The Hound

As I mentioned, I’ve been preparing for my first NFBC draft of the year, re-familiarizing myself with the player pool this past week. Last night, after looking over some recent ADP graphs, I took my long-haired mini dachshund Oscar out for his last walk of the day.

When I got to the small, nearby park, there was an attractive woman, maybe 30, walking a large, handsome black and white spotted hound with the same long, squat body shape as Oscar. He was off-leash and immediately ran up to us with his tail wagging and started sniffing Oscar.

The woman said “Boa noite” to me, and after half a minute of admiring her hound (not code for anything) I asked, “Que rasa?” She replied. “Basset hound.” My first thought was, “I should draft Chris Bassitt.”

The dogs parted ways, and 20 seconds later Oscar assumed the position to move his bowels, and I cleaned it up with a bag. Once I tied up the bag, we resumed our walk toward the garbage can I use as a basketball hoop. I get one shot, usually from about seven feet away, and for a while I was like Steph Curry, getting it in even when the can was so full I had to land it on top. I don’t think I’ve shared this with anyone, not even Heather or Sasha, but I have a superstition that if I make the shot, the day (or night) will go my way.

Lately, I had been in a bit of a slump, more Ben Simmons than Steph. But as I put the bag in my left hand — which corresponds to your right, intuitive brain — I told myself if I hit the shot, the Bassitt omen is real. I tossed it underhanded from about seven feet away, and swish, dead center of the can, never in doubt.

It took Herculean restraint not to publish this piece before the draft, and while I’d expect no one to change his Bassitt ranking based on my superstition and premonition, in a Beat Chris Liss league, I could see someone swiping him from me for laughs.

. . .

One other thing I should add: Usually Heather takes Sasha to school Friday mornings, and drops off Oscar at his dog daycare (they meet and bring him to a farm outside the city), but she had a doctor’s appointment, so I had to do it. I dropped off Sasha at 8:20 and walked Oscar around a nearby park while waiting for the pickup at 9:00. What did we see as we entered the Jardim da Estrela? A father and his little girl (maybe 3) walking a large basset hound. She asked if she could pet Oscar, to which I said of course.

. . .

Postscript: I got Bassitt (ADP167) with the last pick in the 13th round (No. 156). I’ll write up the entire draft tomorrow.