[10:30 AM, 17th April 2000, Fox Sports Studio, Los Angeles, California]
The studio lights blazed hot under the carefully constructed set of Keeping It Real with Ben Baxter. The show's logo—a football spiralling through stylised text—rotated on the massive LED screen behind the desk. Two leather chairs sat angled toward each other, a small table between them bearing the Fox Sports logo and two bottles of water.
Ben Baxter, a thirty-year-old frat boy turned analyst, was dressed in a sharp charcoal suit with an open-collar white shirt. He sat at his spot reviewing his notes one last time. His dark hair was messily styled, and his demeanour was relatable to any sports fans. He made them think of that drunk guy at a game, cheering for the love of the game, come rain or shine.
He had a natural charisma that convinced Fox executives to give him his own show six months ago, after he had done well as a field reporter at games. The ratings had been solid—not spectacular, but consistent enough to earn renewal. And today, he could feel it; they had Gold? Playing right into his more controversial show style that he wanted to emphasise for season two. "Sixty seconds!" the floor director called out, holding up fingers to emphasise the point.
Ben's guest, Marcus Allen—the Hall of Fame running back turned analyst—settled into the opposite chair, adjusting his burgundy tie. At forty, Allen still carried himself with the grace of someone who'd dominated the NFL for over a decade. His easy smile and measured commentary had made him a natural fit for broadcasting.
"This draft was something else," Marcus said, shaking his head. "I've been covering these things for five years now, and I've never seen anything like what the Tigers pulled."
"That's what we're here to talk about," Ben replied with a grin. "Ready to make some people angry?"
"That's my speciality."
"Thirty seconds!"
Ben straightened his jacket, took a sip of water, and looked directly at Camera 1. The red light blinked on. "And we're live in five... four... three..." The countdown continued silently—two fingers, one finger, then a point.
The show's theme music kicked in—a driving rock guitar riff that faded as Ben's face filled the screen. "Good morning, football fans, and welcome to Keeping It Real, and it's that time of the year To Talk Football! I'm your host, Ben Baxter, and joining me today is NFL legend and Fox Sports analyst Marcus Allen. Marcus, thanks for being here."
"Always a pleasure, Ben," Marcus said with that easy charm.
"So," Ben leaned forward, his expression shifting to something more serious, "we just witnessed one of the wildest NFL Drafts in recent memory. Seven rounds, 254 players selected, but one team dominated the headlines from start to finish. The New York Tigers."
The screen behind them shifted to show highlights—clips of Commissioner Trueman announcing picks, crowd reactions, and most prominently, the confused face of Brian Urlacher as his draft status ping-ponged across the first round.
"Marcus, let's just dive right in," Ben continued. "What in the world did we just watch?"
Marcus laughed, shaking his head. "Ben, I've been asking myself that same question for forty-eight hours. The Tigers came into this draft with three first-round picks—thirteenth, eighteenth, and twenty-seventh—courtesy of that blockbuster Keyshawn Johnson trade with Tampa Bay. Everyone expected them to address quarterback, receiver, maybe offensive line."
"Right," Ben interjected. "They brought in twenty-five quarterbacks for pre-draft visits. Twenty-five! Chad Pennington, Giovanni Carmazzi, Chris Redman, Marc Bulger—basically every signal-caller with a pulse. The entire league assumed they were going QB early."
"And then they didn't, but to be fair, Chad Pennington was snatched up by the Giants at 11. But I'm not convinced they would have picked him even if he was available", Marcus said, spreading his hands. "They had a game plan for Round One. Three defensive players. John Abraham at thirteen, Brian Urlacher—somehow—at fifteen via trade, and Julian Peterson at twenty-seven. Not a single offensive player."
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The screen shifted to show a graphic:
NEW YORK TIGERS - 2000 DRAFT (ROUND 1)
Pick 13: John Abraham, DE, South Carolina
Pick 15 (via trade with Denver): Brian Urlacher, LB, New Mexico
Pick 27: Julian Peterson, OLB, Michigan State
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"Let's talk about that Urlacher situation," Ben said, his tone sharpening. "Because that was the story of the first round. Projected top-ten talent, suddenly nobody wants to touch him. He falls to fifteen, where Denver takes him, then immediately trades him to the Tigers for pick eighteen. Marcus, what happened there?"
Marcus leaned back, choosing his words carefully. "Well, Ben, there were rumours—unconfirmed, I should stress—of medical concerns. Red flags that made teams nervous. Urlacher's camp insisted he was healthy, but when you see a player fall that far, something's going on behind the scenes."
"And yet the Tigers traded up to get him," Ben pressed. "They gave up three spots—essentially telling the entire league, 'We don't care what you think, we want this guy.' That's either incredible confidence or incredible stupidity."
"Or," Marcus said with a slight smile, "they knew something nobody else did."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting the medical concerns were overblown? Maybe even... manufactured?"
