I feel old. Not only do I feel old, I feel worthless. Who knew the McDonald’s All-American High School game could send someone into a fit of depression? Job well done, McDonald’s.

While watching these future millionaires disguised as 17-year-olds, I came to the realization that I may have chosen the wrong career path. Listening to the guys on ESPN gush over these young men who probably have never used a cassette tape made me sick to my stomach. I had reached the brink of explosion. If I heard one more person use the word “upside” or “potential”, I was going to go Chuck Norris on them.

Then it hit me. I am the ideal prototype for the NBA draft.

My potential is, in a word, untapped. If Jay Bilas were to give my scouting report on draft night, this is what it would sound like:

“Blum’s a young man who is very raw; his upside is amazing, and he hasn’t played a legally sanctioned basketball game since his freshman year in high school. You want to talk about a guy with potential? Not since Manute Bol have I seen a player with his type of undeveloped skills. Now that’s saying something.”

How could anyone pass up that opportunity?

If I were to liken my abilities to a current NBA player, frankly it couldn’t be done. If you rolled up John Stockton, Hot Sauce from the And1 Mix Tape Tour and Danny Ainge into a single specimen, that’s pretty much me in a nutshell. Not only would NBA executives benefit from my unique style and ability to execute the pick and roll on the court, I would be an asset off the floor as well.

I’d consider myself a team player, and also would be quite the attraction on the road. Imagine the amount of laughter I would generate from the opposing fans mistaking me for the ball boy; my comedic value to a team would be off the charts. If you don’t think this is important, ask yourself why Shawn Bradley and Mark Madsen continue to have NBA contracts.

Not only do I plan on entertaining the masses, I am willing to go the extra mile. If the Portland Trail Blazers were to draft me, I would definitely be willing to commit a felony if it meant fitting in with my teammates.

Would Andrew Bogut do that? Didn’t think so.

The scouts would rave about my character. You won’t find me on Maury Povich’s weekly special, “After 3,246 tries, are you the father?” any time soon.

Well, at least that I am aware of.

So it is with these facts in mind that I declare myself a part of the 2005 NBA Draft.

Don’t fret, though; I have refused to sign with an agent, so in the unlikely event that I am not drafted, I would still be eligible for four years of college basketball. Wayne Morgan, I hope you are listening.

One thing is certain — if George Washington’s Pops Mensah-Bonsu is selected and I am not, I am going to write a heated commentary over the drafting bias toward players with hyphenated names. Trust me, David Stern doesn’t want that.