I don't imagine anyone (other than, perhaps, Donald Trump) would bother to watch the NBA Draft if it were nothing more than four hours worth of college kids anxiously awaiting employment. As it stands, the draft doesn't exactly make for riveting television, unless you and your buddies play along with Jay Bilas.
That's not to take away, though, from all the humanist angles to which the draft lends gravity and gives birth every year. Many of the 60 kids lucky enough to hear their names called are the products of difficult upbringings or come complete with some other bits of backstory that render them vulnerable to the emotion of the moment.
The 2012 edition was no different.