This was not a ritual, more of a coincidence. When I was younger and the draft wasn't televised, I would end up with my dad out at some grazing land with a couple of .22s, Tahiti Treats, and a couple Mr. Bigs and even though my old man wasn't a hockey fan, he'd turn on the radio and let me listen to the draft while we bonded over lighting up some gophers.
Now I feel like I need to call my dad...
