Boom or Bust

This essay was written in late March of 2008. On the day in question, I was doing a show in Boston and had several hours to kill before the venue opened. I had nowhere to go but a local coffeeshop, I missed my girlfriend, and the '08 NFL Draft was approaching. Ergo, I wrote this bit of foolishness. It should be noted that I am posting it because I was all but chided into it. Some friends of mine have been breaking my balls about posting a new piece on here and this is the only thing anwhere in the vicinity of finished. It should also be noted that since this was written Beyonce married Jay-Z, Miami selected the unglamorous Jake Long with the top pick, and my girlfriend turned out to be a succubus. Well, perhaps succubus is unfair but heartless-demon-seed isn't completely accurate either. Enjoy!

The NFL draft is an intricate process, decidedly more involved than the draft of any other sport, probably because a standard football team has far more specialized positions than any other sport. Even each position has its own specializations. The Linebacker spot alone has three different individual distinctions, and that’s not even taking into account the Nickel and Dime packages and whether or not the team’s defensive set calls for a designated edge rusher. Regardless of the cause, the end-result is an (arguably) exciting weekend, one that has millions of fans adhered to radios and televisions sets for hours at a time.

Within the draft itself, teams employ a highly detailed ratings system based on the order in which each prospect is selected. Every pick is assigned a point value. The first overall pick is assigned 3000 points; the second overall is worth 2600, and so on. In theory, the points indicate the probable effect a player will have on his team’s future. Again, in theory, the first pick is the best player in the draft and will impact his team (immediately or otherwise) to a greater degree than say, the 15th. Teams always look at this point system when trading picks and players. It is hardly a perfect system, but it does the job as well as anything else. If one were analytical or shallow enough (or an essayist constructing an overdrawn analogy), one could implement a similar system in his romantic life. For example, when rating women, each would be assigned a point value based on factors like looks, personality, notoriety and difficulty to obtain. Now, I’m not advocating this system. It is concurrently shallow, silly, and devoid of humanity (not to mention borderline sexist) but it could be done.[1]

Hypothetically, let’s say you were trying to sleep with Beyonce. Ms. Knowles is wealthy, beyond famous, and insanely attractive. Even your average celebrity would have, and has had, an extremely difficult time getting her into a coffee shop. Wrangling her into a bedroom is next to impossible.[2] Beyonce is the caliber of a franchise pick; her numerical value would be 3000 (but in reality closer to 4 million). However, the slightly-better-than-average-looking woman from your office with the great legs is not nearly as hard to obtain, not as universally attractive, and probably would not have an impact on your life to the degree that Beyonce would. For the sake of argument, let’s call her number, 27- an early sixth round selection with a good work ethic but a lack of bankable talent.

Many things go into a first overall prospect. Sometimes the player is not the best player in the draft by a long shot, but other factors surrounding him propel him to the position. JaMarcus Russell was hardly the “best” player in 2007’s draft. Many folks argued that he wasn’t even the best Quarterback. However, his upside, track record and competency in football’s most important position landed him in the coveted spot; thus making him the default best player available. Quite honestly, his freakish athleticism alone was enough to make Al Davis drool like a St. Bernard, but it just goes to show how sometimes certain aspects outweigh others in spite of standard logic.

Last night, at the finest Chili’s in the greater Framingham, Massachusetts area, the standard Saturday night ‘one guy/one woman team’ operated the bar. Establishments for ages have employed this setup. The guy is a true hustler. He deals with the service bar, the waitresses, making drinks, running plates- basically all the bullshit a bartender job entails. The woman, however, is there to serve as “the face.” This is not to say she is incompetent or incapable of hustling, but that’s not her main priority. She is the one taking orders, flirting with the men, talking groups of guys into unnecessary rounds of drinks and always with a smile. She will be the only person anyone remembers. She is good at her job but knows she can’t do it without her male counterpart. The male knows that she is the reason the tip pool is larger than when he works alone. It is a tradeoff, it is symbiosis, it is oddly Marxist, and it is proven to work. This system is far from flawless, but everyone from the house to the busboy makes money using it.

I’ve done everything there is to do in the bar and restaurant industry and since have developed the habit of watching the machine in full swing. I have also been at a lot of bars and I’m often alone when there. So last night, as the female bartender was flirting with me, I couldn’t help but ask myself if her behavior was genuine interest or strictly driven by financial gain. It took me all of nine seconds to conclude the latter. I was not always this good at spotting the formula. As a former drunk and a perpetual maverick, I have spent countless evenings pining over bartenders. More often than not, the bartender in question is not someone I would even cross a room to talk to. If you stare at something long enough, though, you’ll always want to have it. This is perhaps the primary reason everyone is at least 50% more attractive behind a bar. Naturally, the female bartender is no idiot. She knows precisely what she’s doing. She may be doe-eyed, but she is more dangerous than a wolverine on steady diet of PCP and PBR. She also does this a lot; she is in complete control and knows on her walk to work that she’ll be walking home alone. If any bartender were to bed even half the people she flirts with, her numbers would be of Chamberlinian proportions. This makes the degree of difficulty on this woman, henceforth known as Chili’s Finest, tremendously above standard. I’ve had Naked Time with several bartenders but never on the night they were behind the bar.

