"Churches. Community centers, stuff like that."

"The worst place you slept?"

"I don't know. A porch?"

At 16, quite accidentally, Oher arrived at Briarcrest Christian School, and by turns described in Michael Lewis' bestseller, The Blind Side, eventually found himself adopted by the well-to-do family of Sean and Lee Anne Tuohy. They gave him a home, a tutor, a chance and still more.

Asked what hurts the most about living on the streets, Oher says, "not having somebody to take care of you, to be there for you, to tuck you in at night."

To tuck you in.

That's the real saving grace of Michael Oher. It's not his vertical, or his bench, or anything that can be quantified in the combine. Rather, what survived against all odds on the streets of Memphis, was a capacity to love and be loved. To be tucked in.

"For them to take me in with open arms," he says of the Tuohys, "that just shows you the kind of heart they have. Where I come from, you don't do anything like that."

I wonder where he'd be if not for his chance admission to Briarcrest or the Tuohys.

"That's a good question," he says. "I don't know. I'm very determined in everything I do. But meeting my family made the road a lot easier."

What a concept: meeting my family.

He has two siblings in attendance here at the draft. There's his dreadlocked biological brother, Marcus, and his blond sister, Collins. Collins and Michael attended Ole Miss, where he will graduate in a couple of weeks with a degree in criminal justice.

Why criminal justice, I ask.

"To take the innocent from the bad guys," he says.

To save them, he means.

For the record, Oher finally read The Blind Side about a month ago. "It was all right," he says. "It had a few things that probably made me look like I wasn't smart . . . But people got to sell books."

I don't think that's the case. To my mind, Lewis' book is a near perfect synthesis of analysis and narrative. And while it provides readers several ways to consider Michael Oher, not smart is not among them.

There's still a day and a half before the draft. According to Oher, the team that picks another offensive lineman is a team that's making a mistake.

"If you do, I don't understand," he says. "I know I'm the best. I play in the best conference. Every Saturday. Every snap. All you got to do is watch film."

He hasn't allowed a sack since 2007. "I just have a passion for it, shutting down that elite pass rusher," he says. "Every year, it seems like these guys are evolving into another monster. I just shut 'em down."

He leans in; his eyes narrow. I imagine this is what he looks like to his opponents, as seen up close, through the bars of a face mask.

I step back. Then I find myself wanting to cheer — for Michael Oher, of course, but also for all those kids who have yet to meet their families.