Dear Mr. Porter,
Welcome! Congratulations are in store for you, on the realization of your dream. Sit back, take it all in. This is a monumental, see what I did there, accomplishment on your part and you deserve time to relax and simply enjoy the moment. Too soon, your former teammates will be heading back to classes, and two-a-days, and JTIII's plodding, repetitive, though effective, attack. Now that you are in DC, you can expect to turn the throttle up and get moving. You are now playing next to one of the fastest men to ever step foot on a basketball court. You should get some easy baskets, and easy assits if you run the floor hard. Of course you will though, that's why you drafted.
A basketball legend, and coach of one of the most successful small forwards to ever play NCAA basketball, called you the greatest player he has ever coached against. You were the no-brainer, the easy pick, the hometown guy. But you aren't really a hometown guy, are you? Not in the sense that Thomas Robinson, Kevin Durant, Victor Oladipo, and Michael Beasley are hometown guys. You and Beal are both midwestern guys from Missouri. I just added you on Twitter, but just like Beal, I will remove you the instant you root for the Cardinals in a playoff series with my hometown Nats. I had no choice. I was born and raised in Northern Virginia, the Redskins, Nationals, Capitals, DC United, and of course the Wizards are the teams I live and die for. You are now a part of my favorite team. I love this team more than some of my family members, and see this team more frequently than a lot of people in my life. I have no choice but to sit back and trust that someone knew what they were doing. Come to work every day, hit your open looks, make the smart plays, play good D, and I'll come around to you. You see, I'll be honest with you, when Wall was drafted I was doing cartwheels in my living room, when Beal was selected last year I got no fewer than ten noise complaints from neighbors in my apartment complex, when David Stern announced that you were the third selection, I gave a polite golf clap. It's not that I wasn't excited, really I was, but ever since the lottery and the improbable climb to the number three pick I have had visions of a flattop in the Capital. I dreamed of seeing Nerlens start a devastating fast break, finished at the rim by Wall or behind the arc by Beal. I saw a seven foot fresh prince catching half-court lobs and throwing them down, hair waving in the high altitude. But someone older and smarter than me, saw something in you. Those arms that stretch forever and deny penetration, that awkward yet extremely reliable jumper appealed to the front office. After countless hours debating, and arguing, and yelling about you, Noel, Bennett, Len and probably more, you were the winner. There may come a time in a game 7, where you are tasked with shutting down the current number 1 pick on the perimeter in Quicken Loans Arena, or when Noel has been a brick Wall in the paint and Beal's jumper isn't falling, and it comes to you to score. Until then, we may not know who truly "won" this draft, but you can bet, that next year and hopefully for seasons to come, I will be in my familiar seat in the Verizon Center, with my number 2 jersey cheering my head off like always. Who know's, maybe someday I might buy a 22.
A committed fan