"I'm not suggesting anything," Marcus replied smoothly. "I'm just saying that Nathan Stewart—the Tigers' new GM—is a football lifer. Forty years in the game. I just know they took advantage of the situation to set up the steal of the century, and that whole sequence with their rep at Madison Square Garden proves it. Making very public calls to Urlacher's agent, looking disappointed? That man deserves an Oscar, Ben."
The screen showed footage of Mark, the Tigers' draft representative, on the phone at their table—his expressions broadcast to millions. "So you think they played the league," Ben said.
"I think they saw an opportunity and exploited it," Marcus corrected. "Look, whether Urlacher was damaged goods or not, the perception was there. Teams got spooked. Denver wanted to pick at fifteen but didn't want the optics of taking a 'risky' player. So they worked out a deal—take him, immediately flip him to the Tigers, everybody gets what they want."
"Except now the Tigers look like geniuses if Urlacher's healthy," Ben added.
"Exactly, but then it's a Chicago problem since they passed on him."
Ben shuffled his notes, glancing at the camera. "Alright, let's move through the rest of their draft because it gets even more interesting."
The graphic updated:
NEW YORK TIGERS - COMPLETE 2000 DRAFT
Round 1, Pick 13: John Abraham, DE, South Carolina
Round 1, Pick 15: Brian Urlacher, LB, New Mexico
Round 1, Pick 27: Julian Peterson, OLB, Michigan State
Round 2, Pick 48: Kabeer Gbaja-Biamila, DE, San Diego State
Round 3, Pick 76: Laveranues Coles, WR, Florida State
Round 4, Pick 101: Todd Wade, OT, Ole Miss
Round 5, Pick 134: Windrell Hayes, WR, USC
Round 6, Pick 178: Tom Brady, QB, Michigan
Round 7, Pick 218: Adalius Thomas, LB, Southern Miss
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"Round two," Ben continued. "Pick forty-eight. They take Kabeer Gbaja-Biamila, a defensive end from San Diego State. Another pass rusher to pair with John Abraham. Round three, finally some offence—Laveranues Coles, wide receiver from Florida State. Round four, Todd Wade, offensive tackle. Round five, Windrell Hayes, another receiver."
"Building depth," Marcus observed. "Smart picks, honestly. Coles is a burner who can stretch the field, Wade's got good size for the tackle position, Hayes has potential if he develops."
"And then," Ben said, pausing for effect, "round six. Pick one-seventy-eight. With their sixth-round selection, the New York Tigers select... Thomas Brady, quarterback, University of Michigan."
The studio went quiet for a beat, a dramatic silence for the theatrics more than anything, and Ben had milked the moment. "Thomas Brady," He repeated. "Not Chad Pennington, who went eleventh to the Giants. Not Giovanni Carmazzi, who San Francisco took forty-third overall. Not Chris Redman, Marc Bulger, or any of the other quarterbacks taken in rounds two through five. Tom Brady. Sixth round. One hundred and seventy-eighth overall."
Marcus was shaking his head, a bemused smile on his face. "Ben, I'm gonna be honest with you—I had to look up who Tom Brady was after they picked him."
"So did half the league," Ben shot back. "Backup at Michigan for two years behind Drew Henson. Decent college stats, nothing spectacular. Ran a 5.28 forty-yard dash at the combine—that's slow for a quarterback, Marcus. Slow for a lineman in some cases."
"Five-two-eight," Marcus echoed. "I've seen tight ends run faster."
"Exactly!" Ben was getting animated now, leaning forward in his chair. "So the question everyone's asking is: Why? The Tigers brought in twenty-five quarterbacks for visits. They clearly did their homework. And this is the guy they took? In the sixth round?"
"My sources tell me that their owner told them to draft a QB who will be the face of the franchise," Marcus said with a serious tone as the player's combine photo appeared on screen, half-naked, only wearing a pair of shorts. He looked like your average middle-aged, unathletic, 9-5 working at Walmart white guy. "New York Tigers, is this the future face of your franchise?"
The camera zoomed in on the image—Brady standing with that vacant, slightly awkward expression, shoulders narrow, chest flat, legs pale under the harsh combined lighting. Someone in the control room added a comedic thunk sound effect as the picture popped back onto the main monitor. Even Ben had to cover his mouth to hide a laugh.
"Oh, come on," Ben finally said, waving a hand as the picture vanished. "Look at him! He looks like a guy who came to the wrong tryout and was too embarrassed to go home."
"Nobody runs a five-two-eight unless they're fleeing from a snail," Marcus quipped, earning a laugh from the studio crew.
"But," Ben said, holding up a finger, "I've learned something in the past forty-eight hours. You never know with the Tigers. Everything they do gets questioned, and then suddenly—boom—they look like geniuses."
"And sometimes you gotta call a duck a duck, Thomas Brady is a Hail Mary pick, he's a bust no matter whom you ask," Marcus said dryly. "And this is me just Keeping It Real."
"Uhh, I see what you did there. Shots fired."
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To be Continued...