The anticipation for draft night is a lot like Christmas morning. It's a joyful occasion filled with hope of what lies beneath the glowing sparkle of the tree.
Sometimes, though, all that expectation erodes into frustration. The present you anxiously waited for has the wrong name attached. That train set should be yours, but now you must endure the smugness of your brother, who pretends to enjoy the Pennsylvania Flyer chugging around the track, reveling in the painful reality of how badly you wanted it.
Father Draftmas has played this sick joke on the Green Bay Packers once too often, and it's happening again before our eyes.