The Rest of My Life

The PATS have made it through three rounds of the 2015 draft and my phone has not rung.

So far they have chosen Malcolm Brown, Jordan Richards, and Geneo Grissom.

Brown is a 6'2", 320 pound defensive lineman.

Richards is a 5'11", 215 pound safety.

Grissom is a 6'3", 260 pound defensive end.

I am a 5'7", 170 pound (should be 160 pound but it worked for Wilfork) Assistant Manager of a NH State liquor store.

I have checked our telephone lines and the phones themselves; there is nothing wrong with them.

It's not like this is too big a deal for me. I realize at the age of 61 my prospects are a little - only a little - slimmer than Brown's, Richards' and Grissom's.

Still, I was counting on this opportunity to save my life. To salvage my soul, to provide for me the self esteem I require to soothe and repair my damaged psyche, to give me the emotional tools I need to interact in stability with my family, to inspire me to conceive, believe and achieve, to resurrect my existence from the ashes of despair and unfulfilled potential, and catapult it to the rarefied heights of success, acclaim and financial reward.

That's all.

Still, Rounds 3 through 7 are ahead of me and the PATS.

Belichick is a fashion challenged genius; Kraft is a compassionate motivator of men. They both possess the intelligence, insight and instinct to recognize unlimited potential when they see it.

They have a plan. They always have a plan.

I entrust my future, the rest of my life, to that plan.