For the past five days, the coverage has been breathless. The dissection of the minute differences between various players' performances at things that actually have nothing to do with their chosen profession has been deadly serious and painfully intense. Every utterance by every coach, every player, every agent has been taken apart, overanalyzed, and then overanalyzed again.
But.
Five years from now, the only thing that anyone will remember about this year's scouting combine is that some guy's junk fell out of his shorts and he basically face-planted trying to tuck himself back in.
So good on you, Chris Jones. May you make millions of dollars at your chosen profession. And may your employer provide you with pants that fit.
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