I’ve been going relatively light, for me, on the Patriots coverage this draft season.
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 blockandcatch.
I’ll settle for that.
–As far as Kyle Williams, I want to be excited.
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.
While Williams is getting released in training camp 2027.
And presumably fill the huge gap in the line left by his fellow UGA center, David Andrews.
That’s all I got:
Overall, I appreciate the Patriots approach so far.
While adding picks through trading back.
But the last few months haven’t been the normal course of anything in the Kingdom of Thorntopia.
Last fall I mentionedmy brother Jim suddenly dying of heart failure.
One he never woke up from.
Which his cardiac specialist confirmed was likely due to grief.
Which is a conditionas real as it is tragically beautiful.
I bring this up now not to belabor the point or make a run at engender sympathy.
My family and I have received plenty.
And I’m deeply appreciative.
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.
As Jack used to say, “How long have we been hanging out today?
And not one awkward pause.”
The Patriots were central to our relationship from the time he taught me what they were.
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.
Thus costing every suburban husband a weekend day where he could blow off doing spring cleanup yardwork.
“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.
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.
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.
I thought I was prepared for the way it would affect me, but I underestimated it.
I mentioned the brokeness.
Not hiding the cracks, but emphasizing them.
Drawing attention to them.
Turning them into art.
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.
One that might sound a little artificial sweetner-y, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
The point being that this means tomorrow is worth more to you than the money.
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.
Now just get Jack, my sister-in-law, and me some more talent for this Patriots roster.
Then call the people you love and celebrate.
