Back in 1997, in the mist of our food coma, Brett Snow and I thought Jim Druckenmiller (above) was the next Joe Montana. We were mistaken.
By John Murphy
The year was 1995 and I was at a journalism conference at an Anaheim hotel.
That was back when newspapers had enough money to send their charges to seminars to learn more about their craft. What a concept.
Anyway, the NFL Draft was that weekend and my team, the 49ers, picked UCLA’s JJ Stokes in the first round. I had seen Stokes play. I recall thinking he was so great, he’d make the 49ers so unstoppable that the NFL would no longer be competitive. Wrong, wrong and wrong.
But I love the NFL Draft, which begins today. It’s my guilty pleasure. Give me a cooler of Diet Cokes and a box of Cheez-Its and I could listen to Mel Kiper Jr. and Todd McShay talk about “workout warriors” and “flexible hips” all day. And I have.
Back in ’97 when I was slinging words together for the Victor Valley Daily Press, I invited photographer Brett Snow over for the draft. Brett’s a big Niner fan, too. Anticipation was high. And we were hungry. So I barbecued a bunch of chicken.
The first round commenced. We dipped and chipped. Mel Kiper Jr. spoke of guys with “tremendous upside” and “high football IQs.” And Brett and I ate ourselves into a stupor, gorging on chicken and fix-uns until we were both sprawled out on my family room carpet. Sound asleep. Snoring even.
Somewhere along the way, the Niners picked quarterback Jim Druckenmiller in the first round. Brett and I high-fived. I spoke of naming my first-born after him. Then Druck started one game in two years, completing 40 percent of his passes with one TD and four picks.
Maybe his hips weren’t flexible enough.
Main Street Dog 