'Twas the morning of draft day and all through the house, one rookie was cursing 'That terrible louse!'

For while he was settled all snug in his bed, visions of signing day danced in his head.

For Reggie, he thought, 'I'll go number one! On Carroll, on Heisman, on Houston I come!"

The press had declared he'd be the best choice, now Mr. Bush just needed a voice.

Someone to get him the biggest deal ever with Nike and Wheaties, this voice must be clever!

Thinking that Texas would be his next stop...now Reggie Bush must rethink his plot.

For what should take place on the eve of his day but one Mario Williams to step in his way.

The Texans choose Williams to be "Number One!" Not Reggie, not Leinart, not even Vince Young.

The press was befuddled, his agent a mess, for what should he say once he is addressed:

             "Dear Mr. Bush, we thought you'd go first, how does it feel to be slapped with this curse?

To have to go second, or wait 'til the fifth, since Texas chose Williams over you as a pick."

Although broken hearted and a little dismayed, sweet Reggie Bush will still have his day.

For Reggie, he'll sign an exorbitant deal; he still has that Heisman with plenty of zeal.

It's not in the number or time that you're called; it's what you produce in the following fall.

No agent, no bonus, no signing day perk can ever determine your fate as a first: how will you handle the pressure of Sunday, will you make it to playoffs or vanish on cut day?

Tonight Mr. Bush can finally exhale, his fate all decided, his check in the mail.

Today he was made a very rich man, but tomorrow he'll have to start forming a plan.

Come Sunday this fall, the test will be set; who will prevail and settle the bet?

Will Bush take the field and prove himself better? Or will Mario steal the front page header?

These questions have answers I cannot predict, but I relish the drama of signing day shtick!

Thus, I proclaim as I drop out of sight: Happy Draft Day to all and to all a good night!