It was shortly after the moment I realized she was not earnestly flirting that I began to ask myself the question: What if she was? Now, it should be stated that I have a girlfriend who makes me very happy. That doesn’t preclude my habit of noticing attractive women, though. The conquest gear in men doesn’t cease to work when we get in a relationship; an honorable man just learns to function with it detached from the transmission. By most standards, certainly by mine, Chili’s Finest is quite attractive and I would be a fool not to sleep with her if given the chance. This thought process led to the initial idea of the female rating system and here’s why:

I have often heard of people in serious relationships have a sort of “5 Exceptions List.” Said list is basically a grouping of desirable celebrities a person is allowed to have sex with if given the implausible opportunity. The Exceptions list acts a tool to fool men into thinking that they will actually see a vagina other than their partner’s before he dies. Inversely, the woman in the relationship makes sure this will never happen by making sure the list is composed of starlets whom said man, in all likelihood, has absolutely no shot. Nary a woman in her right mind would allow such a list to exist if on it he included My Secretary, My Ex, or Your Sister. Again, this is a tradeoff. Celebrities act as perfect subjects because their theoretical point value is inordinately high. Generally, celebrities are first-rounders, giving them an average-minimum point value of about 1000.

But if this point system were real and not just the figment of my argument’s imagination, if there was truly a standard unit of measure, would it affect one’s 5 Exceptions List? Would I then be able to sleep with a woman like Chili’s Finest if I so desired, provided her point value was above 1000?

Chili’s Finest is generally attractive, gregarious, and seems to have an above average IQ. That would put her rating somewhere in the vicinity of the late 3rd round.[3] However, should you add in the degree of difficulty and necessity of carnal encounter to a touring writer, one could make a case that she could be picked up late in the first round, probably by last year’s World Champion, which I definitely could be.[4]

Ultimately, the brunt of this whole conversation is patently ludicrous. It’s ludicrous not only because it wouldn’t happen, but if I were to have an Exceptions List, why on earth would I put a woman like Chili’s Finest on it? Even if one could finagle a bartender into the theoretical first round, would she really be worth it? I’m thinking probably not. The vast majority of female bartenders are a pain in the ass. I don’t think there’s anything wrong on a genetic level, but enough time in the service industry damages everyone.

You know how most of the inordinately attractive girls in high school were snotty and behaved like idiots? That wasn’t because they were born that way. Girls who are attractive at a young age are heaped with enough attention to make them assholes without their knowledge. If everyone you’ve ever met wants to be you or be near you, it’s only a matter of time before your conceit reaches critical mass. If those around you act as if you’re the center of the universe, osmosis gets the best of you. Popularity is not a healthy thing for a woman to undergo during a crucial point of development like adolescence. Now, I’m not siding with the popular girls. Fuck popular girls. Yes, popularity can be difficult, but it sure beats being invisible or spit upon or called a fag everyday for 6 years.

Inevitably, for all the same reasons, female bartenders (attractive or otherwise) turn into snotty girls who behave like idiots. Most of them don’t even notice it until they’re 40 and no one wants to hire their aging ass. They share the same fate of the popular girls: they’re left with no marketable skills, a bunch of strictly cosmetic friends, and the personality of an especially annoying Poodle.

Of course, there are those who somehow maintain immunity to the rule. For example, I went to high school with a girl named Erin who was equal parts gorgeous and affable.[5] Chili’s Finest could fit a similarly rare archetype. She could be the attractive, humble service industry vet I know exists somewhere. However, it is far more unlikely that she would be one of hundreds of mistakes made in the first round. Not a year goes by where a team’s GM doesn’t lose his five favorite players on the board and instead of trading the pick or looking for depth and long-term success, he selects the head-case specimen he doesn’t want because everyone says he’s just too good to pass up. Chili’s Finest is that head case.

At the end of the day, such a rating system doesn’t exist beyond my own imagination and it really shouldn’t. If your personal life is not like the draft, it has nothing to do with point values and signing bonuses. But the following does hold true: There is a draft every year whether you’re prepared or not, and it is always surrounded by senseless hype. All you can do is make the best decision possible with the information available when the opportunity arises. The majority of your hottest prospects will ultimately bust. There’s no way to predict it and it can’t be avoided. Every team goes through it. Chances are, your favorite player on the squad will be the diamond in the rough you picked up mid-fourth anyway.


[1] Reader’s Note #1: We’re about to make some leaps in logic that will lead to lots of questions. Just stay with me here. Pretend you’re watching something in the Saw franchise. It will be fun, promise. Just go along for the ride.
[2] Reader’s Note #2: 10 days after this was written, Beyonce married Jay-Z. I’m not sure how exactly this impacts the example, but it’s just interesting to note.
[3] Not to mention she lives in a different state, a major bonus to most men because she could be avoided post-coitus. I know, we’re scum.
[4] Provided of course that last year’s Champ was a team like last year’s Giants or the 2000 Ravens, who really weren’t that good. I certainly am not the ’85 Bears.
[5] I heard she got married at 23. The good ones don’t last long in the draft. She deserves it even if she never returned my call in 2002 when we were supposed to hang out. Bigger fish, I’m sure.