It's been a literal whirlwind. My availability to the teams came in super close to the draft, and I'm talking in hours. Not days! Hours. The interview requests came in all at once, and the day got away from me pretty quickly. I was answering questions right up to the start time, and while the conversations were all good (...I think), I was pretty confident that I'd be a late round pick. I had already accepted that as fact even before the questions came rolling in. No one in their right mind uses their top picks on an unknown, and that's pretty much what I was. And that was okay! I knew what I had to offer, and no draft position would change that. I've always been more of a show versus tell kind of guy anyway.

But then wouldn't you know it, up rolls QCC with pick #13 and it's my name that gets called. I'm usually a pretty quiet guy, but that version of Viktor went flying right out of the window. Once the utter shock of it all subsided, the whirlwind resumed. Lots of handshakes, congratulatory slaps on the back, and a snazzy new baseball cap were eventually followed by an infinitely more nerve-wracking entrance into the locker room. I really didn't need to be so anxious. Everyone welcomed me in like I'd already long been a member of the Citadelles, and had just returned from a long stint on the IR. The excitement, wherever and whomever it came from, was contagious. It didn't take long before the other draftees and I were being chased around the room with demands for pet pictures and, as goofy as it sounds, that was when I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Were all the in-jokes flying straight over my head? Yes. Did that do anything to affect the giant smile on my face and the excitement for what was to come? Not even a little.