Back in 2011, on April 28th, the NFL draft kicked off at Radio City Music Hall in NYC!
This draft's a three-day marathon, running from the 28th to the 30th, with seven rounds in total. Day one is all about the first-round picks, the most hyped and crucial part of the whole shebang. Fun fact: the ratings for this day’s broadcast even beat out the World Series of Major League Baseball!
Football’s got the crown as America’s top sport, no doubt about it.
On draft day, everyone’s eyes are glued to New York. Reporters from every corner, big and small, swarm the city to get the scoop. Major TV networks, cable channels, online video shows, and local stations are all in on the action. The variety of live and recorded content is mind-blowing, but that’s just scratching the surface.
Tens of thousands of football die-hards from across the U.S. flood into Manhattan. A lucky few snagged tickets to the draft, hoping to see their team’s new picks live and maybe catch a glimpse of the next big star. Most fans just want to be in Manhattan, soaking up the draft vibes and ready to hit the streets in celebration.
This is a nationwide party. On North American soil, nothing beats football, except maybe Thanksgiving. Not the Oscars, not the NBA Finals, not even a presidential speech.
Overnight, it feels like the whole country’s eyes are on that tiny spot in Manhattan. And it’s the same story outside New York. Everyone’s talking about one thing: "Draft! Draft! Draft!"
San Francisco, way over on the West Coast, is no different. Even though it’s a regular Thursday, lots of folks are taking the day off to throw parties and watch the draft live. Some companies even gave their employees the day off to enjoy this big event after the Super Bowl.
The Haight-Ashbury district, in the northeastern part of San Francisco, is far from the Bay Area’s stunning coastline. The whole area’s on rolling hills, making driving a bit tricky even for the pros.
Back in the '60s, this place was the heart of hippie culture, which then spread all over North America. After fifty years, the locals have carved out their own unique vibe.
The neighborhood still has that strong hippie feel, but the homeless, Mexican immigrants, and Italian immigrants have mostly moved on, forming their own communities elsewhere in the city. Now, young Silicon Valley pros, dream-chasing freelancers, and creative artists are moving in.
It’s not the priciest or fanciest part of San Francisco, nor is it the most dangerous or rundown. It’s also not a neighborhood with a strong immigrant identity. Instead, it’s a cultural melting pot with its own unique San Francisco flavor—young, vibrant, and buzzing.
In 1997, when Jack and his family moved to San Francisco, they picked Haight-Ashbury after some serious thought. Back then, the area was still developing. The security wasn’t great, but it was way better than the slums, and the prices were pretty sweet. Plus, living here made commuting to work a breeze for both of them.
So, they settled down. Later, Luke went to George Washington High School, a mixed school with few students from Avalis, which helped him quickly adapt to life as an immigrant.
In this area, you meet all kinds of neighbors and friends.
Like, next door to Luke’s house is an Italian immigrant family—not the mafia type, but the kind that runs an Italian restaurant. It’s a big family with five kids, making mealtime super lively.
Then there’s the American family across the street, a classic white-collar, middle-class setup. The husband’s a doctor, the wife’s a gardener, and they’ve got two kids, a boy and a girl. The eldest son is Logan Newman.
And don’t forget the Gypsy family on the corner. They’re all about living a “primitive” lifestyle, growing their own veggies, weaving their own clothes, and homeschooling their kids. At first, everyone was amazed, but over time, it’s just become part of the neighborhood’s charm.
On draft day, Haight-Ashbury was buzzing with excitement. Folks hung up San Francisco 49ers flags and American flags along the hilly streets, getting into the draft spirit. Doorways were decked out with lights, balloons, and wreaths, all set for the parties. Now, everyone was just waiting for the draft results to roll in.
You could practically smell the "football" in the air.
Logan came sprinting out, standing on his lawn, and yelled, "Bambi! Bambi!" His calls got more frantic, but it was Annie who popped out instead of Luke. "Hey, Logan."
"Annie, good afternoon. Where's Bambi?" Logan asked, grinning ear to ear.
"He went for a run. Said he hasn't finished today's training yet," Annie replied, smiling back. Logan looked puzzled for a second, then burst out laughing.
Annie called out, "When are you guys coming over? We’ve got everything ready, and the countdown show’s about to start. Come over, and we can eat and chat."
"But what about Bambi? He’s not back yet," Logan asked, but Annie just waved it off. "He’ll be back right after his run, right on time." Luke’s workouts were all about precision now, so no worries there.
"Alright, we’ll be right over!" Logan laughed, nodded, and then turned to head back inside. "Dad, Mom, the countdown show’s about to start. Let’s head over now."
Tonight’s draft party was at Jack and Annie’s place, with both families gathering to watch the live broadcast together. Not just because their kids were in the draft, but because it made the whole thing more fun and lively.
To spice things up, the league would predict the first-round picks based on all sorts of data and scouting reports, inviting these potential first-rounders into a live broadcast room called the "Green Room." Surrounded by cameras, they’d wait for the draft results to be announced.
The TV network would switch live feeds in real-time, capturing the players' joy, anxiety, and disappointment. It was like an unscripted reality show.
Usually, the league sent out forty to forty-five invites to cover all thirty-two first-round slots.
But players could choose to wait in the Green Room or stay home with their families. To make sure they caught the first-rounders' reactions, the TV network also got permission to broadcast live from the players' homes.
And if something unexpected happened? Like a surprise pick the cameras missed? No biggie—they’d just do live phone interviews, adding even more drama to the show.
Out of the 332 players in the rookie training camp, fewer than forty-five got invites. Luke and Logan weren’t among them. In fact, none of the five draft players from UCLA got invited.
So, Luke headed back to San Francisco to watch the draft with his family, waiting for the results.
Luke knew the first day had nothing to do with him; he wasn’t going to be a first-round pick, and Logan’s chances were slim too. They could just chill and enjoy the show. For them, the key wasn’t who got picked in the first round but how many players in their position were chosen, as this would affect the later rounds and directly impact them.
When he got home, the countdown show had already started. Special guests, like a roundtable discussion, were sitting in front of the camera, hyped up about potential first-round stars, dark horses, and team draft strategies. Hearing Luke open the door, everyone raised their arms high, "Hurry, Bambi! Hurry! It’s starting!"
Logan tossed the football he was holding at Luke. "You maniac, you went running today? 33,000 feet? Did you run around the hills a few times?"
"Not everyone’s as lazy as you," shot back Logan’s sister, Julia Newman, a high school senior who’d be starting her final year in September and prepping for college. There were classes today, but Julia had rushed home early to catch the draft live.
Luke caught the football, tossed it back, shrugged at Logan, and then looked at the four adults, politely saying, "I’m gonna take a quick shower first. Don’t wanna miss the broadcast."