria at work.
As I sat alone eating some zesty soup, listening to 3 guys talk about the draft at a table next to me, I heard the unthinkable.
"Man, Cleveland had a stellar draft."
"Tell me about it."
"I can't believe they picked up Brady at 22."
"Joe Thomas was a great pick-up. Just like D'Brickshaw."
"You know, the Browns can make a run at the playoffs this year."
"Lewis, Winslow, Edwards and now Quinn at QB and Thomas protecting, they'll be pretty good."
What?
Something is wrong here.
You're not supposed to say that. You're supposed to make fun of us, demean us, make a Tim Couch reference, not give us praise and say those glorious words PLAYOFFS.
All this went through my head, surprising me, and I began to choke.
I sucked some soup down the wrong pipe. Not in a "I'll be okay in a second" kind of way but an embarrassing "Oh shit this hurts, I have Udon soup in my lungs" kind of way.
I did what my mom taught me at an early age, put your arms up "so big".
So there I was, red faced, choking, and giving the international sign for a touchdown to my anonymous co-workers.
Touchdown Cleveland. If only for a weekend, it's about f'n time.