I will give Chris Sims my spleen if he gets picked 30 seconds.

Okay, that's it, baby.

That was my internet son, PFT commenter.

Now, refresh my memory on this because I saw it last night. Right. And I can't quite remember the details.

He's offering you his spleen if what happens.

If Justin Fields goes at 32, he's going to offer me a spleen.

That's it.

I said, I'll accept the offer and the spleen.

Sounds good.

I'll take it.

He's very witty.

I wasn't aware that they had perfected the spleen transplant, but that would be, that would be an entertaining.

It would be.

Procedure for me to sit up in the balcony with a giant box of junior mints and witness.

And in fact, if memory serves, and it often doesn't, the procedure in question in that

episode of Seinfeld was a spleenectomy. So this would be a spleen into me, I guess, or some sort of a

spleen procedure. But yeah, let's go. Justin Fields 32. I want to see PFT Cominer lose his spleen. It is draft day. Let's just

put him on the table. Here we go, baby. Let's go. 13 hours until the draft begins. It was funny

last night. I think the NFL sent out a memo to every team's social media director.

At exactly eight o'clock Eastern time time please tweet that there's 24 hours to go

until the draft because my timeline was flooded with official team accounts all at the same time

with some sort of gift for graphic or something pointing out what we already knew is 24 hours

...