The first time I experienced a Ron Rivera Mini Miracle, I was an 18-year-old college freshman lying on my back in a musty dorm lounge, trying to contemplate the nonsensical cruelty of the universe.
For the better part of three hours, my excited friends and I had watched a bizarre football game on a small, decidedly low-def television set, complete with rabbit ears. It was the 1983 season opener, and our beloved Cal Bears – a team including three residents of our dorm floor – had jumped out to a 17-0 advantage on the road against Texas A&M, only to blow the entire lead in the third quarter. After being stuffed at the Aggie goal line in the fourth quarter, Cal drove down the field again and appeared to take a three-point lead on Randy Pratt’s 21-yard field goal with 1:20 to go.
That’s when things got weird. As the telecast returned from a timeout, the Bears’ offense was back on the field, preparing to run a play from the A&M 2-yard line. The announcers incredulously explained that there had been a roughing-the-kicker penalty against the Aggies – and Cal coach Joe Kapp had elected to take points off the board and go for the touchdown.
We all sensed what would happen next. Quarterback Gale Gilbert fumbled the snap and the Aggies recovered. There were ties in college football back then – yeah, yeah, I’m old – and this one seemed destined to be a dastardly draw for the Blue & Gold.
That was when I put down my lukewarm Lowenbrau (oops, I mean lemonade) and lay down behind the TV to process the lameness of the team I loved. But this was Cal’s first game since “The Play” and, channeling that spirit, the Bears’ best player refused to give up. After the Aggies burned up most of the clock by running two handoffs into the line, they inexplicably called a pitchout. Rivera blasted through his gap and arrived just after the football, burying the ball carrier for a game-winning safety. As my friends formed a celebratory dog pile, I jumped up and watched the replay with an awestruck appreciation for the All-American linebacker.
All of this is a long way of introducing my seventh annual Ultimate Mock Draft, which begins with Rivera in need of another Mini Miracle (albeit a mythical one). As the newly hired coach of the woeful Panthers, Rivera will be part of the brain trust deciding which player to select first in both the real NFL draft a week from Thursday and in UMD VII. Let’s just say that the prospects of landing a franchise quarterback are far more sunny in the latter scenario.
For those of you who weren’t around when I created this imaginary reality in which any human on earth is theoretically there for the taking – or for UMDs II, III, IV, V and VI – the exercise is simple: Using this year’s original draft order, and after soliciting the input of some of the NFL’s most respected talent evaluators, I give you a realistic idea of what would happen if everyone in the world were available, as is.
This means that, while old guys might rule, their value is diminished in UMD-ville. It also means that pre-existing trades involving 2011 first-round picks – in this case, the Richard Seymour deal that sent Oakland’s selection to the Patriots – aren’t recognized in this alternate universe.
Yes, I am being redundant – but past experience has convinced me that many of you laptop librarians will fire off snotty emails telling me I’m a fool for not knowing the Pats own the 17th overall selection. Oh, and one other piece of advice before firing off those “your an idiot” missives: There’s this not-so-recent invention called Spell Check, and it might be worth exploring before you hit Send.
On that note, let’s see what Rivera does now that he’s on the clock – and give thanks that we’re not turning back the clock to 1983, when “Spell Check” consisted of pulling out this very heavy book known as a dictionary and leafing through its vast contents.
