Ah yes, the NFL draft.

A time when futures are made, dreams are shattered, and really, really, really big guys aren’t afraid to bawl like babies. The one time each year when the you can spend two full days watching ESPN without any real athletic competition taking place (some would argue that is true all summer long, but I’ll leave my baseball-bashing for another place and time). The weekend that will prove unforgettable for about 255 athletes and their families.

But for almost anyone here at Harvard, we can just watch—living it is a foreign concept.

Excusing the time warp that was last year (QB Ryan Fitzpatrick is the exception, not the rule) and could possibly resurface next year (when RB Clifton Dawson is at least guaranteed to be playing professionally somewhere, even if not in this country), the Ivy League doesn’t get a lot of love from teams at the draft. Not that we really deserve it—we play Division I-AA football, in a conference without a postseason that does not give out athletic scholarships—but the sprinkles of Fitzpatrick and Dawson here and there make us (read: me) yearn for personal excitement on draft morning, when we can wake up and track the draft status of one of our own, welcoming him back to campus in the following days, his rights belonging to an NFL team, his life changed, and his wallet on its way to becoming a lot fatter.

I want to be loved, yes, but only if we’re worthy. We know that going to Harvard carries with it the burden of having to deal with added expectations, scrutiny, and additional (often unnecessary) media attention. Just ask our embattled sophomore chick-lit author about that one.

There was a perfect recent example of the microscope we and those of our ilk are constantly under, straight from the worldwide leader in sports.

Brown running back Nick Hartigan, while not a Crimson athlete, is of the same breed. The thing is, he very well might not get drafted. He’s not as good as Fitzpatrick coming out of college, and he plays a position with more elite players than the quarterback spot. My top Ivy League football source predicts that his name won’t be called at all this weekend, yet that hasn’t stopped the hype machine from churning out useless info about him. ESPN’s Dan Shanoff blatantly admitted that every year he tries “to find an Ivy League player to track (and boost) in the lead-up to the NFL draft.” This is followed by a brief rundown of his stats, including the fact that he’s been accepted to Harvard Law.

To all this hoopla, I ask, ‘Why him? Why us?’

Remind me again where the guy went to college? What bowl game did his team play in? Oh, that’s right. We don’t play bowl games in the Ancient Eight.

It’s fine to talk about us in the context of another No. 1 ranking as the top undergraduate institution in the world, as being home to an alleged copyright infringer, or because another student war protest is taking place (or wait, was that just House Day?), but leave our “big-time” sports out of it. We get enough slack for everything else, and as much as it might hurt, it’s best to keep our sports out of the limelight until we give reason to the contrary. I’d love for us and our draft brethren to matter, but we don’t. In fact, I shouldn’t even be writing this column.

We should celebrate the things here that are worth celebrating. The Game is our annual season-capper, our version of a bowl game, a championship of sorts. Five straight thrashings of Yale is something that we should cherish. But a few amazing Ivy League games here and there aren’t worth the attention of a public used to watching the likes of Reggie Bush and Matt Leinart. Our games are great, but in the context of what they are—important games to us, and very few others.

You should still watch the draft this weekend, for many of my reasons mentioned up front. Big guys crying? Check. Some of the most out-of-place suits ever known to man? Got ‘em. And don’t forget about the new commercials for next year’s Madden football game. Maybe Fitzpatrick will at least be on the roster this year.

I urge you all to pay close attention this weekend. See if you can catch the first on-air mention of Hartigan, outside the context of the proverbial “I bet he’s the smartest player in the draft!” I’m betting it comes later rather than sooner.

Either way, I know I’ll watch with the hope that, one day, Harvard athletes will be talked about in the same breath as some of the top prospects.

But for our game, and not our brains.

—Staff writer Malcom A. Glenn can be reached at mglenn@fas.harvard.edu.