“Mel Kiper is the Tarantino of draft analysis.”

“Does that mean he nails it?”

“He’s a quirky genius who nails it like he nails his woman.”

“So he gets ‘er done?”

“That he does. When he’s not locked up in ESPN ’s corporate headquarters watching game film with Jaws.”

“Do you think he hibernates until draft day?”

“Bet he’s in his room day and night breaking down players for an imaginary audience.”

“I’m so friggin’ tired of hearing the same wedding ceremony over and over again.”

“Preaching to the friggin’ choir.”

“Ahem,” the minister let out in the direction of the groomsmen.

“Oh, sorry. Our bad.”

“Do you mind ceasing your inane chatter while I finish?”

“Go ahead.”

“Besides, everybody knows Mortenson is the quintessential draft day analyst.”

“Ahem,” Liz cleared her throat, malevolently.

“What do you expect?” The minister asked. “What kind of girl plans her wedding on draft day?”

Liz glared at her groom with penetrating eyes. “Aren’t you going to do something?”

“Why? I prefer Jaws,” he responded.