Within the general confines of being a hometown fanatic, there exists a hierarchy of extremism. Here in St. Louis, we self-proclaim ourselves - for better or for worse - as knowledgeable baseball fans. With that territory comes an increasing plethora of fans that have no problem publicly exposing their devotion. Whether that means ridiculously bawling your eyes out at the closing of Busch Stadium, or inking a 12 inch tattoo on your back...there are different tiers of fandom where ever you're home field exists.

In my illustrious career as a fan-observer, I may have finally found the fan hierarchy pinnacle this weekend at the NFL Draft.

Consumed in the endless amount of draft coverage over the past - well, since the Super Bowl on February 4th - we have been saturated with knowledge of team needs, overrated talents, and diamonds in the rough. For most of us, we can breath a sigh of relief that the whole damn thing is over and we can go back to our non-MelKiper lifestyles.

However, in viewing most of the first round of the NFL Draft on Saturday, I came across the fan that sits above any other football nut on the 'ridiculous fan hierarchy'. Yes sir, he sits atop the guy that starts the wave after every first down. He sits atop the guy with a #69 jersey.

He is NFL Draft fan.



It's one thing to awaken 6 hours before a regular season game starts to begin tailgating and drinking some booze. It's another thing to paint your face and perform these same activities in the middle of April - with the opening game a little over 3 months away. It's one thing to boo and hiss players on the field that have supremely disappointed you. It's another thing to boo and hiss your team's second round quarterback draft pick because some idiot on an internet message board told you that your team HAS to pick up a defensive end, or else.

Get a life.