I wanted it. I wanted it desperately. For a couple of weeks now, my utter confusion as to how the hell Devin Booker was shooting into the top ten on multiple draft boards was marinating. The timing was looking apt, too. He'd fall into my lap here at No. 17, and I'd stage my erosion of every fiber in the spirit of his draft stock.
But Marc did it. And he nailed it. Devin Booker's stock is now deader than any Game of Thrones protagonist who's ever breathed. You know nothing, Coach Cal.
Meanwhile, Bobby Portis' stock is very much alive. Jerian Grant and Sam Dekker made their respective pushes, but the hard-nosed Razorback came out ahead.
My affinity for Portis is well-documented. He's a 6-foot-11, 246-pound mammoth who moves fluidly, runs the floor like a madman and kills defenses with a smooth faceup game. He doesn't fit the increasingly valued "playmaking 4" archetype that Zach Lowe outlined (hello, Dario), but he could switch out on to the perimeter to frustrate wings and certainly could shift into the middle as a small(ish)-ball five in more versatile lineups.
Beyond playmaking, any mobile 6-foot-11 human being who can bang with players in the post, switch out on to guards in high pick-and-rolls, clean up the glass with ferocity and do some rim-running in transition is exponentially valuable. Two-way swiss army knives have no business being on the board here. Shame on all of you.
With Marc throwing Christian Wood and Justin Anderson into the fire, I'll piggyback toss Montrezl Harrell in as well. Meanwhile, keep not voting for Tyus Jones and go nuts.